Within a single hour, Milo managed to have an accident. The dog had an accident. While Garrett was cleaning up that mess, Milo got into the peanut butter and was hand-feeding it to the puppy. In that hour, Garrett decided he’d much rather face down enemy insurgents than an overactive toddler. The kid didn’t stop, ever. He looked sweet and innocent, and that was part of the con. Garrett had come to the conclusion that kids were demon spawn from some hellfire dimension.

And the dog was in on it. The two of them were evil cohorts. Their master plan? Drive him out of his ever-loving mind. He just prayed he could get things under some semblance of control here before Cora made it back home from work.

Speaking of Cora, it had taken damn near every ounce of control he possessed not to fuck her on the spot when she’d appeared with her tee shirt slipping off one delicate shoulder, her hair mussed. He’d wanted to muss it up some more.

He set Milo in his room to play while he cleaned puppy pee and Cheerios from the kitchen floor. Garrett found a mop, broom and dust pan, and had just finished cleaning when there was a knock on the door.

With mop in hand, he headed for the door and opened to find Spencer in jeans and a tee shirt. Spencer pulled his aviator sunglasses off and stared, brow raised at finding Garrett there.

“This is the second day in a row I’ve found you at my cousin’s house. Cora called, needing me to watch Milo but she’s not answering her phone. Where’s she at?”

“She’s at the gym already and I’m watching him. Shit, it’s quiet again. That’s not a good sign. Come in and help me the fuck out,” Garrett snapped. He set the mop down, leaning it against the kitchen counter. Then he headed up the stairs with Spencer on his heels.

He sighed when he entered the room; the kid and dog were sitting on the floor, reading. And then Milo lifted his head up to reveal, instead of his pale golden skin so similar to his mother’s, he had colored his face a bright, fire engine red.

“Sweet Jesus,” Garrett mumbled. Cora was going to kill him. He was a dead man walking. He spied the offending marker and prayed it wasn’t permanent.

Spencer barked out a laugh. “Dude, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“Me and Elmo, we’re twins,” Milo said, beaming, and held up the Sesame Street book he was reading. And yep, that was a rather apt description. The kid currently did have a similar complexion to the staring character.

“That’s really cool, bud, but how about you and me head into the bathroom and clean you up? That way you can look more like me,” Spencer offered, like he was a genie out to grant Milo’s dearest wishes.

At that Milo squealed and jumped up, causing the puppy to bark and pee on the floor—again.

“I’ve got this, if you’ve got Milo,” Garrett said, wanting to beat his head against the wall. How many times did a puppy need to pee? It wasn’t natural.

“Yeah, I’ve got him,” Spencer said, scooping up Milo. Elmo trailed behind the duo, leaving Garrett to clean up the potty accident. Again.

Garrett cleaned up the carpeting as best he could without a steam cleaner, making a mental note to have carpet cleaners sent this week to clean everything up more thoroughly. That was one thing he’d always been skilled at: paying other people to clean up the mess. That didn’t mean he didn’t work his ass off or get his hands dirty. But there were times when paying other people was easier.

Spencer was able to get most of the marker removed from Milo’s face, which had actually been Garrett’s bigger concern. Once everything was clean, they took the puppy outside to do his business and then headed back in for some lunch. Milo plowed through his noodles, apple slices and peanut butter crackers as if the whole thing had been a fun adventure.

Okay, he thought, kids weren’t the spawn of the devil. In fact, Milo was pretty great—when he wasn’t getting into a million things. But he definitely made Garrett regard Cora with a bit of awe. She did this every day, by herself, and had done since Milo’s birth. She wasn’t just a potential submissive, she was a goddamn superhero.

When lunch was finished, he put Thomas the Tank Engine on the television and sat next to Milo on the couch. Spencer sat on the opposite side of the kid. Not fifteen minutes into the show, which was causing his brain to want to bleed out into his toes, both boy and dog were sound asleep.

“How the hell do you know all this?” Garrett indicated with a nod toward the sleeping Milo.

Spencer shrugged. “I’ve dated a few women with kids.”

Wait, what? “But you never date,” Garrett sputtered, trying to keep his voice quiet.

Spencer smirked. “Says who? Just because I don’t parade my choices around at the club, doesn’t mean I don’t have them. There’s a reason I have my own private dungeon. Because if I didn’t then all you little bitches would trash talk and I wouldn’t want the blood on my hands after I wiped the floor with you. Not to mention, trying to get blood stains out of Armani is tricky business.”

“You’re such a girl sometimes. Yeah, well, in this, today, you saved my butt.”

“Not the first time. Sure as shit won’t be the last.”

“I owe you one.”

Spencer shrugged. “You get used to it. And once you figure out that most kids are driven by their id, it’s pretty simple to anticipate what to do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Because he was beginning to believe that his feelings toward Cora weren’t as simple as what he’d originally thought, or he would have already run for the hills. He didn’t want to claim her in front of the club just because he had the hots for her—which he did. She was fucking gorgeous and had proceeded to rock his fucking mind, and body, both times they’d been together. But he was beginning to suspect it went far deeper than that.

And that scared the holy hell out of him.