Page 76 of Try Me

“I’d be jealous,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

“I think I like that,” he said, one hand finding its way inside my jeans, making me gasp. “I didn’t say I wasn’t jealous. Just that…I trust you.” He squeezed my shaft, and I moaned. “I know what you like.” Another squeeze. Another moan. “I know who you are.”

“I could say the same about you.” I let out a happy sigh when he shoved up the hem of my tee and started kissing down my chest. “Do I really have pretty-boy hair?”

His growledyesin response had me thrusting harder into his hand.

25

Mark

“You were right,” I told John as we stood on my parents’ veranda that Sunday. The dinner party was in full swing, and John and I were very conspicuously the youngest people in attendance. “My dad’s trying to set us up. He basically said it the other day. You’re myapprovedguy. In fact, I’m not convinced he doesn’t prefer me with a guy in the first place.” That knowledge had sat inside me like a stone for the last week.

John’s brows shot up. “You know it usually works the opposite way in these here parts,” he said, letting his accent twang on the tail end of the sentence.

I chuckled. “Oh, I know. But I think he thinks it’ll help make him look progressive. With the times. Check out my son, in a fraternityandrepping the LGBTQ community. As long as it’s on his terms, it’s cool. Never mind that I’m not even out,” I finished on a mutter, then immediately apologized because that was rude as shit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that as a slight to you. Fuck.”

John waved a hand with a faint smile. “My ego will survive, trust me.” He turned, considering my dad, who was locked in conversation with a tall white-haired man across the patio, then looked back at me. “Just a wild guess here,” he said in a way that suggested it wasn’t much of a guess, “but is there perhaps another person you’re into who wouldn’t meet his qualifications?”

I could’ve denied it, I supposed, but I trusted John. “Yeah, and no.” I laughed ruefully. “Not even on the chart.”

“So what do you want to do? Play pretend to make him happy?”

“You’d do that? Really?”

John glanced at my father again, then down to his glass of wine—my dad’s favorite Cab with legs a mile long. Showy and expensive. John took another swallow, then set it on one of the cocktail tables. “I worked my way through college. Busted ass to get into law school. I have student loans out the wazoo and some things I’d like to accomplish in the future that might go more smoothly if I play the game by the rules set in front of me. Know what I mean?”

I nodded. “I’m starting to get the idea, yeah.”

“How does your…your other person feel about all of this. Do they know?”

“He knows, yeah.” I stopped myself from a quick slide into stupid-grin territory. “We just need to make it through the next year and then…” And then hopefully by then Chet would’ve been accepted into law school. My dad wouldn’t be wound so tightly. I cringed, not sure I believed it. That was a long climb up a tall latter, with plenty of time for the rickety rungs of a virtually nonexistent plan to collapse. “Anyway, it’ll be fine, and I appreciate your willingness to…go along with things, but I don’t think I can do something like that just to make him happy and things easier for you and me.” I winced at potentially offending John even more, but he maintained his smile. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize for staying true to yourself.”

Relief washed through me, though it wasn’t strong enough to overcome my inherent discomfort at the situation. Everything about tonight had felt wrong from the second I’d stepped through the front door.

“Another beer?” John asked.

I nodded and felt my father’s eyes on us as we walked toward the bar.

After dinner there were more drinks. More names, more faces. I’d gotten good at remembering them over the years. A local judge and his wife. The dean of the U’s law school. It’d been obvious from the start of the evening what my father was angling for. I’d rarely questioned it before, but as I observed the backslaps and handshakes and went through the motions myself, the unsettled feeling inside me grew teeth.

I answered endless questions about school while John sat nearby and talked about law school and his campaign for city council.

By the time the party started thinning out and John made his excuses and bailed, the pit of my stomach had become a mushroom cloud of anxiety. I felt like I was missing something key.

“You okay, sweetie?” My mom dropped into the chair beside me, kicking off one heel to rub her insole against her calf.

I nodded mutely, considering a whiskey refill that would probably kick my ass tomorrow. I set the glass aside.

“It was nice to see John again, wasn’t it?”

“I see him almost every day, Ma.” I studied her profile. “Did you tell Dad I’m bi?”

Her head whipped toward me. “What? No. You…I—” She put a hand to her chest and drew in a deep breath. “I’ve never been sure. Your father and I have discussed the possibility before, and if that’s the case we’re both very accepting, sweetheart. We love you and want the best for you.”

“But only on your terms.”