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“You can’t possibly be turned on right now. I’m a wreck.” But the bulge in his boxers grew bulgier.

“It’s been three years, two months, nine days, and eleven hours since you last put your mouth on my dick, and you’re on your knees licking your lips?” He shook his head. “All you have to do is breathe and I’m ready to go. You can ignore it. I’ll take care of it later.” He pulled me up by the elbows with me still clutching the towel between us. “Underwear on or off?”

I was so busy trying to calculate the last blowjob I gave him that I didn’t answer right away. He didn’t actually remember the exact date and time, did he? My gaze went sideways. Three years, two months, nine days, and seven hours was⁠—

“Sunday, July 2. You woke me up with your mouth.”

The day of my accident. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised that he remembered the date so vividly. Everything had changed after that, and I still didn’t know why. He hadn’t left me when I was battered and broken. He’d waited until I was fully healed to pack his bags.

There was the rubber band snapping against my heart.

“I’m fine.” I stepped back and dropped the towel. It landed with a soft swoosh at our bare feet. “But if you’d be more comfortable keeping your boxers on, have at it. It doesn’t bother me either way.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He kept his gaze level with mine as he reached past me to flip on the water. We stood there, neither of us blinking, his arm stretched over my shoulder to test the temperature. “Get in.”

It was a vulnerable thing, turning my back to him when he was clothed and I was completely naked and not able to see his expression, but I pretended it didn’t faze me as I stepped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain closed behind me.

Only then did I let myself truly feel it. The absolute misery of losing him. Was it something I’d done? Something I hadn’t done? I buried my face in my hands as a silent sob wracked my body. One. That was all I allowed myself. Then I tipped my face to the faucet and let the water wash away the evidence.

Things were quiet on the other side of the curtain. Too quiet. What was he doing? My hair wasn’t going to wash itself, no matter how much I wished for a miracle. I poked my head out from under the spray, listening.

And then I heard a quiet, mumbled “Fuck,” the rustle of cotton fabric pushed down his legs, and the metallic scrape of the shower curtain being shoved aside. Seb’s big, beautiful body took up nearly all the space and most of the oxygen. I was left gasping as I took him in, all pretenses of disinterest dropped. It was painful, the memories I had of his body, all of them staring me right in the face. The shoulders I clung to when he gave me a piggyback ride. The spot on his chest where I’d lay my cheek. The narrow, dark happy trail I traced with my tongue. There was nowhere safe to look, and I looked everywhere.

When I finally met his gaze again, I found him staring back at me, his expression pinched, mouth twisted in a bemused grimace like he was in pain, too.

“Turn around,” he said gruffly, reaching for my sulfate-free shampoo.

I gave him my back, and he went to work. He lifted my curls and scrubbed at my scalp with both hands, his strong, capable fingers digging into the tension there. My eyes drifted closed. God, that felt good. When his hand tangled in my curls and he gently tugged it free, I whimpered with pleasure. He froze, his breath catching audibly. My eyes popped open in embarrassment. Something warm and velvet bobbed against my lower back.

Oh.

Seb made a strangled sound. Neither of us moved as we stood there under the shower spray, his fist wrapped around my hair, my head thrown back. From my half-upside-down angle, I watched his gaze slide down my cleavage and back to my face. Our eyes locked.

His dick twitched again.

I blinked at him, and he cocked an amused eyebrow back.

“Well, this is fun. And people say exes don’t spend enough quality time together.”

“Stop pulling my hair, Sebastian.”

“But you like it.”

“I like a lot of things that are bad for me. Cake, for example. Now and then I have a bite, even though I know it will make me sick.”

His gaze dipped to my mouth, and his throat bobbed. “Is it worth it?”

“It must be,” I whispered. “Otherwise I wouldn’t keep doing it.”

But cake was one thing, and Seb was another. The ramifications of a bite or two of gluten were fairly minimal for me. Like a hangover that dissipated by late afternoon. But Seb…I wouldn’t be able to stop with a little taste. I’d gorge myself on him and be lovesick for months after.

His eyes were still locked on my mouth like he wanted to find out for himself.

Nope, not gonna happen. He had so much less to lose.

I tugged free, and he allowed it. “How’s your mom?” I chirped, handing him the conditioner.

He snorted. “Good.” He squeezed a large glob into his hands. “Why do you ask?” he added drily.