Garrett concentrated on guiding his truck down her street.

He thinks you’re gonna make me happy.

When he didn’t reply immediately, she kept babbling.

“I typed it in, but I figure I don’t get any points for that. When you came over, I thought I’d fucked up and sent it myself. I was gonna say somethin’ about that, but then you got pissed as shit at Walter Jones and ended that with your hand down my pants. My attention got diverted. But I’m tellin’ you now, straight away, so you know.”

My attention got diverted.

He stopped at the stop sign at the end of her street, flicking on his blinker.

But even though the way was clear, he didn’t turn.

“Garrett?” she called.

My ten-year-old kid had to have the balls for me.

“Merry,” she whispered, the brusque out of her tone. She sounded scared.

At that sound, he shoved the truck in park and was just able to get that done before he burst out laughing.

He turned to her while doing it, hit the button on her seatbelt, and heard through his laughter her low, surprised cry as it zipped back right before she let out another one when he hauled her ass in his lap.

He managed to fight back the laughter just enough to lay one on her. He made it deep, he made it wet, and because she tasted good and she’d wound her arms tight around his shoulders, pressing her tits deep, he made it long.

When he finally released her mouth, he moved away only an inch and asked, “Is it too soon for me to put aside money for your kid’s college education in order to thank him for helpin’ me drag his mother’s head outta her ass?”

He watched through the shadows as her face, soft from his kiss, screwed up with irritation.

He liked the soft.

But Cher irritated was cute and he liked that too.

“Yes,” she snapped.

“Then I’ll just have to give him a handshake and slip him a hundred dollar bill next time I see him.”

“He got into trouble for that, Merry. You cannot give him money,” she returned.

“Then when he suddenly has the cake to buy a couple new video games, just sayin’ now, he didn’t get it from me.”

“This isn’t funny,” she retorted. “The ends don’t justify his means.”

“Cherie, sweetheart, your time was up. I was givin’ you a week. It was Wednesday. It was a week. I’m pleased as fuck you apologized, you meant to send it or you didn’t. But it wouldn’t matter. You’d be in that fucking amazing dress in my truck on the way to dinner with me, Ethan sent that text or not.”

Her brow furrowed. “You were givin’ me a week?”

“You told me, you got somethin’ worth fightin’ for, you fight for it. You don’t sit on your ass and wait for it to come to you.”

He actually felt her draw in a huge breath.