Man of the House(46)

He was constantly searching for something, partying and drowning himself in the next new thing. That explained the scandals he was constantly getting into. It wasn’t that he was a bad guy or something. In fact, Carter was one of the strongest, best men I’d ever met. But because of his constant need for more and something else, he was getting involved in things that maybe didn’t play too well in the media. He was a playboy because it was easier to be a genius playboy than to be a boyfriend or a husband.

I didn’t know if that was changing with me. I genuinely doubted it. Maybe he was interested in me right now, but I had no clue how long that was going to last or what it really meant. I was his latest toy, the thing that brought him pleasure in this moment, and I had no illusions about where this would end up.

I hoped that wasn’t the case. Maybe I was silly and naïve, but there was still part of me that hoped he was really changing and growing up. I knew it wasn’t likely, but I hoped anyway.

He seemed to really care about my safety, at least. I couldn’t imagine how much money he was spending on these security guys, but it wasn’t a small amount. He even hired this quiet guy to personally watch over me, my very own bodyguard, although I told him not to.

Of course he didn’t listen. Carter only listens to himself. Maybe I could change that too, but I doubted it.

Maybe I didn’t want to change that.

The day slipped past, lazy and slow. Nothing new happened, no frantic phone calls, no drones, nobody stalking me, nothing. I almost even forget what was going on and felt like a normal college student home for the summer again.

But then I’d remember that I was having some sort of messed up affair with my fake stepfather, and then I’d remember all of the other stuff.

I didn’t have it to bad. There were probably a million girls that would have traded places with me. A couple weeks ago, I would have gladly done that, but not anymore. Not after everything that had happened, not after how Carter made me feel.

My mom came home around five-thirty, although she said Carter was still stuck in the office. She came to my apartment with me and started cooking while I showered off and got changed into fresh clothes.

I found her at the stove when I finally came out of the bathroom.

“How was work?” I asked her.

“Same old,” she said, smiling. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Got followed by a strange man and then attacked by a drone.”

She nodded. “Of course. Don’t forget the decapitated dog.”

“Robot,” I corrected her. “It was a robot. A really, really convincing robot.”

She laughed. “Come here, keep an eye on this, would you?”

“Sure.”

I walked over and took the spatula spoon from her hand as she went over and started chopping vegetables.

“What are you making?”

“Arepas,” she said. “They’re like fat tortillas that you cut open and stuff.”

“Looks really good.”

“Flip those in a few minutes.”

I nodded, looking at the food. It had been a while since Mom and I cooked dinner together. When I was growing up, she was constantly trying new things, and I was always pulled in as her little sous chef. I could julienne carrots before I was eight, which was probably a little absurd, but she felt that cooking is a skill everyone should have.

“How are things with you and Carter?” she asked.

I groaned a little bit. “Mom, let’s not.”

“Come on. I want to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

She sighed. “You never tell me about your boys.”

“You never tell me about your girls,” I pointed out.

“Oh, please. You don’t want to hear about your gay mother’s love life.”

“I’m curious. You haven’t brought someone around in a while.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said softly.

I frowned and watched her chop for a second. I knew she’d been busy because of me, but she was never going to admit it. Maybe this whole fake marriage thing was a part of her scheme to finally get a personal life. It was hard enough being gay in America, let alone a single gay mom. That was part of what drove Dad away, all those years ago. Mom came out to him and he just up and ran away, leaving me and never looking back. I didn’t want to know the bastard, but he made her life so much harder than it had to be.

“Does he make you happy?” she asked suddenly.

“That’s a hard question to answer right now.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

I thought for a second. “Without all of the noise around us, yeah, he does.”

“And he’s good to you.”