It’s weird. I’m starting to actually enjoy Carey and Hunter’s company. Ever since they decided to stop being assholes, they’ve been pretty cool—kind of smart, super funny, and pretty interesting, too. Which means I don’t mind being left alone with them anymore.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m okay with Carter being gone all the time. That still bothers me. But it could be worse. If his sons had decided to stay assholes, for example.

They don’t run from the room as soon as I walk in anymore. We eat together and watch movies, or I watch them kill people and do other illegal things…in video games, of course.

I feel like they’re happier, too. More relaxed. Which definitely helps Carey open up to me, even though I still think it would make more sense for him to see a therapist who isn’t dating his father. But whatever. It seems to be helping them.

It gets to be so good that when the boys go away to football camp, I even start feeling a little lonely. Especially because Carter’s off to New York—again. And I can’t help but wonder where this is taking us.

During the week, I work way too much, turning to work when there’s nowhere else to go to. No reason to go home. It’s sad but true. I’m so lonely that I’m actually excited to go pick the boys up from the bus station at the end of the week.

In fact, I have my little pink car waiting for them at the pick-up spot a whole fifteen minutes early. I watch the bus pull into the parking lot, and the doors open, letting teenage boys spill out. They bump fists and pat each other on the shoulder by way of goodbye. It’s super cute. But as each boy starts walking toward his parents, there’s a noticeable change. It’s obvious in each of them. After a week of fun and camaraderie, they don’t want to go home.

Hunter and Carey aren’t quite the same as the others, probably because they get to go home and live with one of their friends. As they approach my car, they’re joking, as usual. Carey punches Hunter’s shoulder, and Hunter raises his fist in a mock punch. Boys. Seriously.

“Hey, Mac!” they call out happily, as they stuff their bags in the tiny trunk.

“Hey,” I say. As they climb into the car, I ask in a mockingly strict voice, “Have you two been good boys?”

Hunter grins, and Carey calls from the back seat, “Hey, you know us, Mac!”

“So you haven’t,” I say with a smile, buckling my seatbelt.

“Wow, that’s how little faith you have in us?” he protests.

“Oh, you rascals.”

“Rascals?” Carey laughs. “Man, you’re really showing your age! Who talks like that?”

“Only grannies,” Hunter chimes in.

“Hey!” I shout. “That was out of line! Okay, you asked for it. Now I’m gonna sing “How You Remind Me” the whole way home. So there.” I turn on the player, and right on cue, Nickelback blasts from the speakers.

“Turn it off!” they both scream, and I ignore them as I calmly begin singing along—really out of tune, obviously, and just really badly all around.

Hunter moves to turn off the radio, but I bravely smash his hand aside. He gives me a surprised look before a diabolical spark appears in his eyes.

That can’t be good.

“Mac…” His voice is suddenly low.

I look at him. “What? No… Whatever you’re thinking…”

He grins. “Oh, yes, you should be afraid. Be very afraid.”

“It’s just Nickelback!” I screech.

But before I can react, he reaches for the radio again, deftly grabbing my hands with his and holding them hostage in his strong grip. With me helplessly bound up, he fiddles with the knobs until we hear rock, some band I don’t know.

Then I have a stroke of genius. “Owww!” I wail.

Hunter looks confused and releases my hands. “I’m sorry! What—”

My hand darts out and switches the radio back to Nickelback. “Ha!” I yell triumphantly. “Gotcha!” And I cheerfully sing along as I start the car. Hunter shakes his head, admitting defeat, and I wonder if he’s impressed.

“Hey, Mac, can we go for burgers?” Carey asks.

“Of course. Haven’t you seen the size of my ass?”

He just laughs, but Hunter mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Yeah, and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

I glance at him, but as usual, he’s wearing his poker face. The guy could be a statue.

In the drive-thru, the boys order a pile of food. I guess, huge as they are, they have to eat a lot, but their order almost exceeds the capacity of my little car.

Back at home, we sit on the couch to eat. “So,” I say, unwrapping a burger, “tell me about it…”

“What do you want to know?” Carey asks through a mouthful, revealing chewed-up bits of burger.

I bite into mine and reply with a full mouth, “Well, how was it?”

Carey grins, takes another bite, as if trying to upstage my full mouth, and says, “Fucking awesome!”

I stuff even more in my mouth. “Oh, yeah, well what do you think of this?” I’m about to challenge him to a contest, but the contents of my mouth threaten to land on the table, and I have to clamp my mouth shut.

Both boys burst out laughing, but Carey just took a sip of Coke, and it comes shooting out his nostrils. “You are so gross!” he squeals, wiping his nose.

“Me?” I protest, laughing hysterically.

“You two are such freaks!” Hunter observes.

And, ladies and gentlemen, I have nothing to say in my defense.

It’s like a smile has been stapled to my face. It’s so nice to have them back. Really nice.

As we settle down again and return to our burgers in a more civilized manner, I ask, “So what are your plans for the last week of summer break?”

Hunter shrugs. “Same old, same old.”

“Hanging out?”

“Eating my weight in burgers,” Carey says.

“I think you’ve already done that this summer,” I shoot back. How did these puppies ever manage to scare me? They’re fun. That’s all there is to it.

He opens his eyes wide. “Are you calling me a fat ass?”

I smile. “If the shoe fits.”

“Wow, I’m never sharing my food with you again!” He pulls his fries away just as I’m about to grab one.

“Hey!”

“Apologize!”

“What for?”

“You hurt my feelings.” He gives me an exaggerated pout.

“Give me the fries, and nobody gets hurt.”

Carey and Hunter both smile. Because we all know, really, what power do I have against them? I’d probably land in the pool.

“Apologize,” Carey sings, waving the fries back and forth.

“Fine. Sorry.”

“Now make me believe it.”

Laughing, I bow low in front of him. “I am so sorry—”

Hunter noisily sucks in air in a strangled gasp. When I look at him to see why, his eyes are on my breasts, which are about to slip out of my top in this position. Shit. I pop upright again.

* * *

I spend the last few days of summer chilling at the pool at Brittany’s apartment. It’s up on the roof, and everyone in the building can use it, but most don’t. I guess they prefer the beach. Brittany, on the other hand, has an intense aversion to sand. She hates it because it gets everywhere—in her eyes, ears, belly button, and her ass crack. She can’t stand that. Whenever I talk about sex on the beach, she threatens to put me in a psychiatric ward.

“How’s your love life?” I ask one day as we’re laying out by the pool.

“Let me remind you that I’m waiting for Hunter,” she says.

Ever since she saw him at the mall, she can’t stop talking about how sexy he is. I mean, sure, he’s good-looking, but he’s seventeen, for God’s sake! I’d feel like a pedophile if I had the hots for him. Brittany, however, has no such scruples.

“Make sure Carter doesn’t hear you say that.”

She waves me off. “I don’t think he’d have a problem with his son dating an older woman. I mean, he’s dating a much younger one, so…”

“Quod licet Iovi, non licet bovi,” I retort.

“Oh, no Latin, please!”

I laugh. “At least you recognized the language this time.”

She smiles. “I know exactly what you said. ‘A blind chicken’—”

“You are crazy, girl. It means what is permissible to Jove is not permissible to an ox.”

“Are you calling me an ox?”

“If the shoe fits.”

She laughs and throws an ice cube at me. “Anyway, I’m not a blind chicken. I can see Hunter’s…ahem…youthful appeal.”

“You’re making me ill.”

“Come on, Mac! Young men are great! They have no idea what they’re doing, but they can keep doing it for hours.”

“Brit, seriously. I can’t keep listening to your pedophile ramblings. You’re talking about Carter’s son, for God’s sake!”

She gives me an irritated look. “Finding a seventeen-year-old hot does not make me a pedophile. I said I’d wait till he’s eighteen.”

She’s surprised by my harsh reaction. And I am, too. But something deep inside me rebels against the idea of Brittany with Hunter. I feel responsible for the boys. I’m not their mother, and I never will be, but I care about them. I don’t want them to get hurt. And ever since that day on the rage mountain, there’s been a kind of bond between us.

“He’s Carter’s son,” I repeat. “There are lots of hot guys out there. Go find yourself another, please.”

“But he’s so tall. Mmm. And he’s got those beautiful, lean muscles. And those eyes! Like liquid chocolate. Can you imagine what it must be like to have him look at you with those eyes, full of desire, like he wants to eat you right there and then?”

Suddenly I’m back in the hallway when I caught him with Liza. When he reached inside his boxers and rubbed his penis. The look in his eyes then…

I shake my head, more to chase the thought away than to protest what Brit said, but I guess it’s two birds with one stone.

“Are you seriously trying to tell me you don’t think his eyes are amazingly beautiful?” she asks incredulously.

“Sure, Brit, he has beautiful eyes, but that doesn’t mean I want to imagine him devouring me.”

“He’s not supposed to devour you. He’s supposed to devour me,” she corrects. “And besides, it would be really messed up if you fucked Carter and then proceeded to fuck his son.”

I frown. “That’s not all that weird. I’m sure it happens all the time.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Ew! It would be like incest!”

“Incest is when you’re related to someone,” I correct her.

“Hey, your sex life is none of my business.”

“Oh, you drive me crazy!”

She laughs. “I know. But seriously, would you want your boyfriend to fuck your mother?”

“The man would have to be a necrophiliac for that.”

Brit waves her hands in front of her, annoyed. “Theoretically speaking! I mean, I’d find it creepy if you were fucking Carter and Hunter.”

“I do not intend to fuck Hunter!” I remind her angrily.

She looks at me triumphantly. “Ergo, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t fuck him.”

“Your logic is flawed,” I say. “There are plenty of reasons.”

“Never mind that. What matters is, I’m going to get it on with Hunter on his eighteenth birthday. When is it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I’ll find out,” she says, giving me a look that makes it obvious she’s thinking about something. Something hot. “Have you ever imagined what it would be like to fuck him?”

“No!” I yell. “He’s my boyfriend’s son! He could be five years old for all I care.”

“Thank God he isn’t. I don’t know if I could wait for him for thirteen years.”

“I give up.”

She smiles. “Do you think Brittany Tilman sounds nice?”

“You’re out of your mind.” So why am I her friend?

“Maybe. Maybe not,” she mumbles, reaching over to pour me another margarita, and suddenly I remember why.

By midnight, I’m totally drunk. I can’t very well drive home, so I call the house, since Carter’s actually in town for once.

But it’s Hunter who picks up. “Mac?” he asks incredulously.

“Yup.” I hiccup. “Carter?”

“Dad had to go into the office.” He pauses. “Are you drunk?”

I giggle. “Drunk. Funny word.”

“Where are you? Do you need a ride?”

“Brit’s. Funny girl.”

“Okay, I’m coming to pick you up. Stay there.”

I hang up and turn to face Brit, who doesn’t exactly look sober, either. “Downstairs,” I say. “Picking me up.”

“Okay.” But her eyes won’t even focus on me, and she walks straight to her bedroom. Maybe I should have mentioned Hunter’s picking me up. That would have gotten a reaction out of her.

Down in the lobby, I wait for my personal driver. He knocks at the locked front doors, and I stumble over. “Hi!” I say, and pinch his cheeks. I take three steps outside and stumble.

He catches me, his face as incredulous as his voice was on the phone.

“I’m fine,” I say, slurring my words as I straighten. I take a few more steps and stumble again. “Goddamn heels.” Holding on to the side of the building, I try to take off my pumps but end up falling over. Once again, he catches me.

“Mac, you’re so drunk!” he says, shaking his head. He picks me up and carries me to the car, somehow managing to open the door without putting me down. After sliding me into the seat, he buckles me up, his arm pressing against my breasts.

Then he carefully closes the door and gets in on the driver’s side. As soon as he pulls away from the curb, my stomach starts sloshing around. “So sick,” I whine. “Never gonna drink again.”

He laughs quietly. “I bet you’ve said that a hundred times before.”

“But this time”—I hiccup—“I mean it.”

“I’ll remind you that you said that the next time this happens.”

“Ha!” I call out, raising my index finger, which almost stabs Hunter in the eye. “There won’t be a next time!”

“Careful with pointy objects!” Smiling, he catches my hand, interlacing our fingers and letting them fall to his thigh. I stare at them, trying to wonder what my proper reaction to this should be.

But then I fall asleep.

I wake up as Hunter carries me up the stairs. We must be home. I can hear Carey’s voice, and he’s talking about painting someone’s face. As soon as Hunter puts me down, I jump up—realize I’m in my bed—and run to the bathroom to throw up.

Hunter comes after me, holds my hair back, and hands me a wet towel. Then he disappears for a few minutes and returns with a bottle of water from the kitchen. I don’t know how many times I kneel in front of the toilet bowl that night, but I do know I don’t spend a second in my bed.

Hunter gets me a blanket, and I fall asleep with my head on his thigh on the bathroom floor.

* * *

When I wake up, my head hurts, and, for the first time, I have no memory whatsoever of what happened late last night. I know Hunter was going to pick me up from Brit’s. And I guess he must have, because I’m at home. But what happened after that? I have no idea.

It’s disturbing not being able to remember whole chunks of my night, but I do know nothing bad could have happened, because Hunter was there to watch out for me. I’m positive about that. But in a different situation, a lot of stuff could have happened. I should be more careful. Me, of all people, should know better.

Groaning, I roll out of bed, look down, and notice I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes. I change into yoga pants and a T-shirt, moaning from the headache. Slowly and painfully, I make my way downstairs. I can hear voices in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Carey says with too much fervor.

“Too loud!” I mumble. Why is it so damn bright in here?

He laughs and puts an arm around my shoulders. “Hungover?”

I free myself from his clutch and go grab a bottle of water. I gulp down half of it in one go. God, I’m thirsty!

“You should really be a better role model for us!” Carey says. I know he’s joking, but he’s actually right. I really shouldn’t get this drunk living in a house with two minors.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. I look over at Hunter, who’s leaning against the counter. “Thanks for saving my ass.”

“Any time, doll.” Carey laughs, but I get the impression Hunter isn’t joking. He means it.

“He really did save your ass,” Carey calls out much too loudly. “I was going to paint your face.”

His voice pierces my skull. “Thanks.”

Laughing, he hands me a cup of coffee. And despite his screeching, I suddenly really love him. “Where’s your dad?” I ask.

“He had to go to New York,” Hunter says. “It was urgent. He said he’d call you.”

“For how long?” I ask, a bit annoyed.

Hunter shrugs. “A week or so?”

“So, speaking of Dad being gone, we wanted to talk to you,” Carey says, looking at me with big, puppy-dog eyes. “School starts tomorrow.”

“I’m aware,” I grumble. “Do you need me to hold your hand and walk you in?”

He rolls his eyes. “Very funny, Mac. No. We just…” He looks nervously at his brother. “We want to throw a little back-to-school party tomorrow night.”

“That’s a Monday night,” I point out.

“Yeah.”

“It’s a school night.”

“When you were in high school, were you bullied for these astute observations?” Hunter smiles. “Captain Obvious?”

I give him a dark look. “Well, what did your dad say?”

Carey, the little heartbreaker, puts his arm around me, all affection, and looks at me with imploring blue eyes. “He’s left us in your capable hands, Mac. So, we thought—”

“Oh, no,” I say, shrugging his arm off me.

“Come on, Mac!” he says, giving me a bright smile.

I shake my head. “I know what your parties are like.”

Hunter smiles at me, too, like innocence personified. “That was not a normal party. We know what happened then was wrong. And it was amazing, what you did for that girl.”

“Oh, cut it out!” I snap, and he laughs.

“Mac—”

“No way.”

Hunter’s chocolate-brown eyes—damn you, Brittany!—catch my gaze and hold it. “Doll—”

“No!” God, I hate that nickname!

But still. They’re both standing next to me, looking at me so nicely, smiling so sweetly… I can feel my defenses crumbling. I can’t give in. Then they’ll just keep me there in the palm of their hands… Now, I must not cave…

“No alcohol.” I’ve said it before I even think it. And they know they’ve won before I do.

Triumphant smiles break out on both their faces.

“You know it’s not a party without beer,” Hunter says, gearing up for the next battle.

“I can’t let you serve liquor.”

Carey’s smile is a little diabolical as he says, “Why don’t you spend tomorrow night at Brittany’s and just be blissfully unaware of what’s happening here?”

I frown. “So that’s your plan, is it?”

“It’s not like we don’t want you around,” Hunter adds. “We just thought it’d be easier on your conscience that way…”

“Oh, you’re worried about my conscience now?”

He laughs, and Carey puts his arms around me again. “Sweet Mac—”

“Oh, stop it!”

He plants a kiss on my cheek and repeats, “Sweet, sweet Mac…”

I roll my eyes, annoyed that I’m such a sucker. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Carey calls out, pumping a fist in the air. Hunter holds up a hand, and Carey gives him a high five.

“I can’t stand you guys,” I mutter.

Their answer is laughter. Then they start bustling about, getting ready for their little project. Emotionally drained, I sink down on a stool. What have I done?