Page 104 of Hollow Heart

Which was also a gift along with the jeans.

His fingertips are light long my skin and he grins.

“Don’t apologize. I think it’s hot.” He flashes me a lusty grin.

“You think everything is hot,” I tease him.

“Just everything you do,” he says as he kisses me lightly, barely ghosting his lips against mine. His tongue flicks at my lip ring.

“Besides, you can make it up to me later, Daddy,” he teases, smacking me in the groin for added emphasis.

I curse as I force myself to think unsexy thoughts, following Felix back to the studio.

Bobby must really likethis kid.

For starters, I don’t know what seventeen year old wouldn’t be impressed by chicken saltimbocca, but Bobby has been a basketcase about the state of the prosciutto for the last ten minutes.

“It’s fine, I promise,” I reassure him as I stir thebechemelsauce for him.

He wouldn’t trust me to do anything else, he said.

“It’s over-seasoned.” He snuffs, just as the doorbell rings.

Bobby’s eyes widen, and I can see the nerves spike.

“Hey,” I say as implore his gaze. “I’m sure everything will go great, okay? Don’t worry.”

I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince myself or my kid, or perhaps both of us, but this is clearly important to him.

“I have to answer the door, Dad,” he says, blinking rapidly.

I nod, giving him permission to do so.

“Hey,” his entire voice changes the moment he opens that door. It’s not sarcastic, or annoyed, but soft.

Warm, and inviting.

The kid that steps into my house smiles warmly back at Bobby, then meets my gaze.

He’s tall, like Felix. Bobby’s not short by any means, but I would wager this Brendan has a good couple inches on Bobby, and by his frame and obvious muscles, he’s probably some sort of athlete, I’d guess.

“You must be Brendan,” I say, forcing a smile, even though I think I’m more nervous than Bobby.

Bobby seems to remember I’m here, because his shoulders tense.

I turn the burner off, wiping my hands on a towel before heading over to meet the kid face to face.

He looks at me with big, round blue eyes, his surfer blondish-brown hair glistening in the chandelier light.

“Nice to meet you Mr. McKay,” he replies, his deep voice like thunderstorm.

His handshake is firm, quick.

“Good handshake,” I say with a grin at Bobby, who looks like he’s reconsidering this whole event.

Dinner isn’t as awkward, and I channel my best supportive parent costume.

I serve them both and ask Brendan genuine questions. What he likes, what his plans are after graduating this year.

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