Page 8 of Their Little House Boston (Five Little Roommates #3)

Elliot

By the time we got to the end, there were tears rolling down my face. Boston was so much fun. He ended up joining me in the character voices and even made sounds when they did things.

He was really a blast.

I put the book away but didn’t want to say the end on our evening together. Not even close.

“I don’t know if you’re feeling up to it, but would you like to join me at Chained? Just a drink or two. I’m not in the mood to play but I could use a scotch.”

Boston looked conflicted. His gaze darted around the playroom and he wrung out his hands. I thought for a second he was going to say no. Until he didn’t. “You know what? I could use that drink. Sure. Let’s go. I’ll just have the one.”

I shrugged. “My treat tonight. No worries. We have to get you approved as a guest, though. Let’s get online and see if we can do it quickly.”

“Approved?”

“They really value their members’ privacy. Last time I took a guest, it was very fast, so cross your fingers.”

It was as fast as I hoped. I didn’t know how they checked the info or what they were even looking for, but they were sure efficient. I shut my laptop lid. “So that’s that. Meet me at the front door in ten?”

I noticed he took a moment to make sure the books were stacked in order of size and put his chair back under the table.

As soon as I was out of sight, I rushed to my room and picked out some nice jeans and a black button-down shirt. I didn’t button it all the way, and then I rolled up the sleeves to the elbow.

With my phone and my wallet in hand, I made my way to the front door where Boston was waiting. Tapping his toe. Waiting.

He was a little like me, or so I thought. I shouldn’t be taking him for drinks, but I couldn’t help myself. Something inside me wanted to take care of him and love him.

I guess love didn’t follow any rules.

“Ready?” I asked.

Boston nodded. “Yeah.” We walked outside and got into my car. Boston cleared his throat and looked at me while I started up the engine.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. Not nothing. You look really good tonight.”

“So do you.”

We got to the club, and I headed straight to the bar with Boston following close behind me. When I stopped at a table, he bumped into me. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. What’s your poison?”

We spent the night at a tall round table, talking about my work, his work. Observing people at the club. We made up stories about people who passed us. Boston was really good at it.

Before long, our one drink turned into two for me and over five for my companion. He wanted to know more about me and my life as a little. How I knew the lifestyle was for me. If I had a daddy and if they were nice to me.

“I don’t. I want one. I’m sure you do too. I just haven’t found the right person.”

“How do you know you’ve found the right daddy?” he asked.

I shrugged one shoulder. “I guess I’ll just know. I’ll feel safe and taken care of. Free to be me. Totally in love.”

“What if something happens and you don’t think you’re a little anymore or maybe you never were.”

I had a feeling we were no longer talking about me. Boston had more drinks than me and clearly was more than tipsy. “I’m sure my partner would love me for more than just my chosen lifestyle. I would hope they would accept me no matter what.”

He huffed out a laugh.

“Did you want to go? I think you’ve hit your limit.”

“I think I have too. My head is getting fuzzy.” When one person told another they’d hit their alcohol limit, the answer told you a lot about that person. Alcohol enhanced anger. Deepened depression. Brought out the best and worst in people.

Boston leaned on me as we walked out of the club. I got him into the car and turned on the heated seats in case he got cold. He went on and on about how cute I was and how he liked spending time with me.

I told him the same things, but I was sure my words fell on deaf ears. Or drunk ears.

Either way, the next day, he wouldn’t remember what I said, but I would recall everything.

Back at the house, I helped him to his room and then into his pajamas. He giggled a bit as I tucked him into bed.

“What are you laughing at?” I asked, setting a glass of water and a few pain relievers by the bed for the next morning, along with a hydration drink.

“You’re so cute. I want to kiss you.”

Oh. “I’m not sure you’re in the right frame of mind, Boston.”

He sat up and cupped my face. “I might be a bit tipsy, but I know what I want.”

“And what is that?”

“Your lips.” He leaned forward and pressed his soft lips to mine. I was instantly lost in the connection. Closing my eyes, a moan escaped my mouth.

“That was nice,” I said when we parted.

He nodded. “It’s too bad, though.”

“Too bad about what?”

“Too bad I’m not like you.”

Then, after our first kiss, Boston passed out cold.