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“Gah, now take four!”
I sigh and try my best to keep my laugh quiet. The boy is serious about his videos on his YouTube channel, which he titled The Legit Life. In a way, it scares me, but he has enough personality for the two of us, it keeps him busy, and none of his info—including his name—is public, which gives me a little relief. I’m letting him have his outlet while monitoring it like a hawk. There’s a whole hell of a lot more he could be discovering instead of reviewing games, and other vlogger’s videos. So, like the old married couple we are, I’ve compromised. My son, though not quite six, is very much the man of the house.
Due to his arrival and unbelievably early skill set, I’ve never been in much need of a handyman. And I have no idea where he got it, but the boy is my own personal superhero. He can hook up anything with the word ‘smart’ attached to it in a matter of minutes. He’s taught me more in his near six short years than any other human I’ve ever met. He’s smart in a way that scares me and far more advanced than I can grapple with.
Once I’ve swept up my lamp, I resume my seat in the chair just as a soft tap sounds on my front door. I know exactly who it is.
I open it with my hip hitched and both hands on my side.
“Troy.” My greeting is anything but friendly.
Towering over me, his ‘I just ate the canary’ smile is dazzling, and I want nothing more than to wipe it off his face. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw your spill from the street.”
“I’m fine, unannounced neighbor.”
He leans in, all six-foot-four inches of man steel, his coppery blond hair soaked in sweat, his T-shirt riding high on his bicep.
“Haven’t had a girl fall for me that fast in some time. I’m flatt—”
The door is shut and locked before he can finish his sentence, but I hear his muted chuckle on the other side just as Dante comes out from his bedroom. “Who was that?”
Satan? My arch-nemesis? The living, breathing reason women stereotype?
“Just the mailman.”
“No, it wasn’t. It was Troy.”
“Fine, it was Troy. He heard the lamp break, and he was checking on me. Ready to eat?”
Dante walks past me and opens the door.
“Hey, Troy!”
“Dante, no!”
Troy turns back, amused by the address of his son and jogs over to where Dante stands, his arms crossed. Out of breath, Troy leans in close, his hands on his knees to lessen the difference in height. “Yeah, buddy, what’s up?”
“I’m the man of this house. If you want to know if my Mommy’s okay, you ask me.” Troy’s smile slips, just as Dante slams the door in his face for the second time.
I widen my eyes, mortified. “Dante!”
“You always whisper to Parker, ‘monkey see, monkey do.’ Well, I’m your monkey.”
Shit. Round one million, point Dante.
Troy
Scrubbing my jaw, I step back from the front door as Kevin howls with laughter behind me.
“Damn, dude! That kid is off the chain!”
“Tell me ‘bout it,” I mutter as I take the steps down from the porch, defeated.
“Is she as hot up close as she looked standing from here?”
I glare at him as he lifts the bulk of my mattress from the yard.
“Don’t even think about it.”
