“Oh. Then why not . . . you know?” she lifts her chin, trying to gesture to my dick, but it’s pressed up against her and I’m not ready to let her go yet.

“I’m trying really hard to be a gentleman here.”

“A gentleman,” she repeats as if it’s a word she’s never heard before, or maybe even another language.

“Yeah, but don’t get too excited. It’s all part of my evil plan to get you to agree to a date.”

She blinks like an owl, and then her lips lift in increments until she’s got a full bloom of a smile. “That again?”

“Always.”

Somehow, that makes it all okay. She settles, and I hand her the bra that fell to the floor at some point. But before I give it to her, I stare pointedly at her chest for a second. “What are you doing?” she questions in amusement.

“Memorizing for later usage. Your tits are my entire spank bank right now until I get to see more.”

That might be a little too truthful, but thankfully, she laughs and arches a bit more to show off, even shimmying her shoulders a bit.

I groan and palm my cock through my slacks. “Are you trying to kill me, Zo? I have zero blood flow in my brain right now, and it’s my best feature.”

“Your best feature?” she teases, acting dubious. I hold the straps of her bra out, sadly letting her put her breasts away in her bra and then shirt.

“Hey! You’ve seen my brain in action. Why do you think I invited you to trivia night if not to show off my mental flex?” I flex my biceps, showing them off a bit too because I’m a man who knows how to work my angles.

“I believe your exact words were to ‘save your ass’.”

“Yeah, maybe that backfired on me a bit because you did save us and probably think the rest of us are dumbasses.”

She leans forward, kissing the tip of my nose. “I wouldn’t go that far. We just all have areas of specialty.”

Now that’s exactly why I want her so much. Beauty, brains, and heart? Fuck me, she’s perfect. “Speaking of specialties, let me make us some dinner. You’re probably hungry after my last skill demonstration.”

I give her my eyebrow, daring her to disagree, and she laughs. “You cook?”

“Well, I’ll say yes because I figure if I heat it,” I say humbly as I take another step back to try and think of what there is to eat around here, “whether in the microwave, oven, or stovetop, I cooked it. If it’s edible, all the better.”

Zoey hops down, nodding. “Fair point.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” I say as I open the refrigerator door to show her the plastic bins of prepared food stacked inside. “Like I said, I heat it.”

“Are those frozen dinners?” she asks, aghast.

“I’ll have you know these are made by the finest chefs, specially designed to maximize my macros, and delivered to my front door so I don’t eat takeout crap. You feeling chicken and broccoli or chicken and green beans?”

“Is that really all you have?” Horror twists her lips.

“Gotta keep my shape or Trey leaves my ass behind,” I tell her, patting my flat stomach. After a moment, I drag out, “Fine, you can have my turkey and sweet potatoes, but know that I’m sacrificing a lot. Sweet potatoes are the one carb I eat regularly.”

“But you ate spaghetti?” she reminds me.

I give her a look that says she’s totally missing the point. “You think I would pass up a chance to eat dinner with you? I’d eat Jeff Probst-delivered caterpillars on wood bark if it meant eating with you.”

“Ew,” she says, her nose crinkled cutely. “Fine, chicken and green beans. I won’t take your sweet potato joy from you.”

I pull the two trays out and pop the first one in the microwave. “I’d give you all my sweet potatoes, Miss Walker.”

*

It’s funny, eating dinner after the intense orgasm I gave Zoey, but at the same time nothing could be more normal for us. We heat up our dinners and find our way to the couch. We don’t even pull up anything on my TV but instead get back to researching heavy metals.

Richard Horne, if you’re up there somewhere, listening in . . . I’m so sorry you died, but please know that something good is coming of it, I think as I tap at my keyboard. And also, what’s the deal with the heavy metals? Can I get a hint?

Hmm, maybe Zoey’s talking to dead people is wearing off on me too. I grin, and Zoey looks over. “What is it?”

“Just mentally thinking you’re rubbing off on me,” I admit. “I was just talking in my head to ol’ Dick Horne.”

“Ah,” Zoey says, and I feel her warm a bit more. She gets it. If it works, it works.

“What about his medical records? Do you have those to compare to? That would tell us if the metal exposure was recent or a long time ago,” I ask.

Zoey shakes her head. “No. I don’t get that info because it could create bias. Unless the investigating sheriff wants my input on it. I bet Jeff didn’t even request it.”

“I can,” I assure her.

“Uh, there’re these little things called privacy laws,” Zoey says, and I chuckle. “What?”

“Life insurance, Zoey. When you sign up, you agree to a full waiver that your insurance company gets any and all medical records that would be relevant to your coverage, benefits, and claims.”