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.
“’Night, brown eyes,” he murmured.
“’Night, Merry,” she replied.
He turned and pushed out the storm door. Once out, he twisted to see her in it, watching him go.
He gave her a look.
She rolled her eyes and did what his look told her to do. She locked the storm, stepped back, closed the front door, and he heard that lock go.
Only then did Garrett start down the walk.
Instinct made his head turn.
When he did, he saw the guy he’d seen the night he’d come to take Cher on their first date. He was standing in his drive, leaned over a car that was running, arms on the roof of the car, attention to the driver’s side window.
Two men were in the souped-up muscle car. Nissan GT-R.
Big-ticket car for that ’hood.
And a late-night discussion in the cold.
The man could be saying good-bye to friends who were leaving after coming over and having a few beers.
But it didn’t look like that and Garrett had been a cop a long time, so he knew it wasn’t that.
And he didn’t like the feeling his gut told him it was.
Garrett kept watching as he made his way to his truck at the curb.
The guy must have felt eyes on him because he lifted his head.
There was eye contact through the dark and Garrett didn’t break it.
The guy did when he pushed back, looked down, said something to the driver, slapped his hand on the roof, and moved away from the GT.
Garrett beeped his locks, rounded the hood, opened his door, and swung into his truck.
He took his time with firing up his vehicle and putting it in drive.
The GT backed out.
Garrett memorized its plate.
Cher’s neighbor stayed in his driveway like he was planted there. The GT was pulling away and the guy didn’t move.