A month, a week, a cab ride …
There’s something innocent and pure about Matt, which is hilarious when taking in his two-hundred-thirty-pound frame and muscular football physique. I want to show him new things. I want to show him how good it can be with the right person. Not a forever guy—I can’t be that for him—but someone Matt can be himself around. I’m the last person who’s going to judge him.
He kisses me hard and pulls me against him by gripping my ass. I want to fuck him. I want him to fuck me. God, I just want us to fuck each other—I don’t care how, where, or who’s on top.
The chance to do either dies along with my erection when someone clears their throat.
“When you’re quite done,” Dad says, standing at the archway between the foyer and the living room.
“Shit,” I mumble and bury my head in Matt’s neck. This is the big blowup I’d hoped for, and now that I’m about to get it, it’s the last thing I want.
“Umm, Noah?” Matt asks. “You have company.”
With a deep breath, I pull away and face Dad. “Hello, Father.”
“Son.” Dad turns the icy stare he’s perfected onto Matt. “Mr. Jackson.”
Matt holds out his hand. “Senator Huntington.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask when Dad doesn’t shake Matt’s hand.
“Someone calls for the jet, I naturally assume it’s you. And seeing as your phone’s been off for days, this was the only way I could get through to you that this relationship needs to end.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I say.
“You’re twenty-six years old, Noah. When are you going to stop playing around?”
“We’re not playing around. We’re serious.” Lying to my dad has always come easy for me. Of course, I wasn’t one of the ones getting drunk on the beach. Of course, it’s the professor’s fault I failed poli-sci sophomore year. Of course, I’ll come home for Thanksgiving. I tell him what he expects to hear, because I know he won’t be interested in the truth. Ever. If I told him I was helping out a friend by using our family’s rep as leverage, I’d probably be disowned. Not that it would mean much. Thanks to Grandfather, I’m worth more than my father at this point.
“How am I supposed to spin this?” Dad asks.
“With all due respect, sir,” Matt says and steps forward. “My agent and management team are working on salvaging my reputation and my career. Noah and I have not, and will not, do anything wrong or anything that will make you or your campaign look bad.”
“My son being with a media nightmare is bad enough.”
Unexpected protectiveness builds in my chest, and I swear a growl escapes. Apparently, I growl now. Great. I shake it off.
“Do you know what this looks like?” Dad says.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe it looks like your son believes love is love no matter who it’s with. Even a down on his luck football star with a shady reputation.”
“Find someone else. I’ve managed to stay scandal free my entire career.”
I laugh, not only at him talking about Matt as if he’s not standing two feet in front of him but because I’ve heard this speech before. “Who? Who should I find? You’ve never approved of any of my boyfriends, and we both know you never will. You want the trophy gay son for your campaigns, but you don’t want me to be gay. People are cool with the queer thing if they don’t have to see it, right? No PDA—no one wants to watch that. That’s what you told me numerous times. I’m a token to you. With me you get the black vote and the LGBTQ vote, but you don’t want me to actually be either of those things.”
Beside me, Matt’s hands fist at his sides.
Shit, I’ve said way too much in front of him. “It’s time for you to go,” I say to my father.
“You can’t kick me out of my own home.”
“This is my home, or did you forget that?”
He’s always hated that I got more than him in Grandfather’s will. Of his siblings, Dad got the least, and then his share was divided even more because of me. My cousins resent me because I’m the only grandchild who got anything, and I get the feeling that happened because my grandfather suspected my uppity family would try to cut me out in the future. Rich dude logic—they’re never happy with what they have, even though they’re wealthy enough to buy their own country.
Dad relents. “I expect you to be in the office tomorrow to discuss this further.”
“No can do. Busy. Sorry.” Okay, even I heard the sarcasm in that.
“You’re needed on this campaign. I never make you come in, but there are strategies that need to be devised, and you are still one of my strategists, aren’t you?”