I did a quick turn and hoofed it to my house.

Once I got inside, I finished my text to Merry and hit send.

Ethan’s all good and you’re all kinds of sweet.

And that was no lie.

The second after I sent that, I went to my Contacts and found what I needed.

I put my phone to my ear and got Ryker’s voicemail.

I waited for the beep and shared, “My dickhead neighbor just asked me out. He took no for an answer, but that didn’t stop him from pushin’ it and bein’ chatty. Since it’s flyin’ through the ’burg, you gotta know Merry and me sorted things out. If you don’t want Merry breathin’ down your neck on this, or wadin’ in and committing felonies when the badass is unleashed, you need to do whatever it is you’re doin’ and you need to do it quick. My neighbor is watchin’, that watchin’ he’s doin’ is watchin’ me, and if Merry cottons on to that, all holy hell is gonna break loose.”

I got a beep to tell me I got a text before I finished my message, so when I was done, I went right there to see the text from Merry.

Late lunch. You and me. Frank’s. You good for 2:00?

I had early shifts that week.

But I’d go to the moon at any time he wanted to have lunch with Merry.

In other words, I was good with anything.

You’re on, I told him.

Text me with your order sometime between then and now. I’ll call it in before we go so you’ll get out in time.

He thought of everything.

Thanks, baby.

Anything, brown eyes.

I drew in a deep breath.

Yeah.

Fuck yeah.

I had a good thing.

* * * * *

Sit tight. Be smart. And don’t jack shit up.

That text was not from Merry.

That text was a poorly timed incoming from Ryker while I was sitting across from Merry at Frank’s with a breaded tenderloin sandwich in front of me.

Get a move on, but now, shut up. I’m with Merry, I returned.

“Who’s that?” Merry asked, lifting his Reuben and the inevitable happening, considering it was a Reuben à la Frank, shoved full of corned beef and sauerkraut, which meant a huge glob of it fell out before Merry even got it to his mouth.

I tossed my phone in my purse and ignored his question.

“You should know this, actually bein’ from the ’burg and all, but you gotta eat a Reuben à la Frank with a fork,” I educated him.

“Women eat sandwiches with forks,” he replied to me. “Men make a mess and don’t give a fuck.”

I couldn’t argue his point, so I didn’t. I took a bite of my sandwich.

I did it hoping Merry wouldn’t press me about who was texting me.

I also did it uncomfortable because I was no relationship expert, but one thing I did know: a surefire way to fuck one up was keeping something important from the other person. In fact, I was pretty sure keeping anything from the other person wasn’t a good thing.