Page 32 of Glitter

“Right. Well.”

I forgot trying to hide anything as Dusti gripped the hem of my t-shirt and stripped it off over his head. But my elation that this was leading where I hoped it was, was dashed as Dusti commented, “You’re going to need that,” tossing the shirt in my direction. He moved toward the half-open door of his closet, yanking it all of the way open as he said, “We need to get dressed.”

Did I groan?

I must’ve made some sort of noise of disappointment because he added, “If you think Mom isn’t going to pop her curious, nosy self back over here if we don’t show up at the big house for pancakes within the next 5 minutes or so, you should think again. Because she will. And I’d really like for both of us to have some sort of clothing on before I subject you to her again.”

He rummaged around in his closet for a bit before snagging what looked like a short, sleeveless shirt and a pair of loose, flowy pants. Since Dusti had so generously given me back my shirt, I pulled it on then swung my legs over the side of the bed so that I could hunt down my pants and underwear. It felt odd to be putting on last night’s clothes to go have breakfast with my…Dusti’s parents, but I knew none of his clothing would fit me. We might be roughly the same height, but he was willowy and lean. And I…was neither of those things.

“And Dad.” I barely caught Dusti’s mutter, muffled by his shirt as he pulled it on. “Really should have pants on before you meet Dad.”

I’m not sure if he was referring to me or himself. I gulped as the magnitude of the situation really started to sink in. I was about to officially meet Dusti’s parents. Both of them. The morning after having had sex with their son. Three times. And that’s obviously not counting the previous times we’d had sex.

Yep. I agreed. Both.Bothof us should have pants on for this.

Chapter 14

I spent the entire workweek fluctuating between euphoria and dread.

The euphoria came from the seeming progression in my relationship with Dusti. Hell, the very fact that I felt like I could even attach the word relationship to what we were doing was a source of unmitigated joy. But we now knew each other’s names, he’d invited me to his house, and I’d even met his parents.

The pancakes were delicious.

Dusti’s parents seemed pretty awesome, too. Dana and Dave Sprague were super nice, clearly adored their son, and had been very welcoming despite the fact that I’d clearly just rolled out of said adored son’s bed.

I took it as another encouraging sign of things between me and Dusti when he’d confirmed that he only went out to the clubs on Friday and Saturday nights, teasingly promising that I could wait that long to see him again.

The only problem was that I had sporadic bouts of doubt. Doubt that things were actually evolving and progressing between Dusti and me the way I wanted them to. Doubts that Dusti could ever be interested in somebody like me past some casual fucking. Fuck, I still couldn’t quite believe that he was even interested in fucking me, although actual actions bore proof of that.

Most of all, I worried that after I left his house on Sunday—departing soon after that wonderful and welcoming pancake breakfast—the freakout over everything that had occurred Saturday night and Sunday morning would hit and I’d never see or hear from Dusti again.

Hence the periodic dips into dread that I experienced throughout Monday through Friday.

Quickly and quietly cleaning up my desk area on Friday afternoon before I could get waylaid by Dennis—he’d been hounding me more than usual, on the hunt for details of a secret, sordid and exciting sex adventure he was convinced I was having. Which, shockingly, he was actually right about—I quickly grabbed up my cell phone when it dinged with an incoming text message.

Imagine my surprise when the text turned out to be from Dusti. Especially because I’d never given him my number—he’d never asked. I could only assume he must’ve quickly sent himself a text from my phone when he’d been inputting his address into it last weekend; I couldn’t think of any other way he might’ve gotten it.

Whatever worry and anxiety I’d been feeling was efficiently stomped down by relief when I saw the text contained a quick note saying that he was “a bit over Glitter right now,” followed by an invitation to come directly to his place later this evening.

A giddy rush of hope sparked in my stomach, wondering if this was another sign of Dusti nudging things between us in a more serious direction. It wasn’t as though Glitter was the only gay club in Milwaukee, even if it was one of the newest, along with a few more scattered across the suburbs of the city. And if it was just the club scene he was tired of, I knew of a bar that had always been queer friendly, which had recently been purchased from its original owner by a member of the queer community. It was a little farther out, in the small town of Pine Ridge, but it was only a relatively fast and easy drive down the freeway.

Nibbling my lip, I briefly debated which emoji to send back as my reply. Happiness making me brave, I thumbed in a pink heart, then sent it off before I had a chance to chicken out and change my mind.

When I left my cubicle and saw Dennis headed down the aisle toward me at a decent clip, I gave thanks that I hadn’t taken too long with my response to Dusti. Hurriedly facing the way to the exit, I pretended I hadn’t seen him and couldn’t hear him calling my name, nearly breaking out into a trot in my haste to get away before he could corner me.

After leaving work, I killed some time, as Dusti’s message had warned me to not show up at any time before 7:00. I stopped by the grocery store to pick up a couple things, including some more condoms since Dusti and I seemed to be going through them at an enthusiastically quick rate. I popped into a pet store to look at all the fun things I could buy if I ever got around to getting a pet. Then I finally took myself to my apartment—exchanging a millisecond of eye contact and a cordial grunt in greeting with my roommate—where I took a shower, stuffed some food in my face, and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

Only after the clock ticked over to 7:00 did I hop back into my car to make the approximately fifteen-minute drive to Dusti’s.

I wasn’t sure what Dusti’s stance was on my arrival going unnoticed by his parents. Just because they’d already met me once, didn’t mean he was eager for me to interact with them again. So, it was just as well that I didn’t see any sign of them as I parked in front of the big house and made my way back around behind it to Dusti’s small cottage.

He must’ve been watching for my arrival, because his door swung open when I was still a few feet away from it.

I was almost getting used to the sensation of almost swallowing my tongue whenever I first set eyes on him.

Miles and miles of silky skin on long, long legs were bared by a pair of incredibly short, pink shorts. They were barely bigger than a pair of briefs, and I had to wonder what sort of spectacularly sexy underwear he had underneath them.

Paired with the shorts was a skin-hugging, black, cropped tank top, with skinny straps that highlighted the slender, narrow line of his shoulders. His feet were bare, the nails painted the same shade of pink as his shorts, and, for once, there was no glitter that I could see anywhere on him. Just unadorned, creamy skin with its faint smattering of freckles across his nose.

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