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She reaches her arms out. “Lift me?”
I check with Jack to make sure that’s okay. I doubt Merc wants me carting his little sister around. At the same time, the look on his face will be priceless. Jack shrugs and nods. “Yeah, he won’t love it,” he says, reading my mind, “but he won’t say no to her for that.”
Lifting her is easy. She’s light as a marshmallow. “What’s your name?” she asks.
“Rhett.”
“Spin me, Rhett.”
I spin us around and the skirt of her dress flares. She giggles and then squirms to get down. “That was fun. C’mon Theo, let’s go play.”
Theo inches his way down Jack and the pair of them take off, creating another symphony of ruckus as they head off into the other room. “You might as well come in. His Royal Highness is still getting ready.”
“He is? How long does it take to put on a suit?”
Jack’s eyes flick to the ground and back to me. I’ve known the man for too many years. “What’s he doing?”
“I … don’t know. Look, will yah just come inside? I’m sure I can find you a nice scotch or something.”
“I’m driving.”
“That’s okay, I was lying about the scotch—we don’t keep scotch here.” He laughs. “But when Merc comes to grill yah, say more things like that. He’s, uh, he’s protective generally, but it’s a different kind of protective with Lo.”
Striding in, I don’t bother taking off my designer Prada shoes. The space opens to the kitchen. “It’s just two men having dinner together and it’s not a real date,” I remind him.
Jack winces. “Maybe say less things like that.”
I frown. “Jack.”
He bites his lip. My scolding tone still has the same effect on him it always did and that’s heartening.
“We all know the deal. There are no misunderstandings, but what we know intellectually and what we feel inside don’t always line up.” He sighs. “Logan has shit going on we’re only beginning to comprehend, and Merc’s all kinds of worried about him. We think this is his first date, like, ever—and yeah, I know it’s fake, but it’s still a date. Ya feel me?”
Hmmm. I’m mostly a cut-and-dry person. There’s little gray area for me. I love you or hate you. I do something with every fiber of my being or not at all. I’m fake dating Logan and so it’s fake. The end. But I’m going to fake date the hell out of him because it needs to look real.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I’d like to understand, but I don’t think I do. If it helps, I’ll be treating him with the utmost respect.”
“That helps.”
Mercy saunters into the kitchen and he’s good at acting like he doesn’t give a fuck that I’m here, I’ll give him that, but there’s no way it can be true. In his arms is their little bundle of annoyance. He’s got a lot of hair. Are babies supposed to have that much hair?
Jack’s eyes do a double light up—for Mercy and for the babe. My heart squeezes. He was glad to see me, but not like that and I ache with missing him even though he’s right here.
“Can I have him, Merc? You stole him from me, and I hardly got to see him at all,” Jack says, already reaching for the human furball.
Mercy hands the baby over with a fond kiss on Jack’s forehead. “You were up with him all night, babe.” That would explain Jack’s tired lines. “And then you had him all through lunch with your dads.”
“You think I got to hold him when I was with Dads? Nooooo. They took him. When I tried to take him back from the captain, I thought I was going to lose my hand. Dad had to assure him I’d be back. By the way, I’m going over there Friday. You’re welcome to come, babe.”
After that little scene of domestic perfection, they fucking stare as if they’re seeing each other for the first time. I might as well not be in the room. Does Jack even remember he’s holding a baby?
I’m about to clear my throat. Instead, we’re interrupted by theclick-clickof heels against what looks like real hardwood flooring.
Logan strides into the room.
He’s not wearing what I sent for him. Not exactly. He might be wearing the button-up shirt underneath, but it’s not on him properly. It isn’t tucked in. The tails are out and hanging down the front of a black skirt that has a long slit up the thigh, showing off one of his luscious skater’s legs. The blazer of the three-thousand-dollar Cesare is also used creatively. One of the sleeves has been cut and sewn so that it hugs his small but shapely biceps. The other isn’t there at all, leaving his toned arm bare.
That’s not all. His eyes are lined with inky black eyeliner and his lips with red lipstick. No other makeup as far as I can tell, but that’s all he needs. His complexion is already perfect. He’s somehow managed to pull off designer meets biker without dimming one ounce of his prickly scorpion persona.
