Page 70 of Bad Boy
I nod, adjusting myself against my zipper. “O-one sec,” I stutter, still out of breath.
I will my inconvenient erection away, and then we’re off again, stealthily slipping through the woods until we burst from the treeline and duck behind a small white fence that circles someone’s backyard.
We crawl along the perimeter of the fence until we get to the street. Remi looks both ways, then down at his phone.
My eyes scan the darkness as we stand on the curb in front of someone’s house, the faint wail of sirens in the far-off distance.
“There!” I whisper-shout, pointing to our dark SUV parked in an equally dark area between two small, box-like houses only a few down from the one we’re standing in front of.
We take off down the street, and I can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of me.
Once again, I’ve never felt so free. So alive.
And it’s all thanks to the irresistibly charming boy running and smiling next to me.
* * *
Connor and Gus aren’t at camp Sunday morning, and I kinda feel bad for Gus. But I’m sure he’ll come up with a good excuse and turn in their work on Monday. He won’t accept a zero; he has too much riding on school and football.
Remi and I take our time packing up at the cabin, dragging our feet a little because neither of us wants to leave. We enjoy the drive home together with more snacks and more reading. I can see it becoming a thing for us—road trips. Maybe we can go to the beach next. He drops me off at my house before going to his since neither of us has been home since Thursday afternoon.
By the time I’m showered and settled in bed with my Kindle, it’s already four-thirty. Mom and Dad weren’t home earlier, but I know they expect me to be at dinner at six, which leaves me an hour and a half to get lost in another world. Only I can’t seem to focus. My mind just replays everything that happened this weekend. And it’s in overdrive doing so. I get whiplash even thinking about what went down.
The sex. The fights. The adrenaline.
It’s a heady mix, and I press the heel of my palm into my rising cock, too exhausted to even think about jerking off right now.
I never gained enough courage to confront Remi about the texts I accidentally saw last night. Afraid he’d think I was snooping. I hope he tells me when he’s ready because I know he’s not the type of guy you can push to open up. But I’m concerned for him and wish I could do more.
I focus on the words in my story, distracting myself from the worry attempting to take over my brain. I let time fly by with alien worlds, faraway solar systems, and time travel.
A loud knock startles me out of a particularly intense scene, and Mom’s muffled voice calls through the thick wooden door.
“Dinner’s ready early, Lincoln. Come down now, please.”
I check my phone. Five-thirty. My stomach grumbles on cue, but her high heels tap down the hall before I can respond.
“Nice to be home, too, Mom. Thanks for askin’. Had a great time,” I mumble pathetically, whipping the covers back. I pad to the closet in my boxer briefs, rifling through all my button-ups, polos, and sweaters that hang at the front.
Suddenly hating all of my clothes, I dig further back until I find a plain black T-shirt, probably a size too small. I pair it with my gray joggers and call it a night. I know they expect me to dress up for Sunday dinner like we always do, but. . . why?
No one else is here except the three of us, and I’m freakin’ tired.
Mom’s jaw clenches when she sees what I’m wearing. I take my seat at the table, waiting for Dad to say grace.
“This looks delicious, Diana.”
Mom serves the pot roast to my dad with a proud smile on her thin face, even though she most definitely did not make it. We have a chef that stops by three times a week, making meals that Mom can pop in the oven for in-between days. She’s helpless in the kitchen, but I don’t mind because at least I know the food will be edible.
Fragrant smells of rosemary and garlic swirl in the air, and steam rises from the mashed potatoes in front of me. The tender beef is smothered in brown gravy, and the carrots are glazed with honey. I dig in immediately, listening as they discuss whatever new business they’ve gobbled up. And their plans for the next. Greedy as ever and not once asking me how my trip was.
Did they even notice I was gone? Remember I left?
Maybe not, which makes me sad.
Unless it directly impacts Anderson Holdings or any associated charities, start-ups, or investments, they don’t care. Even when it comes to me. Their son.
I’m just a pawn to them. A tool to grow their business and secure its future.
