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Rayne stiffened in Mike’s arms before he answered with the truth. “No, I didn’t have to cook at all. The men I went out with usually had room service options or personal chefs. I used to watch the kitchen staff when I had nothing else to do since my company was only required at night.”
Mike didn’t say anything, and Rayne was glad he didn’t try to say something annoyingly positive.
“So, I guess I picked up a few things along the way.” Rayne added a pinch more oregano and basil to the vegetables, then turned them off. “Can I ask you a question now?”
“You can ask me anything you want.” Mike’s breath was warm against his neck, and Rayne reveled in the fact that he’d just admitted he used to be nothing but evening entertainment and he was still being held in comforting arms. “Why do Bishop and Trent alternate calling you Mike and Dad?”
Mike chuckled. “That’s a long, shitty story, so I’ll spare you too many details.”
“Okay, I’ll take the abridged version for now.”
“I’m probably the epitome of a statistic. I didn’t know my own parents at all—they were probably drug addicts or in and out of jail. From the time I could remember, I was in the foster care system until I ran away at twelve. I made a slew of fucked-up decisions and ended up a dad by the time I was fifteen. Bishop’s mom was a lot older and caught up in a bad marriage, so she left me with him right there in the hospital.”
Rayne’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.
“After she had Bishop, she just took off without a word. I was so damn terrified, not to mention embarrassed to be a dad back then, so I told people he was my cousin, nephew, friend’s kid, whatever. And when Bishop got older, he looked so much like me it was easy to pass as brothers. I told him to call me Mike, and he was my little homie.” Mike sighed. “It wasn’t until I realized the honor of being a father that I asked him to call me Dad. Trent isn’t my blood, but he’s my son, and I asked him to start calling me Dad too.”
“I like that,” Rayne whispered.
“I think I’ve noticed a pattern. When they’re pissed or annoyed with me, they call me Mike. But when we’re feeling all family-like and shit, they call me Dad.”
Rayne smiled. He actually liked that a lot. Every family was different. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat.”
“Good, I’m starved.” Mike grabbed the salt and a bottle of hot sauce from out of the cabinet.
“Um.” Rayne cleared his throat. “Table salt isn’t good for you, and besides, you haven’t even tasted it yet.”
“Just in case.” Mike took his plate and condiments into the living room and nodded for Rayne to follow him.
Rayne enjoyed their banter; they sounded like a couple already. He hoped he wasn’t being too pushy about the food, but he wanted to be able to contribute something in the house until he could pay his own way. Which was why he was elated when Mike took a tentative bite of the buttery salmon before he scarfed it down and then went and got the last piece out of the pan.
“I told you so,” Rayne teased.
“Shut up,” Mike said with his mouth full of flaky rice.
When they were done, Mike was generous with the praise. He said he’d grown up eating a lot of soul food at a spot named Mama’s when he was young, but he wasn’t used to well-seasoned, home-cooked food anymore. Mike told him the dinner reminded him of what food cooked with soul and love tasted like, and it was the best compliment he could’ve given him.
Rayne set his empty plate on the coffee table. “Can I ask you one more question?”
“Shoot.” Mike reclined on the couch and rubbed his full stomach.
“You know what I did to innocent, hardworking men. Men with homes and families.” Rayne tilted his head. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
Mike was dead serious when he answered, “Because it takes a helluva lot more than that to scare me.”
