Shattered Glass(145)

“You used ironic incorrectly.”

“Shit happens!” He spat. Oops. I had hit the Peter-thinks-I-think-he’s-stupid button.

“Then again, so did I.”

He narrowed his gaze and blew out a breath. Our relationship was a series of volatile reactions. With the rollercoaster ride my pulse was on, I could honestly say that I liked it that way. These days our arguments were heated, but not cruel. Our makeups were even better.

He chewed his inner lip. A sign I always took as him figuring out how to get me to do something. “I think you should see your mother. Something is making your dad get involved with all of this.”

“You’re a manipulative asshole, you know that?”

“You love it.”

“Only when your manipulations are to get into my pants.”

“Yes, my so clever manipulations to get into your pants. What were those again?”

“Breathing. Talking. Existing.” Snagging his suitcase, I swung off the bed and hid his shaved head with my baseball cap. As I fit it over his brow, I made him laugh with a wiggle of my brows.

He straightened the cap and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Well?”

“Yes, you’re still hot. Too tall. A little too skinny now. I miss your hair. But the scars are sexy.” I feigned innocence with a grin while he stood there, waiting. My hand dropped, the bag bouncing heavily against my leg. “Let it go, Peter.”

He looked away and nodded. “Okay.”

Releasing the bag, I leaned in, tucked my hands behind his neck and pressed my mouth next to his ear. “Let it go.” He turned and caught my lips with his. A second later, the ground tilted and I was wrapped in him.

I never tired of kissing Peter. His myriad of tastes and scents, of touches and sounds overwhelmed the senses. I sometimes felt the strange sensation of levitating when I tried to take in everything. Erotic meditation I called it.

His rough hands gripped my arms, pressing me closer. He smelled of hospital soap and over-the-counter lotion. He gasped, and his breath excitedly exhaled, heating my lips. He tasted of lime Jell-O. I considered buying cases of it just to relive this kiss. But the next kiss he would smell of lemon or cinnamon or aftershave, and he would moan, or whisper my name instead of gasping; and he would taste of mouthwash or the Pixie Stix he shared with Cai or whatever soda he was drinking. And then I’d want a case of those.

I was still in that dazed, erotic meditation, freefalling when Cai interrupted. “Oh. Um. Sorry.” He scratched his head and bounced up to his toes. “I just…Darryl and your mom…I think he might, um…hit her.”

Peter looked from Cai to me. His laughter trailing to a knowing smile. “Breathe, Austin.”

I tossed Cai the keys to Arturo. They bounced off his chest and fumbled into his hands by accident rather than design. “See if Darryl will let you drive home. We have something to do.”

Peter stuffed his hands back into his pocket, laughing at the speed of Cai’s departure. “Your mother?”

I nodded.

“What changed your mind?”

I traced his lips with my thumb. “Erotic meditation.”

“It’s a little sad that after making out for five minutes, you’re ready to do anything for me,” Peter teased.

“I haven’t had sex in six weeks. My erections are boring holes through my pants. Pulling up your sleeve at the right moment might convince me to sign over my checking accounts.”

“Good to know.”

“But I’m not doing this for you.” I turned his hat backward and trailed my fingers lightly down his neck. “We have enough baggage without my mother.”

“Okay. I mean…good. Yeah. Whatever. Okay.” He bit his lip.

Jesus, he was cute. “Speaking of sex, how about a hand job in the elevator?”

He dragged his fingers through my hair and pushed down. “How about you suck my cock right now?”





Are You My Mother?

My father stood when I entered the room. I used that excuse to avoid looking at the bed and concentrated on his wary head tilt. His eyes floated past me to the doorway where Peter leaned casually with his hands in his pockets.

“Son, I do not think it is appropriate for you to bring—”

“My faggot boyfriend in here to flaunt my faggot lifestyle?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned back against the wall furthest from them both. “You should thank him. He’s the reason I’m here.”

“It is inappropriate to bring a stranger into her room without her permission,” he ground out.

“Desmond, would you fetch a nurse?” My mother laid a hand on his arm. I willed her gnarled fingers to wither and crumble under my glare.