“Though, the promise, brown eyes? Sweet.” Now Merry was muttering.

“Glad you think so.”

He drove.

I sat in his truck, grinning.

“Cher?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an overachiever too.”

I felt my chest depress.

I turned my eyes to him.

He was also grinning.

“Fuck,” I groused.

“What?” he asked.

“Making you happy makes me even happier.”

“You say that like it’s bad.”

“It is.”

He glanced again at me then back at the road, his brows drawn, his face dark. “How is that bad?”

“Because it means you’re always one-upping me on the happy. I can’t make you happy without you making me happier because I’m making you happy. It’s a vicious cycle where you’re always on top. And that’s bad.”

“I know some times when you’re on top that make me a fuckuva lot happier than you are.”

His words and the memories they invoked gave me a nice shiver.

And experiencing that, I shared, “I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Trust me, baby. When you ride me, I watch you come, but I feel what you give to me.”

“I feel what you give to me too.”

“You come harder on your back. That’s when I’m givin’ it to you. When you’re on top, you’re givin’ it to me.”

This was definitely true.

“So there are times when you’re on top with the happy in more ways than one,” he finished.

I faced forward again, mumbling, “That makes me feel better.”

Merry reached out and nabbed my hand, holding it.

And more happy.

“Glad I could be of service,” he murmured.

“Stop being perfect,” I ordered.

He chuckled.

“And awesome,” I went on.

He kept chucking.

“And funny, smart, sweet, and hot,” I finished.

His hand squeezed mine hard as he burst out laughing.

And there it was.

I was on top.

* * * * *

“Is there something I can do, Cher?”

A bunch of people were stuffed in my kitchen with me, one of them being Rocky, who’d just asked that question.

It was time for cake.

But it was also a birthday party with fifteen kids and twice that many adults paying homage to my boy for being awesome (and turning eleven), so there was always something to do.

“Yeah, babe. Can you grab the ice cream?” I asked, unearthing R2-D2 from his flat, white box.

“Absolutely,” she murmured, pushing her way to the fridge.

I felt a hand warm on the small of my back as I saw another hand offering me two boxes of candles, one box of blue, one black.

“Need a light?” Merry’s voice rumbled into my ear.

I twisted to look up to him. “Yeah, gorgeous. And can you grab the plates and forks and get everyone in the living room?”

His hand slid down to the top of my ass, fingers curved around my hip, and gave a squeeze. “You got it.”

He dropped the candles on the counter by the cake, dug in his jeans pocket, pulled out a lighter, and tossed that on the counter too. Then he bent and kissed my neck briefly before he took off.