He Made Me Stay

“I’m off today and tomorrow. I’d love to meet your parents. Supper tomorrow night then, Jasper?” She beams at me, her smile every bit as radiant as her son’s.

“I, uh, don’t know. Mom’s pregnant and—”

“Oh, I’d love to meet her. Please, Jasper. I’m a great cook. Why don’t you write your mother’s name and number on the pad in the kitchen when you have a snack with Kit? I’ll call her to coordinate.”

“Uh, sure.”

Kit grabs my hand, linking our fingers together. I expect his mother to say something, but she picks her hose up to continue watering the garden. He walks us up the steps of the huge wraparound porch and stops to pet a fat, orange cat.

“Homeslice needs to go to fat kitty camp,” he tells me over his shoulder. “But Mom says he’s just fluffy.”

He stands up and then pushes through the front door. We’re met with chaos. Two kids are riding on their stomachs on skateboards while one attempts to play the piano. A young boy is eating apple slices while trying to do a puzzle at the coffee table. A man who resembles Kit but with a beard and glasses is staring at his laptop while sitting in a recliner.

“Snacks are in the kitchen,” his dad says without looking up.

“Oooh, Kit has a boyfriend,” one of the kids rolling by on a skateboard says.

“And you’re going to have a broken neck if you keep doing that,” Kit chides, narrowly missing his toes getting run over. “Dad, meet Jasper. Jasper, this is my dad, Tad.” He points to the puzzle boy. “That’s Wex.” He then points to the girl at the piano. “That’s Vesper.” His fingers waggle between the boy and girl on skateboards. “Those two are naughty mice Homeslice brought in.”

“Am not!” the boy shrieks while the girl giggles.

“Boys,” Tad chides, though not at all serious. His eyes are now sweeping down my form, studying me with quiet scrutiny. “Nice to meet you, Jasper. Your shirt’s wet.”

“Your wife soaked him,” Kit tattles.

Tad grins. “She’s a little crazy that one.” He motions for the kids rolling past us. “Bo and Quinn are the little skateboarding vermin.” He notices the way Kit holds my hand. “Boyfriend, huh?”

“They’re impossible,” Kit explains to me, not answering his dad’s question. “You just have to ignore them.”

“Hard to ignore when the Strong Force is everywhere,” Tad says, making his voice deep and cryptic like he’s announcing a sci-fi movie. “Welcome to the club.”

Kit takes me into the kitchen and leads me over to the notepad. Reluctantly, I write my mom’s information down before accepting snacks Kit shoves my way. I’m enamored by the way he babbles about everything. Once he’s eaten his fill and checked his monitor through his special watch, he takes my hand again.

We’re almost to the stairs when Tad calls out to us.

“No hanky-panky under my roof!” He cackles, reminding me of his son.

“See what I have to put up with?” Kit groans while I turn a million shades of red. “Come on. Let’s get away from the geezers and farm animals.” His voice is loud enough his dad hears, earning more laughter.

I’m slightly dazed as he points at bedrooms along the way, explaining who sleeps where. We end up in a room that’s most definitely Kit’s. It looks like a rainbow threw up all over it. Funny posters line the walls and his stuff is piled up everywhere. It’s chaotic like him and his family.

He shuts the door behind me and tosses his bag on the floor. I stand there, shifting on my feet, unsure what to do or say. After he hands me a shirt, I quickly swap it out, leaving mine on the floor.

“I need to rest a minute,” he tells me as he pulls off his man purse and sets it on the end table. I’d learned at lunch it holds all his supplies like insulin and syringes and alcohol pads. “Come have a rest, Jasper. You look like you need it.”

I am tired.

So tired.

I kick off my shoes like he does and round the bed to the other side. Once we’re both stretched out, I can’t help but turn on my side so I can see him.

“Can I see the pump again?”

Our eyes meet and his darken slightly. It makes me want to stare at his lips as he licks them, but I want to see his stomach again. He draws up the material. Gingerly, I reach out and touch the device. Then, my fingers graze over his abdominal muscles.

“That tickles,” he breathes.

“Oh,” I say, withdrawing my hand.

“I like it, though.”

The air grows thick with tension as I explore his stomach like I craved to do the moment I first saw it. Each time my fingers dance over his happy trail, he groans. I notice how hard he is in his cargo pants, which makes me hard too.