Page 81 of Cherry Picking
My hand on his knee.
His fingers brushing the short, shaved down strands of hair at the back of my head as he stands to run to the bathroom.
I’m half tempted to follow him just so I can taste his cheeky mouth.
I refrain, because once everyone goes to bed and the house gets quiet, I’m going to make him bite his tongue while I rail him into the mattress.
“Your friend seems right at home here,” Mom says, breaking me out of the naughty fantasy playing out in my head.
“Yeah? Griff’s kind of like a chameleon. He’s used to switching it up and bouncing around; I think he could make himself a home anywhere.”
“I’m glad the two of you hit it off.” Mom stands and brushes a kiss over my forehead, and I squeeze her hand in return. “You’ve seemed lonely the last few years.”
She means since I stopped bringing Matty. Him and my mom were like instant best friends, chatting about books and having secret conversations around every corner. It was nice to see them getting along, that someone special to me could fit so seamlessly into my life.
“Griff’s a great roommate. He’s just usually got his own holiday plans. They fell through this year, and since you all are alwayssowelcoming?—”
Mom laughs and waves her hand in my face, cutting me off.
“It’s nice having adult conversations with someone other than your father,” she says. “It’s a shame you won’t be playing anymore. It’d be nice to see him around more often.”
“You just want new material for your books.”
“You brought a gay player into the home of a queer, sports romance author.”
Parker throws his hands over his ears and starts singing horribly off key, something he does anytime Mom’s books come up.
Not that he—or anyone else in the family—has an issue with Griffin or any player being gay; he just hates thinking about Mom writing it. While he knows the books exist, he is expressly forbidden from reading them. Which works out because Parker has no interest in books or romance.
Which begs the question, why—in thirty-one years—I’ve never told my parents that I’m gay. I knew it pretty early on, and I grew up in a fairly progressive part of the US, but there was always something deep down that made me wary of putting my attraction to words.
Whatever it is, the weight that keeps me just below the surface of making the confession, it’s got me in a chokehold.
I was a sweaty, nervous wreck making the announcement to the team, and I only managed because Griffin took the reins. I couldn’t handle the pressure, but for Griff, it rolled right off his back.
We haven’t talked about whether we’re going to come clean to my family about our relationship or even exactly where our relationship stands. Griff says he wants to be in this, with my doubts and all, but I don’t know if the guilt on my end will subside enough.
We also haven’t cured the reason I left in the first place.
For now, we’re enjoying each other and the holidays, but sooner rather than later, we’ll have to make a decision.
That decision seems to be Griff backing me into the door the second it’s closed and attacking my mouth with his own.
Given the option, he’d probably attack it with something else, but kissing seems to be enough for us given that Griff came in his pants for the second time again this morning during a lazy make-out session.
I haven’t gotten off yet, and the anticipation has my dick getting painfully hard the instant Griff’s hands land on me.
We’ve both been far too repressed, denying ourselves during this stent apart.
“How much of a turn off would it be to tell you your mom writes some hot ass porn?”
I sputter and turn my head away, having to drop my face to his shoulder as laughter rattles mine.
“The biggest.” Even though some of those books were my introduction to the world of gay sex. That and Mom’s browser history.
“I really like your family,” Griff says after a moment of silence. We’re only holding each other now: Griffin’s arms around my back and my head on his shoulder. “It’s hard not to slip up and hold your hand around them. Or talk about the silly things you do that might be a little much for a roommate to know.”
I press my nose into the hollow of his throat and inhale deep. “Mom wouldn’t question it, and unless it has to do with sports, it’s in one ear and out the other for Dad.”
