“Hey, don’t I get points for guessing the snow thing right?”
“You get points.” Doesn’t matter though. It’s not happening.
“But it’s just my luck her wife was hurt at work, and she needed to drop the kids off so she could take her to the hospital. She promised to pick them up as soon as they were done, but you know what the hospital wait times are like. She could be there all night.”
I recall what he said about people not meeting his family, so I doubt he wants me coming by though it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask. “Bummer. I had some fun stuff planned myself,” I say, forgetting that Dad’s in the room.
Since he can see that I’m fine, his head bobs a knowing nod, and he leaves to give me privacy.
“What did you have planned, trouble?”
“There was a lot of my mouth on your dick. All I’m gonna say.”
“Dammit, Jack.” He’s quiet for two heartbeats. “Would you be interested in a night with three munchkins and a very sorry guy you fuck more than once? They do eventually sleep and then we could at least partake in your plans.”
“I could come over to…?” I trail off barely able to believe he’s inviting me to his house. I was there the one time, but this is way different now. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m there.”
“Can’t pick you up, which is a fucking shame.”
“I’ll Uber.” Someone would drive me if I asked, but Ubering feels more adult.
“Okay, bring all your energy. You’re gonna need it.”
Chapter17
Hopeless for You
Mercy’s Log
MERCY
This was supposed to be a journal about my hockey adventures. At some point, it transformed into a long letter to you. Or maybe it’s my confessional. Or maybe it’s my last words as me, the Mercy Meyer who didn’t love you because going forward, Jack, no matter where you are in the world, the only Mercy who’ll ever exist is the one who is hopeless for you.
* * *
What am I doing? Inviting Leslie here is the worst idea I’ve had yet because he’ll be in my house. Again. I’ll forever have to look about my house and remember the areas where he stood when he’s off marrying Rhett on the first colony of Mars.
I’ve already planned out what I’m sending them as a wedding gift. A puppy. It will be too adorable for Jack to give up and it will forever ruin vacationing for Rhett because Jack won’t want to leave him in a kennel, and they’ll have to rely on pet sitters—much harder to get commitment from a pet sitter for more than a week.
Was I thinking with my dick when I invited him over? Not even. That would have been understandable, but it was as good an excuse as any to get him here, otherwise, I can’t imagine a twenty-four-year-old man would want to spend his only night off before we fly back with a five, a six, and an eight-year-old.
The doorbell rings, which means it’s too late for a cowardly text telling him not to bother. I don’t even look as nice as I had wanted to. I’m in my baggiest jeans. My black t-shirt has ketchup soaking the front.
When I open the door and Jack’s smiling on the other side of it, none of that shit matters. He’s not wearing his ball cap. He did his hair. It looks fucking amazing, but how am I gonna run my hands through it without ruining it? Answer is, I’m not. It’s getting ruined at some point tonight. “Hey, Merc.”
Theo—in my arms—is delighted to have company. “Helloooouuu!” he says diving for Jack. “New person!”
He hasn’t grasped the concept of stranger danger yet.
Jack’s pro-level reflexes catch the falling Theo before his head hits the ground. He settles Theo on his torso who reaches out with a syrup-soaked hand, pressing it against Jack’s face and fascinating himself with peeling it off and then watching it stick again.
Jack laughs. Thank fuck he’s a hockey player and used to much grosser shit than that.
“Sorry. We’re having breakfast for dinner by the way.”
“You like pancakes?” Theo asks.
“Love ’em. You got bacon too?”
