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“I’m her father. I need to know this is stopped.”

There’s one burrito left in my hand. I slap it on the counter too hard. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

That stops him short. The heat of his gaze on my face is intense, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I put the burrito on a plate and stick it in the microwave. If I know anything about this guy, I know he’s been too anxious to eat lately.

“You been taking your meds?”

His gaze cuts away from mine. “What?”

“You really think I wouldn’t notice the anxiety meds in your medicine cabinet?”

He shakes his head. “They don’t work anyway.”

“Because you’re not taking them.”

He shrugs. “The side effects suck.”

I scan him up and down. “How you going to take care of Ella if you’re not taking care of yourself?”

“I’m taking care of myself fine.” Except he’s mumbling in that way people do when they know they don’t have a decent excuse.

“Beg to differ.” After pulling the burrito out of the microwave, I slide it across the countertop. “Eat something, then.”

He’s staring at the burrito as if it might disappear in front of his face. “What⁠—”

“You forget, I know how much you could put away when you had access to all-you-can-eat dorm food. You’ve lost a lot of weight. Muscle.”

“I was in training back then.”

“You’re still in training, it’s just a different game. And you’re not winning any points for starving yourself. You have enough money to feed Ella; you have enough to feed yourself.”

“I told you I eat plenty.”

“Then eat the damn burrito. It’s the bean and rice kind you like.”

Heat flares in Dean’s eyes, giving way to a softness I’m still not used to seeing on his face unless he’s interacting with Ella.

The next thing I know, he’s smiling. Then he’s backing me up to the refrigerator. “You got me burritos.”

The back of my neck gets hot. “I was in the frozen foods section already.”

He dips his head, pressing his lips to mine. My fingers go to his hips as if they have a mind of their own, but my head is spinning. Dean’s never been the one to kiss me.

Kissed me back if I kissed him, sure. But initiating? No. I’m so stunned all I can do is gasp and hold on as he parts my lips with his tongue.

He hums and takes the kiss deeper, sighing and sinking against my body. That’s new, too. Since I’ve started pushing for a change in our dynamic, he’s been equal parts curious and wary. Skittish, like a feral animal.

But now his hands are on my shoulders. He’s gasping against my lips, sliding his tongue against mine.

“Thank you,” he whispers when he pulls away.

“It’s only burritos.” Now I’m the one having a little trouble with eye contact.

“Still.”

Well. I’m not here to question a good thing when it lands in my lap. Or when its tongue is in my mouth. I’m leaning in for another kiss when a tiny, strained voice calls out from down the hallway.

“Daddy?”