“Take it we got a ten-year-old for ride-along this afternoon,” he remarked.
“If that’s gonna be a problem for you—” Garrett started.
Mike shook his head. “Ethan’s a good kid. We’re in doin’ paperwork, so he’s not stopping us from doin’ shit we need to do. And not like he hasn’t hung with the guys before.”
That was true. It hadn’t happened often, but on occasion over the years when Cher needed him because there was no one else to help, Colt had brought Ethan in.
Garrett looked across the room.
Colt was sitting at his desk, grinning at something Sully was saying, Sully sitting across from him.
She hadn’t asked Colt.
She’d asked Garrett.
That felt great.
And it made him uneasy.
“Kid’s a good kid,” Mike said, and the change in his tone caught Garrett’s attention. “Woman’s a good woman. I believe in you, brother. Sittin’ across from me is a man who hasn’t had it all. A man who thought he did and lost it but learned different. Who’s watched his friends make poor decisions and bounce back. Who now has a shot at gettin’ it all and is old enough not to be stupid.”
That meant a lot, coming from Mike.
But Garrett wasn’t going to share that.
Instead, he grinned and gave him shit.
“You should be a therapist, Mike. Open your own clinic. Call it ‘Don’t Be a Dumb Fuck Treatment Center.’”
Mike grinned back, returning, “You bein’ my first client, thinkin’ of adding, ‘How Not to Be a Smartass.’”
“That might be a tougher addiction to kick,” Garrett told him.
“You might be right. Though, this line of work, run into a lot more dumb fucks than smartasses.”
“Truth,” Garrett muttered.
Mike’s phone on his desk rang.
He turned his attention to it, so Garrett quickly called, “Yo.”
Still going for the phone, Mike’s gaze swung back to him.
“Thanks, brother,” Garrett said low.
Mike lifted his chin.
Then he answered his phone.
* * * * *
Late that night, standing at her door, Cher in his arms, Garrett broke the kiss that had started five minutes ago as a good-night kiss and became a make out session.
He caught her eyes through her half-mast lids and whispered, “Late, baby. Gotta get home. Let you get to bed.”
Her hands slid down from his hair to rest on his chest as her lips went slightly pouty.
It was cute.
But it was more sweet, her pout saying she didn’t want him to leave.
“Okay,” she muttered but didn’t move out of his arms.
“You dropping Ethan at his friend’s at five thirty tomorrow?” Garrett asked.
She stayed in his arms and nodded.
“Be here at six to take you to dinner. Be prepared to spend the night at my place,” he ordered.
She grinned in a way that was not cute or sweet but something a fuckuva lot different.
Before that grin made him hard, he gave her a squeeze and said, “It was a good night, baby.”
She continued to look into his eyes as she pressed closer. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed, because it was.
Ethan was a good kid. Ethan liked him. And Cher had not been wrong. He’d soaked in guy time, man talk, and he didn’t hide the pride he felt having Garrett around and showing him off to his bud.
It did not suck.
It felt fucking great.
Which, at the same time in his fucked-up head, was fucking terrifying.
Because if he fucked this up, it wouldn’t be fucking over Cher, which was bad enough.
It would be fucking them both.
Again, he powered past that feeling and offered, “You need me anytime to step in with Ethan, if I can do it, I’m there.”
Cher didn’t respond except to drift a hand up his chest to wrap it around the side of his neck and rub her thumb gently along the column of his throat.
That said something, though.
And her eyes said something too.
They were warm and happy.
He put that there. He gave her that.
And that felt fucking great too.
Just as it was downright terrifying.
He focused on her look.
He focused on her touch.
He focused on her soft body pressed to his.
He focused on the night he had with her boy, which moved on to a night spent with her, her boy, and his friend.
He focused on how he and Ethan and Cher were getting comfortable with each other. How Garrett liked the way she teased her kid. How he liked the way Ethan’s friend looked at Cher like he wished he was twenty-five years older and could slide a ring on her finger. How natural it was for her to balance having her man there with giving her son and his bud their kid time, all this while giving Garrett attention, Ethan attention, and ribbing Teddy, giving him attention.
And focusing on all that, he reminded himself not to be a dumb fuck.
Finally, she spoke.
“I think, you’re down with it, we should discuss another waffle morning. Maybe next weekend,” she suggested.
He gave her another squeeze. “You’re good with that, you think Ethan’s good with that, we’ll do that.”
She pressed closer and smiled.
He dipped his head and kissed her again. Another good-night kiss that turned into a five-minute make out session.
With effort, he ended it, touched his lips to her jaw, lifted one hand so he could slide his fingers along where he’d touched his mouth, and let her go.