Mercer didn’t think he’d gotten that worked up since tenth grade, and he entertained some rather unprofessional fantasies about his new roommate-slash-boss-slash-landlady before going to sleep. Still, that was safer than actually implementing any of his dick’s many inspired ideas about what to do with the woman. He woke up confused about the exchange, but resolved to let it go. He’d never wasted much time overthinking a sexual encounter before, and this was the last situation that needed overthinking. She was too many things to him, without also adding “crush” to the list. He had plenty to worry about already, Delante first and foremost. He’d come under Mercer’s tutelage the way Mercer had come under Monty’s—grudgingly, shoved by a desperate mom at the end of her rope. That had been enough to get Mercer invested in the kid, but it took no time to realize Delante was special. A natural talent who thrived like a dying plant suddenly watered.
