Talk

You guide Megan through the front door, the familiar scent of your house (eucalyptus candles and faint vanilla) wrapping around her like a hug. She drops her jacket on the entry bench and trails you into the kitchen, sliding onto a stool at the island while you pull out the good lasagna pan.

“Still want the old-school lasagna?” you ask, already reaching for the ricotta.

She nods, voice small. “Like when I was a kid, please.”

“Done.” You pour her a generous glass of Pinot, slide it across the marble. “Spill.”

Megan swirls the wine, takes a fortifying sip. “James has been cheating the whole time. That’s not even the worst part. Tonight he told me he got some eighteen-year-old knocked up and he’s staying with her because he ‘wants a family.’”

You snort, layering noodles. “He’s a walking dick with commitment issues. Not exactly a huge loss.”

She giggles through fresh tears. “Well… it was a huge loss in one department, but I get what you mean.”

You both laugh (the filthy, open kind only you two share). You’ve seen James’s dick on set. Perfectly average. His real talent is stamina and a pretty face.

You arch a brow, sliding the pan into the oven. “If the problem is size, I can fix that. Lasagna’s got forty-five minutes. Want me to call Marcus next door? Ten inches, thick, and he owes me a favor.”

Megan’s mouth actually drops open, cheeks flaming. “You’d… seriously?”

“Baby, I love nothing more than making sure my favorite girl is properly taken care of.” You already have your phone out, thumb hovering. “Say the word.”

She bites her lip, eyes flicking to the oven timer, then back to you. After a beat, she nods (shy, then eager).

You hit call.

Two minutes later the doorbell chimes. Marcus fills the doorway (six-five, shoulders like a linebacker, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants and a knowing grin).

“Ladies,” he rumbles, stepping inside. “Heard someone needs cheering up.”

Megan’s blush deepens, but she doesn’t look away. You close the door behind him, set the oven timer on your phone, and lean against the counter with a satisfied smile.

“Dinner in forty. Bedroom’s upstairs. Make her forget that boy’s name.”