Chapter 13 #2
Mercer’s house was so plain it bordered on invisible—not shabby, just… temporary, like a rental nobody loved enough to claim.
I slipped the driver some extra cash to encourage patience, then stepped out onto the curb.
Remembering the way Mercer’s gaze had skated over me at our dinner and how many times I’d made him blush, I’d put effort into my outfit.
He’d seen me undressed often enough, but as the saying went, the clothes make the man.
Today, I planned on making the man sweat while he watched my ass in this skirt.
Halfway up the sidewalk, it struck me that Mercer might not live alone. I hadn’t seen a wedding band or heard mention of anyone special in his life, but there was always the chance I’d be met by a wife, a partner, or even kids.
If so, I’d hand off the paperwork and bail as smoothly as I could. Wander the block. Or plant myself at the curb and hope the Uber looped back before the neighbors noticed.
But the closer I got, the more the place gave itself away. No welcome mat, no flowers, nothing to suggest concern for curb appeal. Just bare steps and a front door that looked like it hadn’t seen a wreath in its life.
Definitely a bachelor pad.
Even with that reassurance, my stomach knotted as my Uber rolled down the street and then turned out of sight.
Reaching the porch, I pressed the doorbell and considered how I should stand. Arms crossed? Too defensive. Hip cocked? Too flirtatious.
In the end, I clasped my hands behind my back and curled my tail around one thigh with its tip pointing like an arrow down my leg.
The deadbolt clicked over, the door creaked inward, and Mercer peeked out. His eyes narrowed then widened, and his cheeks stained with the faint blush I’d come to savor.
“Morning, Mercy,” I greeted.
He glanced down to check his watch. It was a heavy-duty thing—tactical, black, and studded with buttons. Very Swiss Army. Very cute.
“Is it still morning?” he asked, visibly bewildered.
“Not all of us are out here chasing six-packs before sunrise.” I freed a hand to poke at his stomach. Half excuse, half experiment. Unsurprisingly, he was solid under his shirt, just like I’d felt when clinging to him on the bike. Not much give in that gut.
I tipped my head and smiled, trying to coax out another blush. “So, are you gonna invite me in, or are we doing this on the porch?”
He blanched. “Doing what?”
His concern tempted the devil in me, and my smile spread. “Invite me in and find out.”
Mercer dashed a glance over his shoulder, and my worries about a wife and kids flared. Barely a moment passed before he stepped back and swung the door wide. “All right.”
I trotted in, letting my tail slither loose and drag across his waist as I passed.
And I took in the sights, which were far less fantastic than I’d hoped.
The living room was a study in beige—builder-basic and bare-bones. It housed a nearly new sofa and chairs, but the cushions looked stiff and the seats uninviting. There were no throw pillows, no blanket laid out, no evidence that a human lived here at all.
The walls were equally devoid of personality, no photos, no art, and the shelves were empty, save for dust. The windows had no curtains, just blinds pulled up halfway to admit square beams of sun.
I glanced back at where Mercer hovered beside the front door.
“Cozy,” I quipped.
His mouth bent in a grimace. “I uh… just moved back. Haven’t had time to do much with the place.” His hand raked over the back of his neck.
“Mm.” I hummed and drifted farther in with my tail trailing lazily behind me.
The carpet was too clean and the tables too bare. Emptiness everywhere I looked.
After a thorough inspection of the space, my attention returned to Mercer and his paper-thin excuse.
“Where’d you move back from?” I asked.
His eyes flicked away. “Iraq.”
“How long ago?”
“Almost a year now.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” he deflected, already bracing.
“Why’d you come back?”
His shoulders stiffened. “It wasn’t my choice.”
I let that sit, studying him in the silence. There was more to tell, but he had that cagey look, the one he’d worn after claiming he “used to be” a Marine. I looked him over, not bothering to hide my intrigue until he squirmed and turned aside.
“Why are you here?” he demanded, gruff to mask his discomfort. “You said you’d show me if I let you in, but so far—”
“Club Daddy mentioned you were looking for this.” I waved the envelope.
“Club who?” Mercer frowned but took the papers from me anyway. The second he peered inside, his face drained.
“There’s a check in there too,” I added lightly. “Figured you might be a little pressed for cash since that show of generosity the other night.”
“Oh, yeah. I was… looking for this, yeah.” He cleared his throat then glanced toward the window and the sunny street outside. “You brought it all the way out here? Why didn’t you just wait for tonight? And how’d you find my house?”
I smirked. “Infernal intuition. Like Spidey-sense but hotter.”
His stunned look was worth the joke.
“Your address was on your résumé,” I said with a shrug.
The strain on his face relaxed, and he looked almost amused. “Well, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
He glanced past the breakfast nook into the kitchen and seemed to wrestle with himself before asking, “Have you had lunch?”
“You mean breakfast?” I teased.
“I mean a meal. Today. Are you hungry?”
I pressed my hand to my stomach and smirked when his eyes tracked the gesture. “Frankly, I’m starved. Cabbage steaks have zero staying power.”
His brow furrowed. “Cabbage steaks?”
“Ask Ozzy. He’s been on a veggie kick since Zephyr…” I waved it off with a smile. “It’s sweet, really. I just miss putting meat in my mouth.”
Mercer coughed into his fist, and his ears went pink as he turned aside.
I snickered, pleased at having rattled him.
He retreated to the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and rummaged through its drawers. “I have some cold cuts?” he called over. “I could make sandwiches.”
The offer, plain as it was, hit me sideways, but I kept my tone light as I padded after him.
“Are you gonna feed me, Mercy?”
My clients wouldn’t dream of slapping turkey on white bread and calling it a meal. They were too far above such simple things, and they assumed I was the same. But sometimes I craved ordinary. Sometimes I was desperate for a chance to step off the stage for a while.
Mercer didn’t answer, still bent into the fridge, but as I drew nearer, my gaze snagged on something pinned to the otherwise spotless steel door. A photograph secured by a lone magnet.
A little girl with soft brown hair and Mercer’s eyes stared out at me. She was familiar. Not just because she looked so much like the man currently sharing air with me but because I’d seen her before. At Mammon’s Mile, in the comic book store.
My breath caught as the next wave of banter died on my tongue.
Mercer shut the fridge and turned with lunchmeat in hand. His expression sharpened when he caught mine. “Is something wrong?”
I pointed at the photo. “I’ve met her.”