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“Not unless they change the law.”
Banner pinched his cheek and Rook swatted him away. “In a few years I’m sure the law will have changed. If it hasn’t we’ll all drive to another state for the wedding.”
His brother was nodding, looking lost in thoughts too serious for a fourteen-year-old.
“Did you tell Mom yet?”
Rook pressed the toe of his Converse sneaker into the dirt. “She’s got enough to bring her down. She doesn’t need to deal with me coming out.”
He put his arm around Rook’s shoulder and squeezed. His brother leaned into him.
“Mom’s mental health isn’t your battle. Staying in the closet to protect her is sweet, but you deserve to be happy and out, if you want to be out.”
“You gave up your dream job to follow in Dad’s footsteps and rot out children’s teeth.” He shrugged. “I’ve had a selfless role model.”
Dreams. The thought brought Banner back to when he’d tried to make a living painting and selling his art. The starving artist thing had been great as he’d traveled through Europe, staying in hostels, but he wasn’t young anymore. Sure, he’d fallen in love with Sweden when he was there, and he’d hated leaving it to come home when his father’s health started waning, but he’d known he couldn’t do it forever.
“Sometimes I think you’re as sad as Mom.” The boy eyed him, then stared off into the distance. “You just hide it better.”
Banner grabbed the bag of cotton candy from Rook’s hand and untied it. He balled up the last two bites and shoved one into Rook’s mouth, then ate the other one.
“Shh. You’ve got your own things to worry about. Quit worrying about everyone else.”
Rook laughed around his mouthful of candy. He chewed, watching a rollercoaster as it swooped by, then turned back to Banner. “Meadow says I’m too sensitive, and that if I don’t toughen up I’ll never get a date.”
Banner winked at him. “Well, I guess it’s good that Dylan doesn’t like going out much.”
***
She was either late or not coming.
The time they’d agreed on had come and gone, and he was still entirely alone—other than the hard-on that had been nagging at him on and off all day.
There was a chance she was stuck in traffic. He checked his phone, but there was as much from her now as there’d been for the past few days. Nada. Maybe Janine had found someone for her, or maybe she’d come to her senses and realized messing around with Banner wasn’t a good idea.
Why ha
d he let himself get so excited about a girl who wasn’t going to be permanent? Sure, he wanted to play with her, but there were plenty of other women who were willing to do that. Ones that were definitely submissive. Submissive was closer to slave than a vanilla girl was, right? So what was the big deal about training Kate?
In his studio, he tried to paint, but he was too tense to work. Instead, he headed down to the home theater.
He forced himself to sit on the couch and turn on the TV. He hated TV.
Flip, flip, flip.
Out of his peripheral vision, he caught sight of the T-shirt he was wearing. Suddenly, it annoyed him. He stalked off to his bedroom, slid open the doors to his walk-in closet, and rifled through the neatly folded shirts in their cubbies. When he found the one he wanted, he yanked the other one off over his head.
Calm the fuck down.
The doorbell rang. He froze. If it had been Ambrose coming to snoop, he’d have walked right in. The maid wouldn’t have bothered with doorbells either.
With unhurried movements, he headed for the door, pulling on his shirt as he went. Irritation and uncertainty were crowding him, but he slowed his breathing and tried to pretend none of this mattered to him.
He opened the door, and there she was, in all of her innocent, vanilla glory.
Kate looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of trepidation.
“Come in, Kate. I was expecting you twenty minutes ago.”
