Page 20 of Bro Amazing (Bro #1)

Chapter Fourteen

Fuck, I'm running late. I'd been so distracted with listening to yet another of my roommates' live streams—it's become a bit of an obsession since I joined their subscription platform a week ago—that I lost track of the time.

Now I need to shower and dress for lunch with my parents as fast as possible.

Hopefully they'll also be running behind due to traffic.

The front doorbell rings and I freeze in the middle of brushing my hair. I'd been planning to pull it back in a braid, but now there's absolutely no time. They're here. I yank the brush through my hair to make sure there aren't tangles before throwing down my brush and grabbing my purse.

Please let my boyfriends still be playing their game .

Racing down the stairs, I nearly trip as I spot Miles opening the door. Fuck .

I practically crash into Miles as I attempt to shove my body between him and my parents to usher them back out the front door. For being a gamer, he's pretty solid though, and doesn't budge. Just stands there holding the door open as my parents stand, confused, on the front stoop.

"Ready to go?" I duck under Miles's arm to grab my jacket. I can put it on outside in the cold so long as I get my parents away from Miles and all the potential for this to become very awkward, very fast.

"What's the rush, honey?" asks Mom. "It's almost as if you don't want us to come in and meet your roommates."

"Yeah, Clarissa," says Miles. "Do you not want your parents to meet all of us?"

He smiles, and there's a teasing aspect to the way he lifts the corner of his mouth. Of course he had to call me out in front of my parents. It's either admit to them all that I don't want them to meet, or let them talk and potentially tell each other my secrets.

"No, that's not it at all." I attempt to wave way Miles's question as if it's not a big deal. "I just figured my parents are hungry, and I don't want to make them stand around on the front stoop for ages. Better to head out to lunch someplace warm."

"You make a very good point," says Miles, his grin turning Cheshire. "Why don't you two come on in where it's warm, and you can meet everyone else."

Miles forces the door open even farther, practically yanking it out of my hand as I attempt to hold it in a way to block their view of the inside.

I still remember all the negative comments my parents made about the state of the house last time they were inside, and I fear they're going to make the same types of comments again, but this time in front of the people who pay for everything.

As if the stress of them finding out the reality of my living situation isn't enough.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful, thank you," says Mom, immediately stepping inside and looking around as if inspecting the space to catalogue the differences.

"I wouldn't mind meeting these fellas also, Clarissa," says Dad, joining us in the hallway. "Would be nice to know who you're living with in case something goes wrong, and to make sure you're being safe and taken care of."

Miles chokes on a laugh that he hastily turns into a cough as my face goes beet red. There's absolutely no way my dad can know just how well my roommates have been taking care of me. This is already so embarrassing, and we've only all been together for a minute. And without the other four guys.

"I can take care of myself, Dad," I insist, avoiding Miles's eye.

"Yeah, you can," chokes out Miles, still hiding his laugh.

I shoot him a glare, my face heating at the memory of Miles discovering that I'd fallen asleep in my bed after masturbating to thoughts of him.

Which my parents do not need to know about.

"Well, I will say that this hall looks much better than when we helped you move in," says Mom, looking up into each corner to search out any missed cobwebs.

"We did recently mop due to a"—Miles glances at me—"a spill."

This man is determined to embarrass me in front of my parents, and I hate that it's working.

"… because your roommates couldn't be bothered to help," says Mom, continuing on as if Miles hadn't said anything.

My cheeks heat again, but this time it's my mother who's embarrassing me. I really don't want my parents to insult my roommates the entire time they're here.

"I told you, Mom, they were working." I don't want to look at Miles because I don't want to embarrass him, either.

They'd been very clear about needing to work and now that I've seen the intensity of their streaming schedule, I don't know how they handle working so much.

And that's coming from me, someone who really likes to work a lot.

"And no one could take a day off work?" asks Mom. "Your father did."

"Their work is a little bit different than Dad's," I say, although I'm not going to go into details about how different. Mostly because I still don't fully understand their job, and I'm sure neither of my parents will either.

"I'm just complimenting them on cleaning up this front hallway," my mom argues. "It was a mess, and now it looks better."

"No, you were complaining that my roommates work a lot."

"I agree that the front hall looks fantastic," says Miles, jumping in before Mom and I can get into a fight. "Clarissa has definitely been a big help around the house. She's quick to jump in and take care of things we may have let slide as we get distracted by our gaming."

I glance to my mom to see if she's actually listening because if she heard Miles say "distracted by our gaming" she's going to have a fit about what is proper behavior for someone our age.

"I wouldn't say fantastic," counters Mom. At least she is focusing on the wrong part of the conversation.

Miles's eyes dart to the box filled with all the junk that I'd declared doesn't belong in this room, still sitting in the corner waiting to be moved to a proper place.

"Well, at least you're making progress," says Mom, as Dad links her arm through his. This silences her, but she still gives me a look that makes my stomach sink.

It's the same disapproving-yet-resigned look she gives Dad whenever I mention my author career, and for some reason I don't want my parents to feel that way about my roommates.

I still want to hide that there's more of a relationship between us than I've let on, but I don't want my parents to think badly of them.

"Maybe we should get going." If my parents keep looking, they'll definitely find more things to disapprove of and complain about, and then they'll spend lunch pressuring me to move back home. "We don't want to be late for our reservation."

"We didn't make one," says Dad. "We wanted to see where you recommend we go, since you know the city better than us."

"Oh, if you have time then, I can show you the rest of the house if you like," offers Miles. "Admittedly, we haven't gotten to cleaning the other rooms yet, but like you said, we're making progress."

"He means Clarissa is making progress," Mom whispers to Dad, but we all hear her.

Dad pats her hand, resting in the crook of his elbow, and we trudge behind Miles deeper into the house. Miles stops right outside the computer den and throws open the doors for my parents to look inside.

Admittedly, this is the one room the gamers maintain fairly well, probably because they care so much about their computers and need the videos to look good for their streams.

"What all is it that you all do again?" asks Dad. "I'm not sure Clarissa ever told us."

"We're gamers," says Miles as if that's a perfectly ordinary job and my Dad won't have a hundred more questions.

"All of you?" asks Dad, not sure how to process such a career. "Doesn't sound much like a job, more like a fun hobby."

If Dad knew what I recently discovered about their finances, he wouldn't say that. And definitely not to Miles's face.

"Oh, we do okay," says Miles, glancing over at me. I keep my face neutral.

"I suppose you're young yet, but you'll want to start thinking about your future at some point and what you're going to do long-term." Dad lifts his hand in acknowledgment that he's giving unsolicited advice before adding, "But I'm sure your parents have already had that discussion with you."

This is so embarrassing. My boyfriends are all my age and based on my math, they're earning more in a month than my parents could dream of making in their lifetimes. But of course, I can't say anything because then I'll give myself away as having looked into them.

"Who was at the door?" asks Lionel, coming around the corner from the kitchen with a bag of chips in one hand and an energy drink in the other.

"Clarissa's parents," says Miles over his shoulder.

"Oh, hello Clarissa's parents," says Lionel, shooting me a smile that gives me the sinking feeling that I'm about to regret everything that has led me to this moment.

My other boyfriends trail in from the kitchen behind Lionel.

They must have taken a break from their gaming for snacks or lunch.

Great, now my parents can judge the way they eat as well as their career choices .

At least Miles takes over the task of introducing everyone so I don't have to, allowing me to fully wallow in my embarrassment and anxiety that my roommates are going to let something slip about our unconventional relationship.

It doesn't help that they all look like cats who caught the canary.

"Now that you've met everyone, we should probably leave for lunch. I'm sure you're both hungry." I step between my parents and my boyfriends in hopes that I can herd my mom and dad back toward the front door.

"Since you don't have reservations already, maybe you want to check out the Thai place down the block. We get it sometimes for takeout," suggests Miles, holding my parents' attention.

"That's a good idea," says Mom. "I love Thai food."

"We wouldn't lose our parking spot and have to find a new one somewhere else," Dad muses. Of course he's thinking about the practical logistics instead of what he's actually hungry for.