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For some reason, this makes both my parents laugh. I feel like someone has stuck a wire underneath my skin and touched it to an open socket.
My mother sighs. “The gays are just so PC about everything.” Her eyes flicker upward, and she remembers her company for a moment because she says, “No offense, Donovan.”
Donovan shrugs. “None taken.” To his credit, he does look calm about the whole thing. Blasé bastard.
I can’t let this go. “Hold on—yes,” I snap. “Offense is taken. Mom. You can’t say things like that.”
She knits her eyebrows at me. “Why not?”
“How would you feel if I called you a man? In the middle of a cancer diagnosis?”
My father puts his hand on her knee protectively. She makes a vague motion with her glass of wine. “Oh, does it matter? Donovan just said he doesn’t mind.”
“I don’t,” Donovan said.
“Okay—but did you stop to think that maybe Donovan isn’t the only queer person here?”
My mother blinks at that. Then she turns and stares for a long, hard time at Kenzi. Her mouth opens, and she lets out a small “Oh.”
Kenzi puts her hand on her chest. “What, me? Oh, no, I’m not—um—well, I mean, with the right person, maybe I’d think about switching teams, you know? Never leave doors closed, I say…”
“It’s me,” I blurt out. My blood is hot, my temper has flared, and I’m in The Zone. I’m seeing red, and I can’t stop the words from flying out of me. “I’m bisexual. And I’m dating Kenzi and Donovan. Does anyone have a problem with that?”
For once, everyone goes silent. I can feel my father’s stare, his glare like a shot from a nail gun. My mother opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. A fish on dry land.
“Well…no,” she says finally. “Of course not, darling.”
My father shifts in his spot, and his chair scrapes across the concrete. I can hear the soft lapping of water on the lip of the pool. If Nadine is surprised, she doesn’t show it; she glances down at her phone, checking the time.
Kenzi claps her hands together loudly. “What do we have for dessert?”
73
Donovan
The King residence is a maze.
There are about twenty different bathrooms here. I pick the one under the stairs. The walls are turquoise blue, and there are small jars of seashells in here—the kind you’d find at a beachside hotel—and the whole thing smells too much like potpourri. I check my eyes to make sure they’re not completely bloodshot.
I also need a second to breathe.
On one hand, I’ve discovered I have a new kink. Jason King, moaning and flushed red underneath me, unleashed something primal inside of me.
On the other hand, being claimed by him, in front of his family, was also something I didn’t know I needed…until it happened. The whole night feels like a fugue state. Like I’ll wake up and tomorrow I’ll be back on my knees, scrubbing Mr. King’s boat, while Jason and his friends call me dick boy from the bow.
I dab some water between my eyes and on the back of my neck. Then I exit to rejoin the crew.
On my way back to the patio, I hear voices from the kitchen. I slow down the hall, pausing next to one of the many family photos hung on the wall.
“—I hope you haven’t forgotten our arrangement.”
Mr. King’s voice is low, threatening. Gone is the amiable, polite host from before.
“Of course not.” Is that…Kenzi? I glance around the corner. They’re alone in the kitchen, and she’s carried a stack of dessert dishes to the counter. Mr. King has her cornered—quite literally—at the sink.
The way he’s talking to her makes my blood go cold.
“But you and Jason—”
