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“Oh. Definitely just on its own. A nicely cooked chicken needs nothing else.”
She nodded, pursing her lips. “All right. I think we’re going to be just fine here.”
Red snorted, letting out a sigh. “One time I brought a guy over to Mom’s for dinner and he dissed her roast chicken. That’s the litmus test now, apparently.”
“That fucker told me—pardon my French—that he needed some ketchup. Ketchup! For my roast! I baste it in lemon juice and garlic butter. That man was out of his noggin and you know it.”
“I broke up with him later that week, but for non-roast-related reasons,” Red told me.
“But that was the beginning of the end,” Rita said. “Believe me.”
I couldn’t stop smiling now. “I’ve got good news for you.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“I hate ketchup. It’s gross and too sweet and you’re never going to find me asking for it.”
She beamed at me, nodding once. “Well, Liam, I’ve got a veritable feast prepared that’ll be ready in about a half hour, but since you’re the first guy Red’s brought over in years, I have to embarrass my son first,” Rita said, bending down to the lowest shelf of a nearby bookcase.
“Already, Mom, seriously?” Red said, running a hand through his hair.
I couldn’t believe what Rita had said. I was the first guy Red had brought over in years. I knew that Red had been steadfast about his independence for a long while, but he was sexy as hell and could have any guy he wanted.
I wasn’t supposed to feel special when it came to Red. We had established very clearly that we weren’t a couple, and we weren’t going to be one. It was shocking enough that Red wanted to be my friend, let alone anything more.
But I couldn’t help but feel special in that moment. I was the first man he’d brought to meet his mom in years.
“Hush,” Rita told Red, dusting off a large photo album that she’d pulled out. She brought it over to the glass coffee table and sat down on the couch, patting the spot next to her. “Liam, if you’re important enough to be having dinner with my son, you’re important enough to know about this.”
She flipped to a page that showed Red as a young teenager. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old, but it was very clearly him. He had the same thick auburn hair and big, brown eyes with gorgeous lashes.
“Before Red was Mr. Cowboy, he had… what I like to call his dark phase.”
“God almighty,” Red said, scrubbing his palms over his face.
“See how regular he looks here?” Rita said.
I nodded. “Looks like Red. Just… young.”
“Right. Well, see what happens here,” she said, flipping the page.
“Holy shit,” I said.
There were four pictures of Red, but they barely looked like him. His hair was jet black and he appeared to be wearing smokey eye makeup and dark eyeliner in them. He was also in a black leather jacket, dark denim, and he had an eyebrow piercing. His brother was next to him in two of the pictures, and he looked like a younger, happier version of Red.
“Holy shit is right,” Rita said, letting out a bellowing laugh. “How do you think I felt as a mother? I let him do whatever he wanted, but the hair dye was what killed me. He covered up his gorgeous natural color. Thank god Rock never did that.”
“You had a goth phase, Red,” I said, a smile spreading over my face.
“Don’t remind me.”
“It all started when he dressed up as some guy from KISS on Halloween. But then he got the bug for a whole year.”
“It wasn’t a guy from KISS, it was supposed to be Ozzy Osbourne.”
“Well, whatever,” Rita said, still grinning at the pictures.
“It was freshman year of high school,” Red said. “Give me a break. I had barely entered puberty.”
“This is adorable,” I said. Red was sticking his tongue out in one of the photos. “Why didn’t you keep the eyebrow piercing, Red?”
“I didn’t keep anything from that phase, other than a boatload of embarrassment. Remind me to burn those photos later tonight.”
“Burn them and I’ll whoop you,” Rita said, closing the album with a smack and returning it to the shelf. “Now let’s go eat some roast chicken, the proper way.”
Red still had a faint blush on his cheeks as Rita scurried off into the kitchen, leaving me in the living room with Red. I smiled at him, shaking my head.
“I’m sorry, but it is adorable,” I said.
“Two words, Liam. Fuck you,” Red said.
“Maybe later,” I said, keeping my voice low. “If you’re lucky.”
“Is that right?” he said, taking a step closer to me.
“Maybe I want you to fuck me while you’re wearing dark eyeliner and a leather jacket,” I said.
He gave me a playful shove. “Never gonna happen.”
