“Smith, I am going to …” I’m about to tell him his toothbrush is going in the garbage, or maybe the toilet if I’m feeling particularly saucy, when I see something sparkle on the handle of it. “You’re going to what?” I hear his deep voice behind me, and when I look back, he’s leaning smugly against the doorjamb with his arms folded over his very sexy, very defined pecs.
