I’m going to be seeing Ollie and his family more than at his grandmother’s birthday.
“Yup. Definitely should’ve asked for compensation,” I mumble, but it’s forced. The idea of seeing Ollie more and having excuses to touch him? Yeah, I’m not complaining too hard.
Chapter Fifteen
OLLIE
The anticipation might be killing me. Lennon should be here any minute, and I haven’t seen him since we parted ways at the airport yesterday. He took a cab into the city and checked into his hotel and then attended the game last night.
I was fully prepared to go to the game with him and show my support for Tommy and my old team while I was at it, but as Ma said, “It’s only game one, and I know that boy of yours has a cute butt and Tommy is practically family, but it’s been months since you’ve been with actual family. You’re with us tonight.”
No matter how many times I complained that if I were still in the playoffs I wouldn’t have been here at all this weekend, she still wouldn’t let me go.
“Shoulda played better then,” she said simply.
“Brutal, Ma. Real fuckin’ brutal,” I’d replied.
As soon as the doorbell rings, I’m on my feet and rushing for the door.
“Someone’s eager,” Dad says from his armchair. Seeing as we had family time last night, Dad and I are watching the replay of last night’s game in the living room while Ma runs around trying to get ready for today’s party.
We offered to help, much to Ma’s dismay. By the time I’d messed up the third thing she asked of me, she told me to get out of her kitchen or lose some fingers. Dad too.
“I have to give him plenty of warning on how to deal with you lot. Hence why I asked him to come early.”
“Preparation is always important in all areas of life, son.” Did my dad just make a gay sex joke? There is such a thing as overcompensating, and my parents like to reiterate they’re one hundred percent okay with my sexuality. As if pushing me to come out isn’t enough of a hint.
I shudder. “I am not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.”
Dad laughs.
Lennon stands at the door with his messenger bag over his shoulder and wearing those glasses.
Oh, holy Gretzky, those glasses.
“Hey,” he says and then looks at me weird. Probably because I’m blocking the doorway like a moron.
“Come in,” I croak and step aside.
As soon as he’s inside, I can’t resist touching him. My hand reaches for his, and he flinches and stares at our intertwined fingers. When his narrowed gaze travels up to my face, I shrug and lead him into the living room. We have to make this look real after all.
“Clark,” Ma says, rushing into the room. She hugs him, but I still refuse to let go of his hand.
“Good to see you again, Mrs. Strömberg.” He looks at Dad. “Mr. Strömberg.”
“You too.” Dad stands from his seat to shake his hand.
“Okay, we’re going up to my room.” I start leading Lennon away.
“You know the rules in this house,” Ma says. “No boys allowed in your room.”
When my mouth drops open, Ma giggles. “You should see your face.” She’s laughing so hard she slaps her knee.
“Don’t mind this one,” Dad says to Lennon. “Small things amuse small minds.”
“That’s why I married you,” Ma says.
Lennon laughs. I remain horrified. My parents are on point today.
“Okay, we’re going now.” I take Lennon up the stairs and then to the second, smaller set leading to the attic.
I think I deserve some sort of prize for not pouncing on him the minute we cross over the threshold.
“What are we doing up here?” he asks. “Want to show me your childhood bedroom or something?”
“You think I got to live in this mansion being the baby?”
“Youngest children are always the most spoiled. My sister’s a brat.”
I smile. “In this family, the oldest gets the best room.”
“Fair enough.” Lennon dumps his bag and glances around the space, and I can no longer take it.
When he spins on his heel, he stumbles back, because I move closer, and I’m guessing he isn’t expecting it. I reach out to steady him, and my arms go around his back.
Lennon’s breath catches as I close the distance and move us backward until his back hits the door.
“What are we doing?” he whispers.
I like that he says we instead of you. He’s in this as much as I am.
“I was thinking we might need to practice.”
Lennon runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Practice what?”
“Touching.” I swallow the imaginary gravel in my throat. “Kissing.” My hand reaches for his cheek. “Other stuff to make us look like real boyfriends.”
“Other stuff? Are you telling me your family is expecting us to put on a porn show for them or something to prove our relationship? Because that’s all kinds of fucked up.”