Page 98 of Heartbreak Hockey

“V-Valentine’s Day?”

“Yeah. The day you tell your someone special they mean the world to you.”

“What if he doesn’t do Valentine’s Day and then I look like a moron because I did?”

“Jesus, Mercy. Sometimes you’re my wise older brother and other times I wonder if you’re still in the fifth grade.”

I pick up a disgusting pile of boxers that fell between the couches. No idea how long they’ve been there. Both black. I can’t know whose is whose without investigating so I make the executive decision to chuck them both in the laundry bin. “Okay, fair. Being in love is all about making myself a fool for him. But what if it scares him off?”

Being boyfriends may have been his idea, but how serious is this relationship to him?

“You know what I’m gonna say to that, dude, but I’ll say it anyway. If you’re worried you’ll scare yourboyfriendoff by doing something nice for him then maybe you shouldn’t be boyfriends.”

We left takeaway containers of Chinese food on the counter for … too many days. How long has this shit been fermenting here? Maybe we should do something other than fuck. No, that’s a preposterous idea. We can do other things as well as fuck, like clean the damn condo.

“Fine then, what if he just doesn’t like Valentine’s Day?”

“You sure you’re not the one who doesn’t like Valentine’s Day?”

There’s a knock on my door. “Sorry, can’t answer that. Gotta go.”

“Get him a damn present—”

I hang up on my poor sister. Jack doesn’t wait until I’ve told him to come in to enter. I’m riled about the Valentine’s Day thing and this landfill that used to be my condo. “Oh, good. You’re here. Come over here and disinfect this counter.”

He shuts the door behind him. “Jeez, Merc. Hello to you too.”

“Your bare ass was on this counter. Food’s supposed to go here.”

“Dude, you put my bare ass on that count—” I pin him with a glare. “Um, where did you say the disinfectant was?”

I shove it at him and continue my Tasmanian Devil style whirlwind around the condo until I’m satisfied that it’s a condo again and not Jake Peralta’s desk drawer. Jack helps. Mostly. He’s been on his phone too, laughing and smirking at it. I’m so fucking tempted to walk over and shove my dick into his smirking mouth—Jack would love the shit out of that, and it doesn’t help that he’s currently scrubbing the floor on his hands and knees—but then we’d never get this done.

When he’s done with the floor, he declares himself done generally and flops onto the couch, watching me pull stuff out of the fridge. We should probably eat before we bone again because I plan on doing that. Watching him work has me worked up in a new way and it would serve to get my mind off the other thing.

“Hey, Merc. For Valentine’s Day, I was thinking we Netflix and Chill and you lick chocolate off my body. How’s that sound?”

Too fucking suspicious. “Have you been talking to my sister?”

He looks away whistling.

“How did you get my sister’s number?”

“Well, I may have exchanged numbers with Lorelei.”

“Lorelei is six and doesn’t have a cell phone.”

“That’s right, but she does have Bea’s number memorized and that’s what she gave me. I didn’t know that at first. I assumed it was some kind of family phone—we had one when my brothers and I were younger—and sent her a text thanking her for the fun time. Bea answered.”

“Bea failed to relay this information to me.”

“Well, we don’t text a ton or anything, just once in a while. Probably not even worth mentioning.”

I bet. Sounds more like my sister’s way of making sure I don’t fuck this up is translating Merc speak to Jack.

Slinging himself off the couch, he makes his way over to the kitchen and leans across the counter, staring up at me with big green eyes. For this man, I can be a fool.

“Wanna be my Valentine?” I say.