I’m prepping dinner—thought I’d make shepherd’s pie—when Cam walks into the kitchen wearing a T-shirt and gray sweatpants, which outline his cock perfectly—it has to be intentional. The sweatpants aren’t what kills me. It’s when he sidles up next to me and flips his baseball cap backward to help with food prep. I’m an absolute slut for a backward ballcap. I press my lips together and close my eyes, gathering my strength. We stand in uncomfortable silence, save for the chopping of our knives.
