Tell Me It's Real(64)

“Oh sweat balls,” I said. But I reached out and grabbed his hand.

He grinned and squeezed my hand back.

And that would be a great place to end the first date, right? That declaration, the knowledge that I’d swam with hippos, that Santiago might or might not have put pubes in the food that would come later. It’s magical! It’s wonderful! So very, very romantic! Nothing could make it better!

Nope.

“Paul!” my mother shouted from behind me on the street. “Yoo-hoo! Paul, dear! It’s me, your mother! Your father is with me too! Paul! Oh, for heaven’s sakes, Larry, I don’t think he can hear me. I’m practically screaming his name. Maybe he’s going deaf.”

“You aren’t practically doing anything,” my father said mildly. “I’m pretty sure they can hear you down in Mexico.”

“Lawrence Auster,” she scolded. “What a mean thing to say.”

“Just… ignore them,” I ground out to Vince.

“Are they your parents?” he asked, looking over my shoulder. “They look like that picture you have in your bedroom.”

“When I say so, get ready to run, okay?” I whispered harshly. “On three.”

“What? We’re not running.”

“One—”

“Yoo-hoo, Paul!”

“Two—”

Vince waved over my shoulder at my parents.

“Three!” I got up and started running, but Vince didn’t let go of my hand. Apparently his muscles were quite real and Vince was just a tad bit stronger than me. I only made it two steps toward the exit before I was jerked back to the table. Vince spun me around neatly so that I landed on his lap, my back to his chest. To give him credit, he didn’t even cry out in massive pain as my bulk landed on him, surely crushing him to dust, especially given how sore he still must have been. I was too shocked at this sudden turn of events to even feel remotely sorry, given that he was a traitor along the lines of my dog.

“You can’t run away from your parents,” he admonished lightly. “It’s rude.”

“I don’t want to be your boyfriend anymore,” I told him, quite sure of myself.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, you do. I make you so fucking happy.”

“Gross. You do not,” I mumbled, doing my damnedest to ignore that little glowing light in me.

Matty and Larry Auster were very curious by this sudden turn of events, watching the two of us closely as they walked up the sidewalk toward us. I tried to move off Vince’s lap, but he wrapped his arm around my waist and gripped me tightly, his point very clear. It probably didn’t help things when I wiggled in his lap to get more comfortable and felt his dick against my ass. He groaned just once, and it was quiet, but it was enough to make me freeze as his cock hardened while my parents were standing two feet away.

“Paul,” Dad said in greeting, looking amused. “Nice to see you, son.”

“Dad,” I managed to say. “Mom.”

My mother’s eyes sparkled. “Paul, what a surprise this is!”

“Oh no. Not a surprise. I’m pretty sure this is God fucking with me,” I told her.

“Language!” my father frowned.

“Sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

“Hello,” my mother said over my shoulder. “I’m Matty Auster, and this is my husband, Larry. We’re Paul’s parents.”

“Nice to meet you,” Vince said cheerfully. He very smartly extended the hand that was not wrapped around my waist, knowing that if he let go I would use that time to escape. To exact my revenge, I flexed my ass against his lap and felt him shudder underneath me. To his credit, his voice was only a little tight when he shook my parents’ hands and said hello. “I’m Paul’s boyfriend, Vince Taylor,” he said, squeezing me again.

Goddammit.

“Boyfriend?” Dad said, sounding perplexed. “Paul, you never mentioned anything about a boyfriend.”

“It’s a new thing,” I said as I blushed.

“At least fifteen minutes now,” Vince agreed.

“Fifteen minutes?” Mom said. “That’s fifteen minutes longer than anyone else.”

“Mom!” I hissed.

“Well, it’s true, dear. You don’t normally have boyfriends, though for the life of me I can’t understand why. I think you’d make the perfect partner to a nice man.”

“Oh, he does,” Vince said.

“What happened to that guy that Sandy said you spit on last weekend?” Dad asked. “I thought you were going to try and get with that?”

I groaned. “Dad? Do me a favor. Never say ‘get with that’ ever again. You’ve just fried my brain. And you guys really need to stop talking to Sandy.”