Page 17 of The CEO and the Mountain Man

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?” I grinned and leaned forward. “Is it embarrassing? Are you embarrassed by the guys you like?”

He pushed his plate away and wiped his mouth. “I’m not embarrassed. I’m just not discussing it withyou.”

“Why? We’ve had discussions about safe sex. Safe gay sex, to be specific.”

“Yes. I remember.” River shuddered. “Half of the therapy I go to these days is to get over the trauma of that conversation.”

I balled up a napkin and tossed it at his head. “Shut up.”

He batted away the napkin, his lips threatening to quirk up. “Most gay guys have parents who don’t give a shit about them. I get the one dad who’s, like, all up in my business about it.”

“Oh, poor River. Your dad wants you to have a healthy sex life.” I wiped away pretend tears. “Must suck to be you.”

“Don’t say suck in the middle of a discussion about sex, Dad. I beg you.”

My hands went to my face, which was approximately the temperature of the sun.

“Oh, did you want to know about my blow job technique?” he asked, his eyes lighting up.

It was my turn to shudder. “No. Absolutely not. I just wanted to know about the kind of guy you liked. You’re a very good-looking guy; I’m sure you’re everyone’s type.”

Pulling his plate back for another big swirl of spaghetti, he muttered, “I doubt I’m anyone’s type.”

“Whatever.” I gave him the raspberries. “Sure, the all-black attire is an acquired taste. But I am absolutely certain there are men who would want to acquire you.” I held up a finger. “That sounded a lot more human traffick-y than I intended.”

River rubbed his forehead. “I’m embarrassed for you, and we’re the only ones here.”

I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Oh, real mature,” he said with a soft laugh.

We went quiet as he finished off his plate.

Honestly, it was the most comfortable quiet we’d shared in a long time.

“Your mother would be laughing so hard at me right now.”

River avoided my eyes as he stood up from the table. Walking with a slight limp over to the sink, he washed his dish, dried it, and set it back in the cabinet.

Maybe I wasn’t done stepping in it after all.

“I’m sorry,” I said, desperate to get us back to relaxed. “We don’t have to talk about her.”

He was still facing the kitchen sink. “No, it’s … it’s fine.”

“She was really proud of you, Riv,” I said, because I just couldn’t shut the fuck up.

He gripped the counter. “I doubt it.”

His tone gave me pause. He wasn’t just contradicting me to contradict me.

“Your mom and I had really good communication, even after the divorce. She really loved and wanted to support you.”

“Yeah, she was pretty supportive of myart.”

“No, son. Not just your art. She was supportive of you. All of you.”