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I blinked, trying to focus on the subject at hand. “She’s an orphan?”

“She’s emancipated. It’s complicated. I have an extra room. She doesn’t cause any problems. She’s a kid, she needs me, and I like having her around.”

I stared at her. “You’ve adopted a teenager?”

Did she just roll her eyes at me? And. How far would they roll back with my cock rammed down her throat?

“Please,” she uttered.

I liked that word on her lips. “Say that again,” I rasped.

She glared at me. I liked that too. “Please,” she gritted out.

I grinned. “Aren’t you a bit young to be someone’s mommy?”

That lit a challenging, almost smug look in her eyes. I knew it meant she was about to goad me in some kind of way. “We’re friends. She’s only a few years younger than me. Actually, she’s a lot closer to my age than you are.”

Gorgeous little brat. It worked. Point to her.

Abruptly, I dropped the subject and left the room.

There was no food being prepared in the kitchen. I took up the job myself. No breakfast my ass.

I’d make sure she ate something decent (only because I knew she wouldn’t eat if I didn’t) and then I swore to myself that I was outta here.

The rest of my wife’s team had gone back into their holes.

All that was left was a teenaged model drinking coffee and watching me like I was her favorite TV program.

I studied the contents of the refrigerator. At least it was adequately stocked.

“Does she like omelets?” I asked the girl.

“I have no idea,” she answered. “We don’t really have breakfast around here.”

“So I’ve heard. We’re having it today.”

“I’m Jovie,” she told me cheerfully.

“Banks,” I responded automatically. Everyone had always called me by my middle name. Everyone except my wife. Why did that realization make me flinch all of a sudden?

“So are you like living here or something now?” she asked bluntly.

I sent our bold little houseguest a flat stare. “Are you?” I returned.

“Yep,” she answered without hesitation. “I’m your wife’s roommate,” she added with incorrigible sass. “And her bestie. We’ve been inseparable since we met.”

I felt a pang of something unpleasant move through me. Jealousy, thick and bitter, shifted around inside of me, making itself right at home. It settled deep, lodging itself down into my gut. I knew the emotion, but I wasn’t certain of the why of it here. I couldn’t possibly be resentful that my wife had a friend. Even I wasn’t that much of a bastard, right?

I was dishing up the first omelet when my wife walked up to the bar that looked into the kitchen. I placed it in front of her, trying not to take in the sight of her in more than the smallest bites.

She was wearing gym clothes, if you could even call them clothes. A white sports bra and teeny tiny shorts. I tore my gaze determinedly away from her body.

She opened her mouth, to turn down food, I was sure, but I stopped that in its tracks. “You’re eating. I know that you drank more than you’re accustomed to last night, and you need food. I don’t want to hear a word of protest.”

She met my eyes squarely. “Thank you,” she said simply.

She took the food to her large, round dining table.