Bad Boyfriend (25 page)

Nate shrugged. “Kellan took the car to the restaurant. I had to take a cab home.”

“How were things when they saw each other?”

“Sullen, but quiet. At least now I know what to write for this week’s column: Why You Should Marry an Orphan.”

Nate handed him the way-too-big spare helmet, and Eli climbed on behind Nate, hugging his waist. On the freezing ride over to Woodlawn, Eli thought about Nate’s future column. He and Quinn were both as good as orphans. Eli might despise the idea of being dependent on the approval of a “normal” family, but if Quinn thought he needed it, Eli would suffer through it with him. Plus, this way he could keep an eye on that bastard Peter.

Nate throttled back in front of the house number Eli had given him. Claire and Roger Laurent’s 2182 Meadowview Drive was a red-bricked split-level in a neighborhood of red-bricked bungalows and Cape Cods and split levels, just like Quinn’s, just like Peter’s. Eli suspected wherever Dennis and Paula lived it was more of the same.

“You going to get back okay?” Nate asked as he relocked the helmet on the back.

Eli pointed to Quinn’s car at the end of the driveway. “He’s still here. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’m going down to see my folks in Catonsville.”

So much for Nate’s orphan-loving cynicism. Eli waved as Nate spluttered off.

For once, Eli was hoping to make the opposite of a grand entrance, so rather than ring the bell, he knocked.

Alyssa, now with purple streaks in her blonde hair, yanked him inside. “Oh my God, I’m so glad you showed up. It’s been really weird.”

“About the apartment thing?”

“What, that? No.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I figured you guys were working it out. Sometimes Quinn just needs to get over himself, right?”

It occurred to Eli that he had a nice untapped source of information here. She did seem to know Quinn fairly well, and unlike the rest of her family, didn’t avoid actually talking about things.

“No,” Alyssa went on, dragging Eli up four stairs to what looked like a formal sitting room. It was empty, but she still looked around like she was checking for eavesdroppers. “Peter showed up late, without Chrissy and Gabe. He says the baby’s running a fever and that Chrissy didn’t want to take him out. Then he said she was taking him over to see her parents for awhile.”

“Which?”

“Exactly. The story’s changed three times. And Quinn was already here when Peter finally showed up and there was this look. I mean I know my brother’s a dick, but that was the dirtiest look I’ve ever seen on him. The temperature dropped twenty degrees. Dennis tried to talk to him—”

“Who?”

“Peter. But he keeps slinking away. He’s loading up containers now. I swear, he’s taking enough food for ten people, but says he can’t stay for dessert. Something is going on.”

The whole thing about desserts and containers had logical leaps Eli couldn’t follow, but the rest of Alyssa’s whispered drama update was clear. The shit had hit the fan. Eli closed his eyes. “Great.”

Despite the plush, wall-to-wall carpet, Eli heard footsteps behind them.

“Hey.” Quinn came up and gave him a quick side hug. “I didn’t expect you. I remember the words
no fucking way
.” He murmured the last part in Eli’s ear.

“And miss the excitement?” Eli arched his brows. Maybe Quinn could provide some commentary.

“You guys are so cute.” She headed toward the arch that led into a dining room. “I’m going to tell Mom you’re here.”

Claire appeared around another weird angle. The whole split-level thing was starting to freak Eli out. He’d rather have secret passages in a haunted mansion.

“Oh, Eli. I hope you brought your camera. If only Chrissy and the baby were here.”

Somewhere a door slammed with enough force to shake the house.

Claire went on as if the sound hadn’t happened. “Did you eat, dear? Come into the kitchen. I haven’t even put everything away yet. Quinn and Alyssa can set the table for dessert.”

Eli wondered if he were being hauled in for another secret meeting, but Paula and Faith were at the sink washing dishes. Running a monologue about the family history and origins of every spoonful, Claire loaded a dish with food and handed it to him.

“The other boys are in the living room watching a game.” Claire ushered him out as quickly as she had drawn him in.

Eli had only the two previous encounters to use for judgment, but he had to agree with Alyssa. Things were really weird. And it wasn’t just all the stairs he kept getting lost on.

Eli had made a wrong turn and found himself in the sitting room again, when Dennis cornered him. “C’mere. I want to show you something.”

Dennis took Eli’s plate and placed it on a coffee table before leading him up another set of stairs to a bedroom where he closed the door.

Weird had just taken a detour into uncomfortable.

“Um. I think—” Eli started for the door, but Dennis blocked it.

“The last time I saw you. At Peter’s house. You said something about Peter.”

Eli couldn’t figure out what Dennis was talking about.

Dennis folded his arms. “My birthday. You went on your little Quinn-is-gay rant out by his car. You said something about Peter then.”

“That he’s a selfish prick?”

“You said something about fallout. I remember that.”

Eli bit back a
So why the fuck ask me
, and shrugged. “I guess. Something like that. I don’t remember exactly what.”

“Were you just taking Quinn’s side?”

“I’m always going to take Quinn’s side.” Eli straightened up. Screw it. All these muffled footsteps and staircases and secrets. “But I was talking about the fact that no matter what gender he claims to want to be with, your brother is a cheating whore.”

Dennis’s blue eyes widened.

“A man whore. He hit on me.”

Dennis rolled his eyes.

It was Eli’s turn to fold his arms. “I’ll have you know most gay guys find me hot.”

Dennis looked like he was trying to figure out why.

“Fine,” Eli snapped. “Don’t believe me. Believe this. He was at Grand Central. I don’t know if you know what that is—”

“I’m a cop. I know.”

“Well, he wasn’t there for the drink specials. He keeps it up, your friends in vice will be finding him sucking guys off in Carroll Park.”

Lips pressed in a thin line, Dennis yanked open the bedroom door.

“You asked,” Eli pointed out, but Dennis was gone.

Eli went downstairs and offered to handle the second wave of dishes. With enthusiasm, Faith tossed him her dishrag and went to beg her grandmother to let her make the whipped cream. Quinn came in and leaned on the counter.

“What?” Eli muttered self-consciously. That stare was too sexy.

Quinn stretched around him and rubbed something off one of the dishes. “I hate not being able to touch you all the time,” he murmured in Eli’s ear.

Eli was about to toss the dish back in the sink and jump the man, but he remembered these people were important to Quinn. Eli could behave for another hour.

Shouts sounded from outside, at first indistinguishable but then over the whirr of Faith’s beaters, he heard the tail end of “…fucking truth for once in your life.”

The beaters clattered onto the table, spraying drops of sweetened airy cream.

“I wonder what that’s about?” Claire came over to Faith. “Let me help you, sweetie.” She picked the hand mixer up, apparently oblivious to the battle sounds. Faith ran to her mother.

No matter how much Claire tried to ignore it, the sounds were very obviously two men fighting in Claire’s backyard. Since the last Eli had seen of Roger he was sound asleep in a recliner, it was Dennis and Peter.

“Mom! That’s Daddy.” Faith clung to Paula.

“It’s okay, Faithy. I need you to keep an eye on your brother for me. Daddy’s fine. I’m going to go talk to him.”

Quinn had started for the back door the second Faith dropped the beaters. By the time Eli found his way out—through the living room—Quinn was between the brothers, holding Dennis’s arm. At the end of it, Dennis’s fist had a grip on Peter’s dress shirt.

“Well that explains it.” Peter tore himself free, losing a few buttons in the process. He glared at his brother. “You actually believe this little fag—”

Quinn punched him in the mouth. Eli jumped forward to grab Quinn’s right arm.

Peter wiped his mouth and smiled with bloody teeth. “Damn. You finally grew a pair.”

“What the hell is going on?” Roger came through the back door.

“Don’t worry. He can’t hit hard,” Peter sneered.

“Don’t worry. My foot in your nuts will be hard enough,” Eli said, still holding on to Quinn.

“Tell them, Peter.” Dennis’s voice was low, lethal with threat.

“Tell them what? The kid’s jealous. I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.” Peter glanced up as Claire came out. “Sorry, Mom.”

Dennis paced away from his brother then came back to face him. “Why isn’t your wife here, Peter? Tell me what I heard at the station isn’t true.”

“It isn’t. I’d expect this from him.” Peter jerked his head in Quinn’s direction. “But not my own brother.”

“Dennis,” Roger barked out. “Explain this.”

“I heard from the dispatcher at the station Chrissy took the baby and left him. Then Eli says—”

“Eli?” Roger turned with a dismissive look.

Eli let go of Quinn and started to step forward, but Quinn’s arm pulled him back.

“Yes, Eli,” Quinn said. “Who is, when I’m not asking him to lie for the rest of you, completely honest.”

“The rest of us? Heavens, Quinn, what do you mean?” Claire asked.

“I don’t know about Chrissy leaving, but I’m through covering for your son.” Quinn’s last word carried a boatload of disgust.

“Quinn.” Peter’s cry had an equal amount of desperation.

“I don’t know what his sexuality is—”

“Really, Quinn,” Claire interrupted.

“But he hasn’t been faithful to his wife, and if she had any sense, she did leave.”

Roger strode across the lawn and delivered a sharp backhand to his son. “What have you done?”

Peter looked down like a guilty child. “She found a receipt for condoms in my jeans. But she wouldn’t have thought— I could have convinced her if—he hadn’t been around.” He pointed at Eli. “He’s what made her think anything had happened in the first place.”

The silence was heavy. Eli felt the looks coming at him.

“Well, thank God for that.” Quinn put his arm around Eli.

“Amen,” Dennis added.

Quinn steered Eli to Claire, who was standing with her hand over her mouth as if she had to block whatever she wanted to say. “Thanks for dinner. Claire.” He nodded at the other people on the patio. “Roger, Paula, Happy Thanksgiving.” He brought them to a stop in front of Dennis. “Give me a call, and we’ll play a little pickup.”

“Sure.” Dennis slapped Quinn’s shoulder and offered a hand to Eli. “Thanks for being strai—uh, thanks, Eli. Sorry about…” He dipped his head in a way that could have referred to any of the family.

“It’s okay.” Eli stared a second before he shook the man’s hand. “You and your wife should come for dinner sometime.”

“Honest, you say?” Dennis grinned at Quinn. “What about the kids?” he asked Eli.

“Ummm.”

Dennis gave Eli the same shoulder slap he’d given Quinn.

When they were around the corner of the house on their way to the driveway, Quinn yanked Eli close and kissed him.

One ear cocked for the sound of someone coming to pull them apart for queering up this section of suburbia, Eli kissed him back, lifting up on his toes, loving every breath and taste of the man.

“Thanks,” Quinn said when he let Eli go.

“I know I’m awesome, but what for this time?”

Quinn dropped another kiss on Eli’s lips. “Just for being my boyfriend.” Quinn gave him that smile. The same one that Eli used to think meant Quinn was laughing at him. It didn’t mean that. It was Quinn’s
dare you
smile. His
come on and have fun with me
smile. His Eli smile. “C’mon. I’ll take you downtown for some pie.”

“How heteronormative.”

“I can’t have pie on Thanksgiving because straight people do?”

“Fine. Have pie. I want crepes.” Eli kissed the reddened tops of Quinn’s knuckles. “And you have to change out of that sweater.”

Quinn laughed and dragged Eli toward the car.

About the Author

K.A. Mitchell discovered the magic of writing at an early age when she learned that a carefully crayoned note of apology sent to the kitchen in a toy truck would earn her a reprieve from banishment to her room. Her career as a spin control artist was cut short when her family moved to a two-story house, and her trucks would not roll safely down the stairs. Around the same time, she decided that Chip and Ken made a much cuter couple than Ken and Barbie and was perplexed when invitations to play Barbie dropped off. An unnamed number of years later, she’s happy to find other readers and writers who like to play in her world.