I didn’t know whether to be thrilled to my soul my son was so happy or scared out of my mind that I would undoubtedly someday soon do something to fuck everything up with Merry and me, considering Ethan was in this deep with what Merry and me meant to his place in the middle-school-boy hierarchy.

Before I could make up my mind, Merry got right in there and made it worse.

“Even fearin’ spontaneous combustion, bud, you should know I got Netflix and Hulu. I also got the premium package that includes NFL Sunday Ticket.”

Ethan’s eyes went huge and he breathed, “NFL Sunday Ticket?”

“Yep,” Merry confirmed.

Breakfast forgotten, slowly, my kid swung his eyes my way.

Yeah, Merry just made it worse.

“Eat,” I ordered. “You’ll need as much fuel as you can get to rub it in to your friends how awesome you got it. But, just warnin’ you, I’ve been reconsiderin’ your diet. That might not mean broccoli, but I see vegetables in your future.” I looked to Merry. “That means yours too.”

“Mom!” Ethan cried.

“I like vegetables,” Merry muttered, and went back to his plate.

Ethan immediately stopped bitching and turned contemplative eyes to Merry.

At least there was that. I didn’t know if Merry’s proclamation that he liked vegetables would hold sway when Ethan was actually confronted with the real article. But at least it made him think.

“Eat,” I repeated my order. “Then you gotta wash up, get your shoes on, and get your stuff so you guys aren’t late.”

They ate, both my boys leaning against opposite counters in the kitchen of my boyfriend-of-two-weeks’ house where we were currently living.

Merry finished first and helped me do the dishes.

Ethan finished next, rinsed his own plate (the plastic kind you got in those sets at Target that cost nearly nothing, looked like shit, and felt like you were only one step up from eating off paper), and put it in the dishwasher.

Merry seriously had to learn the beauty of a yard sale.

“I’ll be back,” Ethan declared before he dashed to the bathroom in Merry’s hallway.

That was when I got in Merry’s space.

“Babe, gotta get my shoes and jacket,” he muttered even as he rested a hand on my hip.

“You do know you can never—not ever, not ever—break up with me now, no matter how I manage to fuck this up, because you just told my kid you have NFL Sunday Ticket,” I hissed.

First, Merry’s head jerked.

Then he stared down at me.

After that, both his arms closed around me so hard I slammed into his body and lost my breath as he busted out laughing.

I liked the sound. I liked the feel.

But I couldn’t breathe.

“Merry, you’re squeezing the breath out of me,” I gasped.

He instantly let me go. Then, just as instantly, both his hands framed either side of my head and his face was in mine.

“A spectacular early-morning fuck. A long shower. Damned fine eggs and toast. The promise of dude food, whatever the hell that is. And the first time I’ve laughed before eight o’clock in the morning since I can remember. Cherie, sweetheart, if this is you fuckin’ up, keep on doin’ it.”