Too tired to make conversation, I sit at the kitchen table while the coffee brews and shove a cookie in my mouth while he looks around as if he’s apartment shopping, opening cupboards and closet doors. “How many children live here?” he asks once he discovers the plethora of child paraphernalia squeezed into every spare crevice.
“Just this one full-time. But three more part-time.”
“Yuck. I’m never having one of … those,” he decides on, staring at Stanley with horror and disgust.
“Yeah, well no one asked you. Coffee’s ready if you want some.”
Pretending I’m a good host, I get up and pour him a mug. I also pour two more. One for me and one for Merc who, chances are, didn’t fall back to sleep and needs an injection of liquid adrenaline stat.
“What is this?” he says lifting a cookie up to the light to investigate. He wrinkles his nose. “I can’t eat this shit.” He chucks it back to the plate and a spray of crumbs hits the table.
I take a moment to envision the lovely picture of my two hands encircling his skinny neck. My hands are big enough with his neck small enough that I could have a solid strangling grip. But no. He’s Merc’s family and therefore safe from my wrath.
“We’ll go out for breakfast,” I promise him because I now plan on telling Merc to take his heathen brother far away from here. I’ll eat these delicious cookies made by the Keebler Elves. Who doesn’t like Elf cookies?
“But I’m hungry now,” he says, accepting the coffee and drinking it black like a psychopath.
Thank God Mercy makes his way into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his right hand. He’s dressed in a pair of sweats and a gray t-shirt and even in just that he’s hot as sin. Fuck, I wanna lick him up and down until he’s moaning his face off.
He freezes when he sees who I’m sitting at the kitchen table with and figures it out immediately.
“You owe me a thousand dollars,” he informs Logan. “Jack, go put some fucking pants on.Now.”
Logan’s brows raise at me. He wasn’t expecting Merc to be so … Merc. “You two into some kinky shit or something?” he asks me as if we’ve suddenly become friends in the past ten minutes.
“What? No. How is telling me to put my pantsonkinky?”
“That’s too bad, ‘cuz you’re hot and I’d definitely be into sharing you with—”
Mercy’s across the room, grabbing his wayward brother by the scruff of the neck, moving him far away from me, while Logan cackles away. “All right. That’s enough.”
I’m, like, ninety percent sure he’s just fucking with Merc, but there was a touch of lust in his eyes.
“Also a shirt, Jack,” Merc adds, probably noting that lust.
I bring my coffee mug and our baby with me to the bedroom. He’s on the cusp of fussing. He’ll probably need food soon. Once I’m dressed, I only consider hiding up here until he’s gone, but I have the unfortunate feeling he won’t be leaving.
At least my boyfriend is all authoritative and domineering. He’ll kick his ass to the right place.
Downstairs, the smells of melted butter and onions fill the kitchen. Merc is behind the stove making breakfast. When he sees me, he reaches for the bottle that was warming in some hot water on the counter and hands it to me for our fussing boy. Our fingers graze, only a ghosting of touch, but a wash of warm tingles waves down my hand and up my arm.
“Thanks, babe,” I say, able to pop the nipple past Stanley’s lips while leaning in for a kiss and drinking in the sight of him. Yeah. This is it for me. If I’m gonna be sleep-deprived with anyone, it’s gonna be with Merc.
“Blech. Sweet mother of God you two are so gross.”
Okay, I’ve had about enough of him. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Someday, you’ll find your someone to be gross in front of others with,” I say, affecting my dad in perfect imitation. I remember how annoyed I’d get when he’d say that to me before I did find my someone to be gross in front of others with. Now that I see the appeal, it’s only getting five-star reviews from me.
He crosses his arms. “Also, I hope you have the ability to poach eggs for me. I can’t have all that butter. Some of us are high-level athletes.”
Well, that’s just offensive. If the wind blows too hard, this guy will fall over. I spend three long periods getting beat nearly to death while trying to get small hunk of vulcanized rubber past a giant man who’s padded to the teeth. It’s way harder than prancing around on skates in something that’s been stapled with a bedazzler too many times.
“I guess if you don’t consider playing in the NHL athletic.” Not gonna lie. I’m hoping for a slow clap on that one. Bender pulled through and got me a killer contract with New York. I’ll be starting at eight million a year.
I know, right? I’m rich now. I got a healthy advance too.
“A hockey player? In other words, a gorilla on a pair of skates. All you’re good for is destroying my ice before I glide onto it.”
Fucking Mercy, chuckling at that one under his damn breath.
