Something Like Box Set

Chapter 4-2

Three hours later, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. Just remembering it had my c**k trying to rise. Which was awkward with my monster of a cat taking up my lap. I nudged Optimus until he got fed up enough to yowl and stalk off. I’d make it up to him later with treats.

I was angry with myself for getting turned on by Lucas and his kiss. Okay, so I was male and that kiss had been blistering hot. But the man who had delivered it was a jerk. He barely talked to me, and when he did he was cold. He obviously had a problem with me. And yet he kissed me?

But he’d also taken care of me when I’d been drunk, saw to it that I got home safely and was hydrated and comfortable. He’d been nice, playful even. He was a dichotomy, and I was having trouble reconciling his two personas. I didn’t know which one to believe. If I went simply with the evidence, I had to assume that the care he had shown me was a fluke.

Even though I’d been drunk and couldn’t recall with absolute clarity what had transpired, I knew I hadn’t imagined the whole thing. The question now was, what I was going to do about it?

I grabbed my cell phone from the coffee table and dialed without much thought. It rang three times before I heard my mother’s voice.

“Hi, sweetie! What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I rolled my eyes and stifled a laugh. “I’m fine, Mom. Why do you always think something is wrong when I call?”

“I worry,” she said, her tone cheerful. “Who knows what could happen to you out there?”

I was twenty-nine years old, and I was pretty sure my mother would always treat me like a fragile baby. She was a worrier by nature, and she could imagine all sorts of scenarios that had me bleeding and dying. I just let it happen and reassured her constantly that everything was fine. I thought that if she had her choice, she’d have me living at home for the rest of my life, just so she could keep an eye on me.

“I’m a big boy now,” I reminded her, being playful and making her laugh. I did love that sound. Mom had a great laugh. “Hey listen, is Dad around?”

“Sure, sure. Hold on.” She took a breath and didn’t even bother to cover the mouthpiece when she shouted. “Errol! Your son wants to speak to you!”

I winced and pulled the phone away from my ear. Christ, my mother was a character. I heard the rattle and click of my father picking up another extension and Mom hanging up.

“Hello, my son.” My dad’s voice was deep, a true bass that rumbled when he spoke. When I was a small child, I loved lying on his chest while he talked.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Uh oh,” Dad’s voice was playful. I heard the leather of his favorite chair squeak as he settled. “You only call me Daddy when something’s wrong. What’s up?”

I had to grin. My father knew me so well. He was, in all honesty, one of my best friends as well as my father. He’d been my rock growing up, my source of comfort when I was upset or scared, and he was an excellent sounding board. I loved my mother, but she was the type of person who waited to talk instead of actually listening. And while she’d had a mini-meltdown when I’d come out to my parents, my dad had accepted the news with a hug and a thank you.

“I need advice,” I said, not beating around the bush.

“All right. I’m all ears,” Dad’s voice rumbled.

I knew he was, so I told him everything. I talked and talked, relating the whole story. Even the parts he already knew. I started at the beginning, not leaving anything out. When I was finished, my throat was parched and I was a little bit emotionally worn out. I sagged deeper into the couch, and Optimus took that as an opportunity to sprawl out on my lap again.

“Hmm.”

“Really, Dad? That’s all you have to say?”

He chuckled. “Well, Aaron. The way I see it, you have two options. You can either talk to Lucas and find out what the heck he was thinking, or you can ignore the whole thing and hope it goes away.”

“Way to be logical, Dad.” My voice was heavy with sarcasm, but he just laughed.

“I don’t know what you want from me, kid. It seems pretty obvious to me.”

“Tell me what to do, old man.”

His laugh was deep and rich, full of mirth and amusement. I left him to it, patiently waiting for it to die down. Finally, he got control of himself, though I could still hear it in his voice.

“You haven’t wanted me to tell you what to do since you were six years old and I insisted you bathe.” He chuckled again, and then his voice got serious. “If you really want my opinion, you should talk to him. At the very least, it’ll clear the air between the two of you.”

“Yeah,” I said with a resigned sigh. I knew he was going to say that.

“Everything else aside, do you like him?”

“I—what?” my voice went unnaturally high. I cleared my throat. “Whatever gave you that idea? I told you he’s been a jerk to me.”

“You want to know what gave me that idea, hm? Well, it could be that every time we’ve talked in the last two years, you’ve managed to bring up Lucas Logan in one way or another.”

“You’re going senile in your old age,” I sputtered defensively.

“Okay,” he said, placating me. I grumbled, and he laughed again. “If that’s what you want to believe.”

I blew out a breath and closed my eyes. “He’s gorgeous, Dad. And the way he treats other people is nice. He was even good to me that one time. But there’s never been a hint, not even a whisper, that he likes guys. He’s always been seen with some starlet or pretty lady on his arm. He’s not gay.”

“And yet, he kissed you. Of his own volition.”

More logic. Damn him. Except for one important thing. “Not taking into account that kiss, he treats me like I’m something he can barely tolerate for the most part. I really don’t think he likes me.”

Dad made a noise I couldn’t interpret. “Or maybe he’s pulling your pigtails.”

Christ, really? He was going to use that argument? “Grown men don’t do that.”

Dad just chuckled. “Of course they do. Maybe you should talk to him and find out.”

Shit. Maybe I should.