“She what?” Mom’s voice sharpens.
I lift my red-rimmed bloodshot eyes to hers. “Don’t hate her for that. She had every right.”
“She had no right.” Mom kisses my reddened cheek. “I don’t care what you’ve done, or how much she’s hurting, there is no excuse for violence.” She wets her lips, looking pensive. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, so I won’t judge Melissa even though I’m furious she raised her hand to you.”
“Get that down ya,” Dad says, handing me a glass of whisky from behind the couch. Aside from ice, it’s pure alcohol, and though I don’t usually drink whisky, right now, it’s exactly what I need.
Dad hands Mom a glass before sitting on the coffee table in front of us, nursing his own whisky.
I gulp back a full mouthful, welcoming the bitter burn as it glides down my throat.
“I take it things didn’t go well.” Dad eyes me carefully.
“That’s the understatement of the century.” I swallow another mouthful of the amber-colored liquid, and at this rate, I’m going to need a refill soon.
“It’s bound to have been a shock, but she’s a sweet girl, and she cares for you. She will forgive you one day.”
“I wouldn’t if I was her.” I rub at my eyes, sniffling. “I’m a piece of shit. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t into girls, yet I dated her, took her virginity, and continued to keep her on a string while I tried to make sense of the mess in my head. I would never speak to me again if I was Melissa.”
The dam breaks, and I put my whisky down, burying my head in my hands as I cry.
Dad sits beside me, offering silent comfort, while Mom hugs me, rocking us as she whispers soothing reassurances in my ear.
When my crying jaunt ends, a new layer of shame washes over me. I’m so weak. Such a pussy. And I have no right to these tears. Melissa does, because she was wronged, but I have no right to feel sorry for myself. Even if I was confused, I knew what I was doing was wrong.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mom says. “And it’s not all your fault.”
“How can you say that?” I look at her, realizing she’s been crying too. “It is my fault. It’s certainly not Mel’s.”
Mom and Dad exchange one of their looks.
“You’re both young,” Mom softly says. “And I know it seems like it’s all your fault. I know you want to shoulder the entire burden, because it’s in your nature, but relationships are two-way streets. You were not in that relationship alone. Melissa was in it too. I don’t need to know the specifics to understand she knew something wasn’t right because we could all see it, Keaton. We may not have known the reason for it, but it was completely obvious you two were not meant for one another.” She caresses my cheek. “Honestly, I gave you six months when you first started dating.”
“I was her first relationship. She had nothing to compare it to.”
“It was your first relationship too,” Dad says. “And from what I saw, you were attentive and caring and you treated her with respect.”
I retrieve my whisky, cradling the glass between my hands. “I treated her like a really good friend, Dad. And I lied to her. In all the ways that matter, I wasn’t attentive or caring or respectful.”
“I don’t want to hear about my kids’ sex lives,” Mom bluntly exclaims over a shudder, and if I wasn’t so heartsore, I’d laugh at the irony. “But if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, then I’m sorry, sweetheart, but Melissa knew. Deep down, she knew that something was wrong.”
***
“Your mom is right,” Austen says an hour later when I finally get a hold of him. He’s back at our apartment after practice, fixing something to eat. “Did Melissa ever ask you why you weren’t that interested in sex?”
I lie on my side on the bed, holding my cell in front of my face as I tell my boyfriend everything that went down since I left California earlier today. “No. We didn’t talk about sex.”
“Then, I’m sorry, but she is partly responsible. She told you she knew something was wrong, but she never asked you about it. Who does that?”
“You don’t understand. She’s innocent and sweet, and I honestly don’t think she’d know how to have a conversation like that.”
“She wasn’t so innocent and sweet when she was hitting you.” That’s touched a nerve with my boyfriend.
“She was wrong to hit me. Like I was wrong to lie to her.”
“You were lying to yourself too, Keats,” he says, placing a plate of food on the counter and pulling himself up on the stool. “You were confused, and you didn’t deliberately set out to mislead her or hurt her. You were only trying to figure it all out. She had no right to hit you or call you selfish. I know what it’s like to be your partner, and the very last thing you are is selfish, and she damn well knows it.”
I love how quickly he jumps to defend me. How readily he believes it with his entire being. “She was angry, and it was a shock.”
“It still doesn’t excuse it.”
“There have been wrongs on both sides.” I’m willing to admit that much. I’ve spent a lot of time mulling over Mom’s words since we spoke earlier. What she said is true.
Why did Melissa stay quiet? Why didn’t she confront me with her suspicions? Why did she let me treat her less than she deserved?
“That’s not the way it works, but you know what? Going over it isn’t going to help. She knows the truth now, and you’ve apologized. You don’t owe her anything else.”
“I feel so responsible.”
Austen sets his silverware down, chewing his food, his features softening. “I know you do. You wouldn’t be the guy I love if you didn’t want to take it all on yourself. But you need to let it go, Keats. Whether she wants to admit it or not, she shares in the responsibility. Maybe she will never accept that, but that’s on her. You’ve done all you can now to make it right. It’s time to put it behind you.”
His words soothe me, and I know he’s right. I don’t want to dwell on the past at the expense of my future, and I’m determined to accept it for what it is and move forward. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”
“Because your boyfriend’s not just gorgeous eye candy, he’s hella smart too,” Austen jokes, shoveling more food in his mouth.
“And so freaking humble. You forgot that part.”
“I forgot the pathetic part too,” he adds, grinning into the phone, “because I miss your face already.”
“I wish you were here right now.”
“Me too. I hate that I’m not there to chase your sadness away.”
“You can make it up to me tomorrow night. By the way, did you get the flight details I sent?”
“I did.” He gives me the stink eye. “I told you not to do that. I was happy to fly commercial.”
“Don’t rain on my parade, man. It’s my birthday, and I want you here as early as possible. If you’d flown commercial you wouldn’t have gotten here till like midnight.”
“A slight exaggeration,” he says in between mouthfuls.
“This way you’ll only miss the first hour and a half of the party.”
“I’ve never flown on a private jet before,” he adds, getting up to rinse his plate when he’s finished eating.
“Get used to it. It’s Dad’s plane, and it’s usually how we travel.” Dad won’t be piloting it tomorrow, because he’ll be busy getting things set up here, but his trusted copilot Michael is flying my boyfriend out.
“How the other half lives,” he teases, flashing me a dazzling smile, and my heart does a twisty loop in my chest.
I love this guy so much. I don’t have words to describe it. “Can’t you just get here already,” I whisper, needing his arms around me.
“I’ll be with you before you know it.” He blows me a kiss. “And I know exactly how to relax you in the meantime.” He winks, and heat surges through my body.
“Hell yeah,” I say, getting up to lock my bedroom door because I know where his mind is at
. “Tell me where you want me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Austen
My eyes stay glued to the window of the Mercedes as we drive past opulent houses, many hidden behind high walls and tall gates. Getting a glimpse into Keaton’s life has been eye-opening so far. From the luxury of the private plane to the chauffeur-driven car waiting for me at the private hangar, Keats’ world is a million miles away from mine. Knowing this is how he’s grown up only makes me appreciate the man he is even more. While the penthouse apartment we live in is levels above most student accommodations, Keaton leads a very normal life. He isn’t extravagant, and he doesn’t flaunt his wealth. Because he’s a decent guy. He might have grown up surrounded by money, but he hasn’t let it go to his head.
It only makes me love him more.
The car slows as we approach wrought-iron gates, and I strain forward in my seat as the gates open, revealing a long driveway, bordered by shrubs and plants and perfectly manicured lawns with colorful flowerbeds.
I whistle under my breath when the house comes into view. Resting on a huge plot of land, and stretching endlessly on both sides of the estate, the one-story property is large and modern, comprised of wood and lots of glass with different peaked roofs, and I’m guessing it’s stunning in the summer, letting lots of sunlight in.
Lines of cars are parked on the far left of the house, and it’s obvious the party is in full swing.
I’m well versed in meeting new people, and rarely nervous, but I’m a little on edge, because this is my boyfriend’s family, and I want to make a good impression. This is as new to them as it is for Keaton, and I want to assuage any concerns they may have. To ensure they know I care about him and that I have his back.
The driver swings the car in front of the open entranceway, and my heart swells when my boyfriend emerges from the house, his massive grin so wide it threatens to split his face. Pushing a few loose strands of hair back off my brow, I steady my nerves and climb out of the car before the driver has opened my door. He frowns a little, but I’m too busy ogling my boyfriend to care.
Keats is wearing a tight, white, designer T-shirt under a fitted navy blazer and dark jeans, ripped at the knees. He obviously got a haircut today, and I smile at the irony. The stylish layer of stubble on his face has me itching to drag my fingers through it, and with the way he’s staring at me, it takes colossal willpower not to pull him into my arms and kiss the living daylights out of him. But we must play pretend tonight, because his parents invited tons of friends, including many prominent figures within Boston’s high society, so I’m here as Keaton’s friend and roommate and nothing more.
Which sucks, if I’m being honest. But I swore not to make things harder for him, and he’s not ready to reveal his true self to the world at large yet.
“You cut your hair,” Keats says, coming to a standstill in front of me.
“As did you.”
“It’s my birthday. I’ve got to look the part.”
I lean in closer, pressing my mouth to his ear. “News flash. It’s my boyfriend’s twenty-first birthday. I’ve got to look the part too.”
Keaton grins, his eyes oozing love and adoration, and if I don’t get to kiss him soon, I’ll self-combust.
“You look good, man,” he says, his voice dropping a couple notches while his heated gaze roams over my fitted black shirt and tight, ripped black jeans.
“Good enough to eat?” I tease in a whisper.
His eyes dilate, and I know he’s dying to touch me too.
“You know you do,” he murmurs, glancing over my shoulder. “I’ll take that,” he says, stretching his hand out for my overnight bag. The driver hands it to him, and Keaton slings it over his shoulder. “Come on inside. Everyone is dying to meet you.”
My boots thud on the gray stone pavement as we walk toward the door, and I brace myself for whatever the night may bring.
Something bright captures my eye, and I turn my head, a burst of laughter escaping my mouth when I spot the illuminous pink Porsche with a big white bow wrapped around it. “Is that what I think it is?” I ask, stopping to inspect the car. Two identical cars are parked on either side of it; the only difference is they are an understated silvery-gray color. “Wow.” I whistle under my breath, running my fingers over the hood. “It’s a 911 Carrera S. I didn’t think you could get those in pink.”
“My brothers are assholes,” Keaton says, but there’s zero heat behind the words. “Mom and Dad bought the three of us a car for our birthday, and my brothers thought it was funny to get mine spray-painted pink. Dickheads,” he adds, fighting a smile.
“You’re taking me out in this tomorrow.” I press my mouth close to his ear. “If you’re lucky, I’ll let you fuck me in it.”
Keaton adjusts himself behind his jeans, staring at me through hooded eyes. “You mean if you’re lucky.”
I slap him on the back. “Whatever you need to tell yourself works for me.” I wink, and he flips me the bird.
Raucous laughter carries on the wind, mixing with the pulse-pounding beats of music, reminding us we’ve a party to get to.
“Get inside already,” Keats says, jerking his head to the door. “Before I throw you against the wall and drive my cock in your ass.”
“You won’t hear me complaining,” I tease, chuckling as I watch him adjust the bulge in his jeans.
“Is death by boner a real thing because I swear that’s what’s going to happen if you keep flirting with me,” he says, guiding me into an impressively large, bright lobby. Keaton heads right, down a long hallway, moving us away from the noise of the party.
“I missed you,” I truthfully admit, keeping pace with my boyfriend as he strides past successive closed doors. We pass through a large open-plan game room, complete with pool and foosball tables and two large leather sectionals positioned around a giant wall-mounted TV. Game consoles and accessories sit on a shelf underneath the TV, and the walls are adorned with tons of family photos. A jukebox sits tucked into a corner alongside a fully-stocked bar.
“Nice room,” I supply, as Keaton presses forward into a back hallway. The noise from the party is muted here, because his house is just that big.
“We mostly hang out here,” Keaton explains, leading me past more closed doors. “We also have an indoor pool, theater room, and gym back here, as well as the bedrooms. My parents’ master suite is on the mezzanine level just off the lobby, alongside Dad’s study. The other side of the house is where the kitchen and living areas are, and it’s where my parents entertain guests and host family get-togethers.”
“I take it your mom designed everything,” I say as Keats slows down in front of a closed door.
“She did. She’s obsessed and always changing things.”
Keats opens the door to a large bedroom, ushering me inside.
I’ve barely had time to look around before he shuts the door, grabbing me and pushing me up against it.
His lips are on mine in a nanosecond, his tongue plunging greedily into my mouth. I grab hold of his ass, yanking his body flush against mine while angling my head and kissing him back with the same pent-up desire. His stubble grazes along my smooth jawline, ramping my lust to new heights. My cock strains painfully against the crotch of my jeans, and we grind our erections together, both of us like steel behind our clothes.
“Fuck, man,” Keaton rasps, pulling his lips from mine. “I need to be inside you.” He fumbles with my belt as I reach for his jeans, popping the top button.
“You’ll never hear me complaining or denying you,” I admit, raking my teeth gently against his neck, inhaling the woodsy, musky smell of his cologne.
In a hurry, we shove our jeans and boxers down our legs, and I turn around, planting my palms on the door as I bend over, jutting my ass up in the air. Keaton covers his shaft with a condom and lube, teasing my ass open with slick fingers, before he eases inside me.
“Fucking hell.” I grit my teeth as his hard length fills me all the way,
pushing back against him when he begins thrusting.
With one hand, he grabs my hip to control our movements, and the other hand wraps around my erection. Keaton pumps me in his hand in sync with the rough thrusts of his cock in my ass, and pleasure whips through me when his dick presses against my prostate, sending me into sheer bliss. I arch my head back, straining toward him, and he leans forward, meeting my lips and kissing me as he rocks into my ass and strokes my cock.
We come in record time, within seconds of each other, my cum coating my boyfriend’s hand.
“God, Austen.” Keaton pulls out of my ass, and I straighten up, turning around to face him. He presses the softest of kisses to my lips. “Every time is better than the last with you. I will never get enough.”
I cup one side of his face. “You never have to. I’m going nowhere.”
“Stay put,” Keats commands, tugging his jeans up and holding them around his waist with his clean hand. He walks to the en suite bathroom, returning a minute later, all cleaned up and dressed. Using a warm washcloth, he proceeds to clean me before pulling my boxers and jeans back up my legs. He tucks me in, and I smile at him as he rebuttons my jeans and my belt and smooths the wrinkles from my shirt.
Reeling him into me, I slant my mouth over his. We hold on to one another as we kiss in a more leisurely fashion, and Keaton is right. Every kiss, every touch, every fuck, is better than the last. I will never get enough of this guy. When we break apart, we stare at one another, drowning in sentiments we’ve never experienced before. Keats rests his brow against mine. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” I grab the back of his neck, tracing my fingers across his smooth skin.
“I wish you were here as my boyfriend, not my roomie,” he admits after a few beats.
I force his eyes to mine. “One step at a time, right?”
He nods, his eyes drifting to my mouth again.
Heat pulses in my veins, and I wet my lips, needing more. “If you keep looking at me like that, we’ll never make it out of this room,” I warn, my cock already thickening.
Adoring Keaton: A Stand-Alone Friends-to-Lovers MM Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 9) Page 21