Page 75 of Try Me
“I’ll be there for the campaign party in a few weeks. Do you really need me there Sunday?” Sunday was the one day Chet usually had free, and we’d planned to work on our mock trial case. Among other things.
“There are some people I’d like to introduce you to. People who will be important after you graduate. John will be there, as well.” He watched my face carefully. “I understand you have certain proclivities, and that’s okay, son, but—”
“Wait.” Warning bells shrilled in my head. “What does that mean?Certain proclivities.”
He waved a hand thinly. “You’re bi, pan, maybe gay. Whatever label du jour people are clamoring around. It doesn’t matter to me. That’s what John is there for.”
I was pretty sure my jaw actually dropped as I barked out a laugh. “You’re making so many assumptions right now it’s not even funny.”
“Am I?” He cocked his head, voice dangerously silky and low enough to put me further on guard. “Your mother said you were beside yourself when Cameron overdosed.”
I could’ve said any number of things in response. Scoffed, made a swift, vehement denial, but I didn’t. I kept quiet because that was one thing he’d taught me. Wait. Wait and see what someone else had before you showed your own hand. And if you could get away with it, never show your hand at all.
His brows rose expectantly, but I held my ground and caught a flicker of something in his gaze that might’ve seemed hesitant if I didn’t know better.
“Like I said,” he reiterated. “It doesn’t matter to me. College is for cutting loose and experimentation, too, as long as you’re keeping up your grades—which you are. But we need to seed the ground for success. John is a fine choice in that regard.” I saw where he was coming from, and he wasn’t wrong. Practically speaking, John would fit perfectly into the remodeled plan in which I became a lawyer instead of an investment advisor. It occurred to me that my dad was still trying to lay down the track ahead of me, even after I’d veered off the original course. “I’m thinking practically, Markus. You should, as well. Be there Sunday,” he finished.
Once again, I tamped down the urge to unleash on him. I was sure he could see the instinct flaring in my eyes. But Chet’s voice sounded in the back of my head telling me to calm the fuck down. We’d make it work. We just needed time, and if I blew my top right now, I’d screw up any advantage we might have.
I exhaled a long breath and nodded. Dad pushed off the couch and gave my shoulder one of those impersonal squeezes he handed out frequently, meant to make a person feel like they were part of the team. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, son, I know it.”
What I actually heard was “fall in line.”
* * *
I staredup at the twinkle lights around the perimeter of Chet’s room, his hand drifting up and down my thigh as I finished recounting the story.
“I should’ve told him to fuck off.” My blood boiled even as I said it.
Chet rolled onto his side, facing me. “Nah. You did the smart thing. Probably this fall, he won’t be worrying much about what you do as long as you’re not out of control.”
“Yeah, but he basically said if I’m going to see someone, it has to be John. And let’s not forget the part wherehe confronted me about being bi/pan/gay or whatever label du jour I’d chosen.I mean, what the fuck is that?”
“Creepy, I agree.” But Chet shrugged a second later. “So just play along. Go to the party, hang out with John.”
“Yeah, but…” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You don’t care?”
“Are you planning on sucking his dick? Making out with him?”
“No,” I spluttered. “Obviously not.”
“So you want some macho show of possessiveness? Want me to beat my chest and start growling if people get too close?”
“I dunno. It’s getting me kind of hard right now, so maybe?”
Chet laughed and shoved me onto my back, then rolled on top of me and caged my head in between his forearms on the mattress. He rolled his hips against mine as he brushed his lips along my jaw and let out a low, sexy growl near my ear. “How’s that?”
“Sexier than it should be.”
“You going to pop off if I throw out some caveman-style grunts? Come up to you on the quad one day, grab you by that pretty-boy hair, and drag you back to my den?”
“I might,” I teased back, though the mention of hair pulling got me harder. “This is definitely more of a lair than a den, though.”
He pushed up onto his forearms, looking down at me. “What’s the difference?”
“Lair just sounds more deviant.”
“Lair, then,” he said agreeably, cock gliding alongside mine. I lost track of the conversation almost immediately and tilted my head back, closing my eyes as the friction washed over me. Not enough, but close. I ground insistently against him as his lips moved over my throat.