“Did you just ask me if I want a snack when I’m sitting on your toilet?”
“You don’t want one? All right.” He shrugged and headed out of the bathroom.
“Whoa, whoa!” I yelled after him. “I didn’t say no!”
“Jesus, woman. What do you want?”
“What snacks do you have? Since you ate my garlic balls.”
“You don’t need the garlic balls. You’ve spent enough time with mine!”
“Don’t be crude!” I shouted downstairs. “I’ll take a snack. Surprise me.”
“I just did. That was twenty-five minutes!” he hollered back.
“In your dreams!” I laughed, and—oh.
There was the pee.
I was screwed if I ever had kids.
I finished my business on the toilet—like it was a secret now—and used a little too much toilet paper cleaning up. I finished the roll, so I grabbed a fresh one and changed it, making sure it was the right way around.
Over.
Not under.
Only savages put their toilet paper the ‘under’ way.
I walked back into the bedroom to the sound of Mason rummaging through the kitchen downstairs. I grabbed my panties from the floor, but they weren’t exactly clean, thanks to him.
I put them on the radiator to hopefully dry out some—ahem—in the hope they’d be suitable enough to wear the entire twenty feet to my front door tomorrow morning.
Instead, I opened the top drawer of Mason’s dresser and pulled out a pair of his boxers. They were surprisingly comfortable, and I truly believed that every woman needed to sleep in a man’s boxers at least once in her life.
I tugged them on then sat on the bad, pulling the comforter up close to me. I’d just grabbed the remote control for his TV when I paused and looked down at myself.
This was what I’d done in college.
When we’d been in his room—and later his apartment in his senior year—I’d always worn his underwear after sex. Usually his shirt, too, if he’d made off with my bra.
It was a routine that hadn’t been done for years, yet I’d slipped into it without thinking. Totally subconsciously.
Because it wasn’t weird at all to me.
It felt so completely natural to sit here, on his bed, in his boxers, with my lips still swollen from his kisses and my skin still tingling from all his touches.
“Snacks.” Mason clomped into the room, totally naked, and dropped an entire picnic load of snacks onto the end of the bed. “Are you wearing my boxers?”
“Yes,” I said simply, leaning over to see the snacks. “What did you bring?”
“Just about everything. There’s ice cream if you want some.”
“What kind of ice cream?”
He hesitated. “Cookie dough.”
My jaw dropped. “You have my favorite?”
“I figured I had to win you over at some point. If my fucking awesome personality didn’t do it, the ice-cream would.”
“Well, I see why you’re a lawyer with that stunning logic.”
He threw a bag of chips at me. “You can get your own ice cream.”
“What? I’ve always wanted a hot, naked lawyer to serve me ice cream.”
“Imogen.”
“Yes, Your Honor?”
Mason gave me a withering look. “That’s how you address a judge.”
I sighed. “You should really be a judge.”
“I’m not quite there in my career yet.”
“That’s a shame. They can forgive speeding tickets, can’t they?”
“Why? Do you have one?” He paused. “It’s your grandmother, isn’t it? Jen has a speeding ticket.”
“Please don’t talk about my grandmother when you’re naked. It’s really killing the whole hot-naked-lawyer-serving-ice-cream mood.”
“I should have known,” he muttered, turning around. “I should have known you wouldn’t have changed that much.”
I laughed, falling back against the headboard. He carried on muttering away to himself as he went downstairs and I loaded up Netflix on his TV. I popped open the chips he’d thrown at me and scrolled until I found Friends.
I knew he liked it.
I adjusted my position so I was lying on my side when my elbow hit something hard under the pillow. Frowning, I reached under it and pulled out a brown, plastic baby doll that was as naked as I was the day I was born.
And it was a little boy.
“That’s an interesting addition you’ve got there,” I murmured, studying the doll. “You should really have a diaper on.”
“Who are you—oh.” Mason put two bowls down on the dresser in front of the TV while he opened the top drawer. “I see you’ve met Stanley.”
I looked from the baby doll to him. “Stanley?”
“Stanley,” he confirmed. “Maya decided that was his name, so he’s called Stanley.”
I nodded slowly. “Does Stanley have a home?”
He nodded and made the give me motion with his hands. I tossed Stanley his way, and he caught his leg. Mason turned around and walked into the room across the hall, then tossed the doll across the room.
“Is that really how you should treat Stanley?” I asked.
“He landed on her bed. It’s fine.” He brushed it off with a wave of his hand and pushed his bedroom door closed. “I locked the front door and checked for your grandma.”