Page 114 of Bad Boy
I’ve had enough; my tolerance for assholes is really low lately. The four of us head for the door, leaving the parents gaping after us, and I must have a problem or some shit because I fucking love shocking people.
* * *
After Grady and Sierra leave, Lincoln and I head down to the kitchen for a quick snack before bed. It’s a Friday night, and he doesn’t have to report home anymore. His parents know we’re together. My family knows we’re together. And it feels fucking good.
“How’d the dinner go?” Mom asks, sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine and her iPad.
Otto stays late at the gym on Fridays, so it’s her “girl’s night,” as she likes to call it, which just means her latest romance novel and a drink. Usually wine.
“My boys!” Gramps shouts before I can answer Mom, strolling into the kitchen in his go-to beige cardigan, tan slacks, and old-man slippers.
“Sit. Sit.” He ushers us over to the table with Mom. “Tell us how tonight went, and I’ll whip up some grilled cheese for everyone. How does that sound?
“I’ll take two!” Mom says in an unnecessarily loud voice.
I snicker, “Tipsy, Ma?”
“Remington Jace! You are not one to talk after you got shitfaced in front of your grandfather within a few days of meeting him.”
“Touché, Ma. Touché.”
She got me there.
Gramps laughs at the kitchen counter, and Lincoln giggles next to me.
“You never told me about that,” he says through laughing breaths.
“Yeah. I guess it wasn’t my proudest moment. Not to be a downer, but that was right after Logan sent me some of the first threatening texts, and I was kinda fucked up in the head about it.”
Lincoln lays his head on my shoulder, grabbing my hand under the table and squeezing gently.
“Oh, Rem. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you,” Mom fusses.
“Nope. It’s all good. Really. Let’s not bring up the scumbag prick again,” I say, changing the topic back to food. “I’ll take two grilled cheeses as well, Gramps.”
“Um. Can I just have one, please, Mr. Keller?”
I chuckle at his adorableness and trace my finger down the center of his palm, making him shiver and sit up straighter.
“Well, tell us how the dinner went,” Gramps says as he starts to slice chunks of cheddar and gouda, the thick brioche bread already slathered with butter and ready for the skillet.
“It was alright. Not too bad, really. The Walkers were pretty cool about it,” I tell him.
“My parents were jerks until they found out Remi is my boyfriend. They seemed to accept that I’m gay after that. But it just felt fake because I know they aren’t really happy for me. They don’treallywant me to be with another man. Even if that manisthe heir to Keller Industries.”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry,” Mom says warmly, and I appreciate her soft tone with him. “I’m sure they’ll come around. It sounds like they’re taking steps toward acceptance.”
“Yeah, hopefully.” He smiles, but it’s a little strained.
“They will. It’ll be fine, Linc. We’re living life for us now, remember?” I run my hand up and down the soft fleece of his plaid pajama pant-clad thigh.
I’ll remind him as many times as he needs.
Every day for the rest of our lives if it’s necessary.
My mom’s attention is back on her iPad and wine, and Gramps is busy with the food while the skillet sizzles away, the rich smells of decadent cheese and melted butter filling the air. I continue my caress under the table until I cup his junk, settling my hand there. I prop my right hand under my chin, waiting casually for my food as if nothing debauched is going on under their noses.
His cock swells under my touch, and I keep my hand there, squeezing ever so gently. He whimpers, and I cough to cover it.
