“Crock-Pot is a verb?” he teased.

“It is now,” I told him.

“Can you top Steph’s chicken?” he asked with more than mild curiosity.

I could not. I knew one Crock-Pot recipe.

Plans for that day: Troll the Internet to find kickass Crock-Pot recipes.

“Not yet, but I will,” I answered.

He was grinning but said through it, “We got a problem.”

Problem?

There were no problems.

Another day had dawned where I wanted Deke.

And Deke wanted me.

And we were together.

There was no room for problems.

I felt the frown form between my eyes. “What problem?”

“When you’re bein’ cute, I wanna fuck you. Since you’re cute all the time, this means I wanna fuck you all the time. This is a problem ’cause, when I settle in for the winter, I work and I work hard so I got money to hit the road when that time comes. And I can’t earn if I’m not workin’ and instead constantly fucking you.”

I took this as good news, not a problem at all since I liked that he thought I was cute and I wanted him to want to fuck me all the time since he just had to breathe for me to want to fuck him.

To communicate that last part, I slid a hand up his back and pushed closer. “I think Max is the kinda guy who understands delayed start for morning nookie.”

I actually did think this, though I had no idea if it was true. But if my theory was correct, that these mountain men had libidos that matched their good looks, his was as out the roof as Deke’s. So I figured he’d not only understand that, he’d champion it.

Deke dipped his face closer and it had that soft look, that look I’d seen before. That look that right in that moment I knew I’d understand whenever he gave it to me. Which meant it was a look I treasured for more than one reason, because it meant I was cracking the nut that was Deke.

That look being the look Deke gave me when he was going to do something he didn’t want to do. That being communicate he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted.

“And I think that Max takes me on every time I come home,” he said in a voice as soft as his look. “He pays good. He throws a shit ton of work my way. And he’s been cool about all that’s gone down, Jussy. But the bottom line of that is, I work for him. You bein’ in a situation, he’s gonna get. You bein’ out of that situation, comin’ out of it as my woman, he’s not gonna be feelin’ a lot of love that I’m bangin’ the client and not gettin’ work done.”

I curled a hand around the side of his neck.

“Although I would prefer a delayed start, you’re right.” I grinned at him. “And you getting work done means me closer to having a kitchen where I can do more than kick the shit out of a Crock-Pot.”

Deke grinned back at me, his arms tightened around me and I took his cue.

I lifted up on my toes as he dropped his head toward mine.

And he kissed me, as soft as his look, but wet, so also hot, and since he couldn’t give me what I wanted—morning nookie—he gave me something else.

A long, soft, wet, hot kiss with Deke in nothing but a towel and me wearing no shirt but having the key to his trailer tucked in my bra.

It wasn’t as fabulous as an orgasm from Deke.

But it was still a kiss I’d never forget.

* * * * *

Deke was alone upstairs with the paint sprayer, no help today.

But they’d finished the entire downstairs and one side of the upstairs yesterday. I’d eventually timed it, and not including setting up the sprayer, or cleaning it after, it took them all of nine minutes to spray an entire room.

Nine minutes.

That was it.

Awesome.

Deke at work, I wandered out to my deck, lit the fire pit and settled in with my phone.

It was early October, definitely chilly, but I was warm inside.

Warm inside because of what had happened last night. Because of Deke knowing “Chain Link” was written for him and how he’d reacted to that. And because Deke had shared with me his plans for the rest of his time working alone at my house.

This being, after he finished spraying the paint, he was going to lay the floors in my study, then hang the doors, finish off the outlets, put in the light fixture, install the baseboards—in other words, complete that room.

“Gettin’ cold, Jussy,” he’d said in his truck on the drive to my house. “Cold in the mountains can mean anything, including snow. You need a warm space to hang. Get that study done, you contact your designer today. Tell her to send the shit you ordered for that room. Boys’ll be with me on Monday, work’ll go a lot quicker. But you still got a few weeks before the majority of space is livable. You got another room, you can be inside, choice of change of scenery, close the door, you’re all good.”

That was Deke. Even in ways I didn’t consider, he did and he looked out for me.

So I settled in beside my fire pit that Deke gave me, put my feet up on the edge so the pit toasted the bottoms of my cowboy boots, and I texted my designer that she could send the stuff for the study whenever she was ready.

Then I did what I’d been meaning to do for a couple of days.

I called Joss.

Surprisingly, since my mom was always busy, she answered on the first ring.

And she answered with, “Good timing. I’m at a photoshoot with Kenzie Elise, a woman who’s decided to embrace the nonexistent rock chick within in the hopes of reinventing herself…again. A woman who also works my last nerve. And her manager gives me the serious creeps. So I’m not looking forward to today but I am looking forward to telling her she’s gotta wait while I take an important call from my daughter seeing as it’s high time you share with me all your Chain Link’s talents.”