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Well, I guessed we were doing this. We’d hooked up, and now we were texting.
Me:I guess. I say bi-interested because curious doesn’t really fit since I’ve been with a few guys. It’s not something I do often though, but yeah, basically it boils down to me being bi.
We messaged back and forth for the next hour. I wondered if Whitt was still sitting in that chair and if he was thinking about what he had done with me.
7
WHITT
My parents arrived home at the same time Candice brought over the Christmas dinner she’d ordered at my parents’ behest from their favorite steak house. As far as I knew, they didn’t do personal orders but had been making an exception for my parents for the last ten years.
Candice helped them get settled and then, unobtrusive as ever, slipped out once the food was on the dining table. We’d long stopped exchanging presents, so Christmas centered around eating together now.
We sat together at one end of the table—which had always felt weirdly sad to me instead of cozier—and dove in.
I got the cursory questions about the season, updates on investments they were looking into, and then my mom started probing deeper.
“So, are you seeing anyone?” The sharpness in her blue eyes never quite aligned with the soft femininity of her smile. I imagined a lot of people experienced that disconnect. She looked like a porcelain doll but was an absolute barracuda in a boardroom, as was my dad. They were a perfect match that way, something that never failed to trigger a hint of envy in me. They’d met when they were on the opposite sides of a merger in their early finance days. My mom had always joked that they’d negotiated themselves into marriage.
“Nope.” I speared another bite of roast, chewing slowly as the memory of my hand on Tucker’s head, his perfect lips around my cock, resurfaced. Just that split-second recall before I shoved the image away was enough to make my cock perk. “Too busy.”
“We find time for the things we love,” my mom chided, and I set down my fork, frustration bubbling in my chest.
“Do we?”
I felt my dad’s gaze swerve in my direction more than I saw it, but my mom’s smile didn’t falter.
“No hurry. You’ll find someone when the time is right. I’d love some more grandkids, though.” She sighed wistfully.
For what? To send cards to on holidays? Jesus. “Then talk to Elizabeth. I’m not having kids. I’d never see them. What’s the point?” I wondered if Tucker wanted kids, given all his siblings. Probably.
“Patrick.” The warning in my father’s voice was apparent, but I met his gaze evenly. He was a smart man, knew a subtle dig as well as my mom did, and I was being an outright ass. I didn’t hate my parents. Age, experience, and my own career provided me with a lot of insight, and what I understood was that they weren’t bad people; I was just a puzzle piece that hadn’t fit where they’d wanted me to in their jigsaw of life and still didn’t.
But I refused to back down. The night before with Tucker and lack of sleep had left me raw and irritable. “I’m just telling the truth.”
We ate the rest of dinner in silence, and then I returned to my room. So much for my respite. Now I was looking forward to my flight out tomorrow, looking forward to the playoffs and being back on the field where I always knew what to do. That was the great thing about sports. There were defined roles and rules. On the turf, I knew my place. It was more home to me than anywhere else.
I checked my phone—no messages—and then idly opened my old high school yearbook, trying to keep my mind off Tucker. What had happened last night was…embarrassing. And highly fucking satisfying and so erotic I’d jerked off again before bed thinking about it. This morning, too. I wanted to erase the night from existence and for it to happen again immediately, a feeling I’d never before experienced in my life. What the hell was wrong with me?
I flipped through the pages, checking out the pictures, reading the quotes under the pictures, then paused on some candid shots from senior year. In one, my junior and senior year girlfriend, Hannah, had her arm around my waist. Mine were draped both around her shoulders and the shoulders of the grinning guy next to me. Jenson. If you looked close enough, you could see the tight clutch of his fingers around my waist, opposite of Hannah’s. I sucked in a breath as I gazed at Gable High’s handsome quarterback. I remembered that photo being taken, the casual way he’d grabbed me and pulled me in, how Hannah had shuffled closer and made room for herself like she was tacking herself onto me. She’d joked relentlessly about our “bromance.” Hell, some of the guys on the team had, too.
I picked up my phone on a whim, an uneasy feeling roiling in my stomach as I scrolled through my numbers until I found Hannah’s and then called it. First Tucker, now Hannah? Apparently, I was turning into a gregarious bastard during the holidays.
Just when I thought I was going to get sent to voicemail, Hannah’s voice came on the line, thick with confusion. “Patrick Whitt?” In the background, a kid hollered something, and another answered in kind.
“Hi, yeah, it’s Patrick. Merry Christmas. I’m, uhhh, I’m sure I’m interrupting.”
“I’ve got a few minutes. Just a sec…” She muffled the phone and spoke to someone before coming back on the line. “Is everything okay? Definitely not a caller I was expecting on Christmas Day.”
Or probably ever since we’d not spoken in over a decade.
“Sorry about that. Yeah, everything’s fine. Those your kids in the background?”
“Yeah, and my husband. My parents are here, too.” Her voice softened with fondness as she spoke. “They got the kids socks. The tradition continues.” She chuckled. Senior year, she’d been bummed when she opened her presents from them to find a bunch of socks and practical stuff for college before discovering they’d tucked some brand-name purse she’d been dying for behind the tree. “I mean, they obviously got other things, but now I can see the humor from their perspective and…” She blew out a breath, and I could imagine her waving her hand through the air just like she used to do when she’d gotten flustered in high school.
“You sound really happy.Congratulations on the kids and husband. That’s great.” Jesus. When had I become so awkward?
“Thanks? Anyway, what’s up, Patrick?”
