“But I will admit you’re hot as fuck,” Logan adds. “I wouldn’t mind those tree trunk legs wrapped around me, squeezing me like I’m a fucking walnut.”
Mercy’s not laughing anymore. “Okay, that’s enough. No more hitting on my boyfriend,” Merc says, stabbing the air with his spatula. “Mine, not yours.”
It’s my turn to laugh. Okay, I see some of the perks to this.
“So, like, do I need to make those eggs myself because I was serious about the butter thing and I’m bordering on hangry. If you think I’ve been bitchy since I’ve walked through the door, you’ve seen nothing.”
At least he knows he’s bitchy. And weird, he’s definitely anxious about the eggs.
“I’ll poach you some eggs, little brother,” Merc says.
“Do not call me that. We just met.”
Just met my ass. He acts like he’s lived here for a thousand years.
“Lo?” Merc asks. His need to have a fond nickname for everyone in his sphere is insatiable.
“I’ll accept Lo.”
I fetch the small pan to help Mercy and fill it with water all with one hand. I even have to squat low with a baby in my arms to dig the pan out of the back of the cupboard. That takes athletic skill I hope Logan notices.
“So,Lo, you here to stay?” I ask, leaning against the counter.Please say no. Please say no.
“Oh no you don’t. I didn’t say you could call me Lo.”
“But you said he could.”
“He’s my big brother,” Logan says and while he’s trying to be sarcastic, I detect a touch of genuine pride.
Merc does too. He’s over the fucking moon.
God is this kid strange though. He’s like a tiny ant fending off other larger insects with a sharp knife and a barbarous tongue while at the same time hoping they’ll invite him to tea. And if not, he’ll simply barge in for tea and make it himself while he lists for them their incompetence.
“To answer your question, I think I could be convinced to stay for a bit. You have room,Merc?”
The “Merc” is a touch mocking and I assume there’s something there. Maybe their Mom referred to Mercy as Merc? Maybe Merc signed off as Merc in emails to Logan? Maybe he got it from the internet?
“I always have room for family,” Mercy says. Logan relaxes as I fill with disappointment. “But I have rules.”
Yeah, he does! I should have known I could count on Mercy.
“Rules? What are they?”
Mercy turns off the burner he’d been cooking the fried eggs on and leans against the counter to face Logan while he waits for His Majesty’s water to boil so he can make him poached ones.
“One,” he counts off on his first finger. “House curfew is midnight. If you’re gonna be late, you text me or Jack.”
Logan rolls his eyes so hard he’s gonna sprain them if he keeps that up. “Fine, anything else?”
“Everyone is treated with respect and kindness in this house.”
“Well, that’s fucking arbitrary. Who decides that?”
“I do,” Merc says. “You seem like a smart cookie. I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly.”
“And what if I’m in violation of this rule?”
Mercy shrugs. “There’s plenty of stuff around here that needs cleaning with a toothbrush.”
