Page 88 of The Bro Date
“Good to know,” he chuckles against my lips, reaching around to squeeze both of my cheeks.
We get lost in the kiss, melting and merging into each other like the colorful strokes in a Monet painting. “Ready to leave?” Shane asks, out of breath from our impromptu make-out session. “’Cause if you stay on my lap for even a second longer, we’re gonna end up twenty minutes late with wrinkled clothes.” He bites my lower lip, sucking on it while he encourages me to grind against him.
“Okay. Okay,” I say breathlessly, giggling as I swing a leg over and hop off his lap. “Let’s get this shitshow over with.”
Dinner’s going as well as can be expected so far. My parents haven’t brought up school or dating because they’ve been so busy talking about themselves the whole time, bragging about the newest multi-million-dollar home they closed on and the skilled staff they’ve built.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
“That’s great, Dad,” I say hollowly. “Sounds like you’ve got a really good team working for you.”
“Drive, determination, and commitment will take you a long way in this world, son.”
I nod, taking another bite of the chicken marsala but not really tasting it. “Mhm. For sure,” I murmur, agreeing with him even though I’m hardly listening because all I can focus on is finding the right opportunity to come out. My heart is racing, and my face and hands are starting to get all tingly.
With a shaky hand, I reach for my glass of ice water. Shane doesn’t miss a beat, noticing my nerves and placing his handon my thigh under the table. He gently strokes my bare leg, attempting to settle some of the anxiety.
“You should consider working at the office this summer,” my father says, setting his knife and fork down. “You can shadow me and your mother. Get your foot in the door.” He takes another sip of whiskey, peering at me way too intently, as if he’s looking for a reaction or a reason to argue.
My parents have been trying to get me to work at their real estate firm during the summer for a couple years now, but I’m just not interested. And he knows that. “Dad . . .”
“I know. I know.You’re too busy with the violin and hate the thought of being stuck in an office all summer with your old man.”
I don’t respond because he’s not wrong. I’m nineteen and in college. We live at the beach, for fuck’s sake, and I have no intention of spending my summer days under artificial fluorescent lighting, doing something I hate.
“Speaking of violin,” my mom suddenly says, and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest at what she might say. “I’ve been meaning to let you know that we won’t be able to attend your performance at the end of the semester. The firm is sponsoring a fundraiser on the same night, and you know we can’t miss something like that. It’s too important.”
Shane squeezes my thigh under the table, offering me his silent support.
“Of course,” I murmur, pushing food around my plate at this point. I’m actually relieved they aren’t coming, but it still doesn’t explain the slight ache in my chest.
“The offer of a summer job extends to you as well, Shane,” my dad says with a smug superiority that rubs a lot of people the wrong way. As if the job offer is some sort of huge privilege. He completely ignores the topic of my concerto, immediately steering the conversation back to him and his business. My momgives him a quick side-eye, clearly unhappy with the idea of seeing Shane in the office every day.
“Thank you, Mr. Livingston. I appreciate it, but I’ve been working at Coastal Cuisine for a while now, and I’m happy there,” Shane replies respectfully.
“Ahh, yes. With Glenn. He’s a good man,” Dad says, recognizing the company name.
Shane nods, and we all continue to eat in silence.
When my mom finishes picking at her food, clearly irritated with something or someone, she pushes her plate away. “Tobias,” she practically snarls, spitting out my name like a curse.
“Hmm?” I ask with wide eyes, chewing a bite of chicken and swallowing it with an audible gulp.
“Once again, we thought you were bringing a girlfriend over for dinner, but no. Here you are. With Shane.” Her blonde brows furrow, and she leans against the back of the chair, folding her arms across her chest. “Again.”
Here goes nothing.
“Well, actually . . .” I say, my fingers wrapping around the new pendant Shane gave me and sliding it back and forth on the chain. I drop it and grab my water, taking a nervous sip and stalling while my parents stare at me in anticipation.
My mother’s inquisitive eyes dart down to the necklace I was just fidgeting with, then over to Shane’s forearm that’s resting on the table. His matching wolf tattoo and the new purple butterfly next to it are in plain sight.
Her brows crease, and I recognize the very moment she puts it all together before I even have the chance to tell her. “No,” she breathes, holding a hand over her mouth as if she’s devastated by the revelation. “You’re . . .”
She can’t even say the words.
I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t look at Shane right now. I’m completely embarrassed by what’s happening, even though I’m not surprised by it.
“Yes, mother. I’m gay, and Shane is my boyfriend,” I tell her matter-of-factly, without flinching or looking away. With Shane by my side—supporting me and loving me—I no longer feel the need to completely panic over their reactions. Whatever they may be.
