Page 62 of Perfect Playbook

“Mijo, turn off the iPad now and focus on your breakfast. You need to get out the door in fifteen minutes. Papá Luis willbe here soon.”

“It’s soggy.” He lifts his spoon and lets sloppy cereal plop back down in a sea of milk.

“That’s because you were watching cartoons instead of eating. You need to focus when you have cereal or it gets soggy.”

It’s my fault for not reminding him. For letting my mind wander. For being in a haze.

But one thing I can’t stand is food waste, so he’ll have to suck it up. “Baby. You just need to eat it. You need your energy for the day.”

“It’s yucky,” he protests, tapping his spoon into the bowl and making a sloppy sound, that I admit, doesn’t sound particularly appetizing.

And so it begins. A morning food war.

I glance into his bowl. “Looks like only five bites of torture left in there.” I try a joke to lighten the mood, but Antonio’s face is gloomy.

Just then, Logan’s footsteps come down the hall. When he comes around the corner, I nearly lose my shit. He has no shirt on, no socks, and a pair of gray sweatpants with… no boxers. It’s downright sinful. His skin is the perfect shade of golden, and I try to convince myself his hue is from a bottle because manicured men are a turn-off. But my gaze trails down his six-pack and settle on a naughty, sizable bulge, and I know… absolutelynothingabout Logan is a turn-off.

My nipples are instantly hard. I cross my arms. “Morning.”

He combs his fingers through wet hair then scratches his flawless taut skin just above the waistline of his pants. The gesture attracts my gaze down to the ridges of his hip bones, the slung cotton fabric and the outline of a thick, juicy…

“Let me get you a coffee.” I spin around and step to his fancy machine. “What do you take?”

“Thanks. Just black.”

I open the drawer of perfectly organized coffee pods. “You have this fancy machine and you drink black coffee?”

“You can take the boy out of the ranch but not the ranch out of the boy.”

I smile to myself, absolutely loving that answer way too much. I take up andoriginalpod and place it in the machine.

A chair rumbles across the floor behind me. Thank the Lord he is going to sit and hide his indecency.

He speaks to my son. “My dad used to say if you can’t drink coffee black, you shouldn’t drink it at all.”

I flip on the machine. It whirrs. “My mom used to say you just shouldn’t drink coffee at all.” The small cup fills quickly. “She said bitterness is a sign of the Devil.”

His laugh rushes over my shoulder. The mug finishes filling, and I hand him his drink. It’s easier to face him now that his cock lines aren’t on display.

“What are you eating?” he asks Nino.

“Slop,” he complains, still putting up resistance to finishing his breakfast.

“You’re going to finish that cereal,” I say, meaning it. I hate throwing out food. We grew up with very little, so to me, it’s a deadly sin.

Logan peeks in the bowl. “Oooh. I love slop.” He snorts dramatically.

Nino giggles.

Logan changes his voice to sound like what I presume is his pig impression.Snort.Snort. “Feed me, boy.”

Antonio is amused and scoops a spoonful up to Logan’s mouth, which he chews then says in his pig voice, “Deeelicious.”He takes the spoon from Nino’s hand. “Come on, piggy, try some.”

Nino snorts. Giggles. Then opens his mouth and Logan feeds him the slop. Nino chews loudly, with his mouth open, because how else would a pig eat?

Suddenly my son finds the food irresistible. “Yummy.”

I roll my eyes. Of course it’s yummy for someone else. And of course it’s easy for Logan to saunter in with fresh energy and new ideas when he’s not a parent day in and day out. When he didn’t swap a mattress for a few rogue pillows on the carpet in the middle of the night because a kid kept kicking him.

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