Page 84 of Game On

Neither of which he owned, so... yeah.

He upended his suitcase, then Jamie’s, finding nothing good enough for the occasion. He had time to go shopping before brunch, right?

“Did you lose something?”

Wearing nothing but very fitted—and very plain—dark blue slacks, he whirled toward the doorway. Niall stood with a coffee cup in hand, eyeing the pile of clothes on the bed with concerned amusement.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” Dorian blurted.

Again, Niall eyed the clothes.

“I don’t have anything appropriate to wear, because it’s just occurred to me that I use my clothes as a way to get people to pay attention to me. Which says a lot about how I grew up, doesn’t it? So all I have are things most people would never wear, or if they did wear them, it’d be out to a club or a social function and not a family brunch in Kelowna. I want your parents to like me. How can I do that with a shirt that looks like someone spilled milk over half of it?”

“My parents would love you even if you wore a burlap sack to brunch,” said Jamie’s calm voice as he approached behind Niall.

“Oh,” Dorian wheezed. “You heard that. Fantastic.” He flopped back onto the bed, landing half on and half off the pile of clothes, which was both graceless and uncomfortable.

He heard Jamie whisper a very amused, “I’ve got this.” The door closed and Jamie climbed on top of him a moment later, straddling his lap. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved white Henley, and while normally Dorian would be contemplating the best way to get him out of both, now he eyed the Henley with interest. “Can I borrow your shirt?”

“No.”

Dorian pouted. “Just as well, I guess. It’d be too big for me. Make me look like I was wearing my older brother’s clothes.”

Jamie braced his palms next to Dorian’s head and leaned down, putting their faces only inches apart. “If you’re not ready to meet my parents, Dori, that’s okay. We can skip brunch. I’m sorry if I pressured you.”

“No, I do want to meet them.” And he did. Mostly because he was curious about how two people had raised eight emotionally healthy kids while his own parents hadn’t managed three. “I just don’t want to meet them wearing that.” He pulled the spilled-milk shirt closer from where it had somehow landed on top of the clothes pile.

“Okay.” Jamie sat up. “What about this one, then?” He held out a short-sleeved, collared black shirt in crocheted cotton. “I’m surprised you own something this tame, to be honest.”

Dorian twisted his lips. “I suppose that’ll work.”

“You don’t have to be nervous about meeting them.”

“I’m not nervous. People like me.” He was quite proud of how convincing he sounded.

“I know that.” Jamie raised an eyebrow. “But do you?”

Or maybe not so convincing.

“Wha—”

“Your boss obviously thinks very highly of you.” Jamie took one of his hands and twined their fingers together. “Charlie and Brawsiski. Coach Shore. All your aunts, uncles, and cousins that I met at Shore family brunch last week. The vendors working with you on your subscription box. Your sister.”

“Adriana?” Dorian snorted. “I don’t think so.”

“Didn’t you say she came to the main floor every day last week when I was away?”

“Yeah, because she needed the kettle, and she had treats for Pop?—”

“Those were just excuses, baby,” Jamie said softly. “She came up to see you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Ye—” Jamie huffed. “She flew all the way out here to ask you—in person—to attend her grand opening. She could’ve just picked up the phone.”

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