“I got him,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”

“Give me gooey before you go,” he ordered, still kinda slurred, sleepy, but definitely cute and hot.

I changed from my pajama bottoms and cami into a bra, jeans, sweater, socks, and boots.

Then I made my way to my man in the bed.

He didn’t move as I put my hand on his hip and leaned in to brush my lips against the stubble of his jaw.

But he did mumble, “Naked when you get back in bed with me.”

Oh yeah.

I could do that.

“Right,” I whispered. “Be back.”

“Later, baby,” he told the pillow, rubbed his face in it and turned his head the other way.

Yeah, again.

Cute.

I did my thing with my kid, making sure he brushed his teeth, was dressed appropriately, had layers just in case the weather changed, and all he needed packed for a cabin-in-the-middle-of-nowhere sleepover. I also made sure he had Brendon’s card and present, and I got a breakfast bar down him.

The last was likely unnecessary. Brendon’s parents had money. For his weekend-long birthday extravaganza in some woods somewhere fishing that had to start at oh-dark-thirty, no doubt they had a catered breakfast buffet waiting at their house.

If it was me, I’d have two dozen Hilligoss donuts. But considering they felt their son’s diet should consist of more than sugar and chemically enhanced colors and flavoring, I figured they probably hadn’t had a donut in their house since…well, they bought their house.

Which was too bad. If they had them, I could have swiped a few for Merry and me.

Instead, I decided to swing by Hilligoss on the way back.

My kid and I got in my car. I took him to Brendon’s. I walked him through the early morning dark to the big house on the Heritage, the ’burg’s fancy-ass housing development.

Brendon’s parents asked me in.

To my shock, they had Hilligoss. Not two dozen. Five. Brendon’s parents did not provide this blessing. Brendon’s uncle did.

They offered me coffee and a donut. I only accepted the donut. When I mentioned Merry, Brendon’s mom packed four for me (probably hoping to get them out of her house as fast as possible). Obviously, I didn’t hesitate to accept.

I made sure I had phone numbers for Brendon’s parents and the other two guys who were going with them to look after the boys.

One number was Brendon’s uncle, the one who brought the donuts. He was also the one I noted with the attention of a woman who had it good at home (which meant absently) was on the upper scale of seriously good-looking. Not to mention he had a strong hint of badass to him, which made me wonder (also absently) what he did for a living.

Brendon’s mom walked me to the door, saying, “Ethan says you’re seeing someone.”

I turned my head to look at her.

We weren’t buds.

She was nice and all, but she lived on the Heritage. She was a stay-at-home mom. She went to yoga classes. She didn’t shop in Indy; she went up to Chicago to get the really good shit. But she did go to Indy to drink martinis (probably—I didn’t know this for sure, I just knew she never came to J&J’s).