“Be my guest. Just save me some hot water.”

“You could just join me, you know. That way you’d be sure to have hot water, and we’d conserve the world’s most precious resource.”

“You and I both know your idea of the world’s most precious resource might be a liquid, but it isn’t water.”

“Ooo, burn. Nice one.” I held my hand up for a high five, but all she did was flick it.

“Away to the shower with you.” She sniffed the air in my direction. “You reek.”

“Whatever. That’s all man you’re smelling. Might want to take note of that the next time Colt Mason shows up at your door smelling like eau de pussy.” That earned me a shove. And another when I didn’t head for the stairs. “Enough with the shoves already, pushy. No more.” She gave me a what are you going to do about it look. “Or else.”

She waved her hands in exaggerated terror at my threat. As far as threats went, “or else” was definitely one of my weaker ones. I was halfway up the stairs when I heard Josie follow me. “What was your plan, Garth? You weren’t planning on living out of your truck the rest of your life were you?” She was at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at me with curious eyes.

“I don’t know. You know me. I live life day to day, hour to hour. I’m not the guy with long-term goals or a five-year plan. I’m the kind of guy who lives for the moment.” I shrugged. “I’m sure if that truck had gotten cold enough, I would have figured something out. I just hadn’t gotten uncomfortable enough to make a change.”

Her eyes widened. “Garth, it was two below last night, and I found you with icicles practically growing out of your nose. That doesn’t make you uncomfortable enough to make a change?”

“Are you trying to say I’ve got the survival instincts of a wooly mammoth?” She was trying to say something; that was obvious.

“No, I’m trying to say I don’t think you know what’s good for you. I’m trying to say you wouldn’t know what was good for you if it fell out of the sky and squirmed around on your face. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

I grabbed the handrail. “Okay, this is all a little too much . . . psychoanalysis for one morning. I’m hitting the shower.”

“Have a nice shower. I hope it’s full of introspection.” She waved before heading into the kitchen.

I leaned over the handrail. “The most introspection that will be happening is me deciding whether to soap my junk clockwise or counterclockwise.” When Josie didn’t have an immediate comeback, I smiled and headed up the rest of the stairs.

“Haven’t you heard? Your junk has a reputation for not being discerning.”

I hated when she got in the last word.

I STARED AT myself in the mirror until the steam from the shower fogged it up. Again, not a vanity thing. It was a was-Josie-right? thing. Did I not have a clue what was good for me? I’d always believed I was one of the people who’d drawn the short straw in life. I’d accepted that fortune favored the few, and I wasn’t in that tight circle. I’d accepted life was a chore some days, a damn obstacle course other days, and out to get me most days. Could twenty-one years of waving my middle finger at social norms have given me a skewed sense of right and wrong? Of what was good and what was bad for me?

Instead of driving my fist into the mirror like I wanted to, I gripped the edges of the sink until my knuckles went white. Up until recently, I’d never questioned anything and everything. I had all the answers. Lately, I had exchanged all the answers for all the questions. I was drowning in an ocean of questions, and even though I knew the answers would eliminate the questions, I was afraid of what the answers would be. I was afraid the answers would do the opposite of set me at peace. So my options were to stay lost in a sea of questions or drown under the weight of the answers.

Yeah, I was fucked. I barely stopped my fist before it pounded through the mirror. Not even a second later, a different pounding sounded. It came from the bathroom door. “Yeah?”

“Unless you want to come out smelling like honeysuckle body wash—which you’re totally free to use, by the way—I brought you a bar of soap.”

With handful of words from Josie, my mood shifted to a few levels above depressed. “Thanks, Joze. You know how I hate honeysuckle.”

“I’m not doing this for you, Black. I’m doing this for your date tonight. I wouldn’t want her to crawl into bed with a man whose junk smelt like honeysuckle when she thought she was in for a wild night with Garth Black. That’s a way to crush a girl’s fantasies.”

“You’re so selfless.” I chuckled before wiping the steam from the mirror with my forearm. “Hey, Joze? You wouldn’t happen to have a blade I could use to shave my face, would you? I’m about to turn into Grizzly Adams.” I didn’t mind a little bit of scruff and, let’s face it, neither did the ladies, but there was scruff and there was the monster I was growing on my face.

“Um, yeah, I think so.” The doorknob twisted. “Are you decent?” That was a question I didn’t need to answer. “Never mind. Most obvious question ever. How about . . . are you clothed?”

I glanced down. “Mostly.”

“Given you said you were naked last night, but the opposite turned out to be true, I’m going to go with the same trend this morning and assume that you saying you’re mostly clothed means you’re bare-ass naked.”

The girl’s reasoning was solid, but trying to apply reason to me was a huge error. “There are no bare asses in view. I promise. Unfortunately.”

“You swear to god and hope to die?”

I smiled. That had been our favorite way to promise things as kids. “I’ll even stick a needle in my eye.”

“I’m trusting you, Black.” The door opened slowly before she slipped inside. Her eyes were sealed closed. “As much as trusting Garth Black is counterintuitive.”

I settled my backside on the ledge of the sink. “See? No bare asses in view since it’s sitting on your bathroom sink. Only bare fronts in view.” Josie’s face ironed out in shock before her eyes flashed open. Just as quickly, they narrowed on me. “Made you look.” I winked.

“You and those jeans.” She tossed the bar of soap at me. “You seem more like the guy who’d be waltzing around in his underwear every chance he got.”

I shrugged. “I probably would be, but that would require wearing underwear in the first place. Which I don’t. Which you might remember if . . .” Insert foot here.

Thankfully, Josie didn’t look as uncomfortable as I felt. “Even if I hadn’t been so drunk I couldn’t remember my name, I’d still repress that night into the darkest recesses of my mind.”

“You mean the Black recesses of your mind?” The words and smile I’d given her totally deserved a slap across the face, but instead she gave me a look that made me feel half a foot tall. Pulling open a drawer, she grabbed a razor and flashed it in front of my face. “Do I look like the kind of guy who uses a razor to shave my face? A pink one at that?”

“No, you look like a guy who doesn’t have a lot of options, and unless he wants to go into the rug-growing business, he’ll take what’s offered. With a smile and a thank you,” Josie finished with a sigh. “Besides, if you don’t use a razor like this, what do you use? An electric one? I think my mom still has the one she uses—”

I lifted my hand. I did not want Mrs. Gibson’s electric shaver—wherever she used that sucker—up against my face. “I use a straight-edge. I’ve got one in my truck, so I’ll just grab it and shave tomorrow.”

“A straight-edge? Isn’t that one of those things that can slice through a man’s neck with just a hint too much pressure?” I shrugged. “Seems a little barbaric given there are modern options and advancements.” She waved the pink razor at me again.