“Fuck.”
“Mmhmm. If you don’t sneak into my room tonight, just know I’ll be thinking of you when I’m all alone in my big bed.”
“No fair. I can’t jerk off while sleeping on the floor in Seth’s room.”
“Should’ve thought of that before.” I tap his leg so he’ll release them from around my waist. “Now we’re late, and Mom’s gonna want to know why.”
“It took you an hour to style your hair.”
“Did not.”
“That’s what they’ll hear. I’m a good, innocent boy, Foster. Your parents will never believe whatever you tell them I did. Now come on, we’re late.”
I don’t know whether to be concerned or impressed by his clear manipulation. The next few days are going to be the longest of my life.
Going from regular sex to nothing is hard on its own. When the person you want to have sex with is right there and you’re not allowed to touch them? Torture.
Oh, he’s so sneaking into my room later. I’ll make sure of it.
We got snow a few days ago, the kind that sticks to the ground and turns Vermont into a winter wonderland, and the short drive home is made longer by the icy roads, but I don’t care. It gives me more time with my Zach before he becomes the quiet guy he is around my parents.
I’d love nothing more than to walk into the house I grew up in and introduce my boyfriend to my parents, but I haven’t given much more thought to the subject since I spoke to Zach about it.
Avoiding might be a better word for it.
It’s a lot easier to put it in the things to do later—or never—basket.
“Home sweet home,” I say dryly as I pull into the drive behind Seth’s matching Jeep.
“You’re still all right with me spending Thanksgiving with you guys, right?”
“Not so much.”
He looks a little hurt.
“Not being able to touch you will be torture. Torture. Why would you put your super sexy, very hot boyfriend through that?”
He cracks a smile. “I think you’re confused. My boyfriend is conceited and egotistical. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Wow, you are so falling for me. Hard.”
Zach shifts in his seat and glances at the house. “Come on. They’ll think it’s weird if we stay in the car all day.”
I don’t know why I’m stalling. Perhaps it’s the fear that I’m so smitten with the guy next to me that Mom and Dad will be able to read it.
Reluctantly, I climb out of the car and grab our bags out of the trunk.
Zach takes his from me. “Thank you, but nonboyfriend Foster wouldn’t do that.”
“I so would. Like if we were both on campus this year and not together, I would’ve driven you here.”
“Mm, true. That’s just the type of guy you are.”
The snow crunches under our feet as we walk to the front porch.
I send Zach one more smile and contemplate begging for one last kiss, but the door flies open.
“Finally,” Mom says. “I thought you were dead.”
“Always so dramatic.” I hug her. “Apparently, it’s my fault we’re late. I take too long to do my hair according to Zach.” I glance at him over my shoulder and mouth you’re welcome.
“Thanks for having me, Mrs. Grant.”
She waves us in. “You know you’re welcome here anytime. Go put your bags in the room. Seth and your father are watching football.”
“Eww,” Zach and I both say at the same time.
“Well, it’s that or the parade, so—”
“Parade,” we say, again in unison.
Mom’s gaze flicks between both of us, and I freeze up.
“Bags,” I blurt. “Uh, gonna go put my bag in my room. Want me to dump yours in Seth’s?”
“Uh … thanks.” Zach hands me his bag, and I hurry out of the entryway.
“Smooth,” my brother mumbles on my way past him in the living room, and I accidentally hit him in the back of the head with Zach’s bag.
“Would you like help in the kitchen?” I hear Zach ask Mom before I run up the stairs.
It would be so easy to drop Zach’s bag off in my room. Mom and Dad’s bedroom is downstairs. They wouldn’t even know.
My conscience makes me put it in Seth’s room though. It’s not right for me to ask Zach to sneak around.
It’s fun to joke about, but if he doesn’t want to do it, I’d never force him to. If we were to get caught, I could see it now—he’d blame himself for me being outed. I’d never see it that way, but I know he would.
That’s not something you put on someone else’s shoulders.
Even though Zach asks Mom if she needs help, like every other year when she turns him down, he joins us on the large sectional couch where we force Dad to switch between the parade and football.
Zach’s on my side of the couch, only a few feet away.