Or get to talk.

“Hmm.” His hand slipped to my rear. Tugging me against him, he squeezed, and as crazy as it was, my body started to rev up all over again. The man was living, breathing sex! He brushed his lips to the skin just above my eyebrow. “I’m thinking about saying fuck the omelet again.”

Oh my. The idea was tempting. Everything about him was tempting, but I managed to get him out of the bathroom. While I cleaned up, brushed my teeth, and then washed my face, I made myself promise I was not going to let anything get in the way of talking to him.

Taking a deep breath, I caught my reflection in the mirror as I tugged my hair up in the ponytail. Where in the heck were my glasses? Good question. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes wide, and my lips had that swollen, totally been-kissed-for-hours look.

I straightened the blue and white polka-dotted toothbrush holder and then made a serious expression at myself in the mirror.

I looked half stupid.

Everything was going to be okay. Reece . . . well, he wasn’t going to be happy, but he would be okay. I mean, hell, he didn’t flip out about the unprotected sex thing, and he basically said if we just created a baby Reece or baby Roxy, then we’d be okay. So he had to be okay with this. I was just making a mountain out of a molehill. Like Charlie would’ve said, I was being a drama queen.

Time to pull it together.

Sighing, I whirled around and left the bathroom. Spying my glasses on the coffee table, I snatched them up and slipped them on.

Reece was in my kitchen and he’d already found the frying pan, which wasn’t hard since it wasn’t like I had that many cabinets. The eggs were already on the counter. He looked at me over his shoulder as he grabbed fresh peppers and a bag of shredded cheese out of the fridge.

Seeing him in my kitchen, shirtless and barefoot with all that golden skin on display was something I could really get used to.

I wanted to paint him—like this. With his back to me, the muscles corded and strong.

“I was thinking,” he said, tossing those items on the counter. He went for the milk next. “I got to work tonight and you’re working Wednesday through Saturday, right?”

Edging into the kitchen, I nodded.

He cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl he’d dug out of the cabinet. “That makes doing dinner and a movie hard.” He paused, glancing back over at me. “By the way, I really want to fuck you when your glasses are on.”

Warmth swept across my cheeks. “You are so naughty.”

One side of his lips kicked up. “Babe, you have no idea all the things I want and plan to do to you. Years’ worth of ideas.”

I gaped at him. “Years?”

“Years,” he insisted. “Anyway, back to the dinner and the movie. I was thinking we could do more like a lunch and then grab a movie another day since it will be hard to work both in with our schedules.”

All I could do was stare at him as he found seasonings and made the omelets. He was making plans for us—multiple days’ worth of plans. That damn swelling feeling was back in my chest.

“It’s either that or wait until we’re both off next Monday,” he said, raising his arms over his head and stretching as the omelets cooked.

Dear Lord, that sight—all the muscles rippling, the pants hanging indecently low—was pure sin.

“But I really don’t want to wait until Monday. Do you?”

“No,” I whispered.

Omelets finished, he pulled the pan off the burner, and I finally moved. I grabbed two plates and glasses out of the cabinet. “So how does Thursday sound?” he asked, slipping one perfectly folded omelet onto a plate. “I know Friday will be tough for you with visiting Charlie. So we can grab lunch.”

I blinked back sudden tears again. Dammit, he was . . . so thoughtful. Hurrying to the fridge, I grabbed the tea. “Thursday would be great.”

“You okay?” he asked.

When I turned, he was placing the plates on my table, but his eyes were on mine. Clearing my throat, I nodded as I walked the jug over to the table and then grabbed the silverware. A look of doubt was on his face.

“I’m okay,” I said as I sat. He was slow to sit down across from me. “It’s just that . . .”

“What?” he asked, watching me closely.

“It’s just that . . . I’ve liked you for so long, Reece. A really long time.”

The grin was back. He picked up a fork and offered it to me. “Babe, I know you have.”

I stared at him blandly. “Did you now?” I cut off a piece of omelet and popped it my mouth. “Oh God,” I moaned. “This is good.”

“Told you. But yeah, I spent a good part of that time ignoring that you liked me, because there was a high chance your father would’ve gutted me if I made a move on you before you were old enough to buy liquor. And by the time that rolled around, well . . . shit was going on . . .” Reece frowned as his features tensed. “Wait. Damn. I just thought of something. Did we use a condom that night?”

My stomach dropped all the way to my toes. If I hadn’t been sitting down, I probably would’ve fallen over. Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I had total shit for brains as I stared at him.

Blood drained from my face as I clenched the fork. The tasty omelet turned to dust in my mouth.

“Fuck,” he said, scooping up egg. “We didn’t use a condom, did we? Guess that’s water under the bridge at this point.”

Taking a deep breath, I straightened my shoulders. It was truth time. Hopefully not crash and burn and sob time. I placed my fork on the table. “There’s something I need to tell you.”