23. Chapter Twenty-Three #2
I leave, my hands in my pockets, as the music of “Ready For It” plays over and over, the sound of laughter filling the house. Aunt Shannon sits next to me with a plate of food as another pang of laughter rings out.
“I can see why you love him.”
“Huh?” I turn to look at her in question. “What do you mean?”
She shrugs and bites her watercress sandwich. “He just fits in so perfectly it’s like he was made for this family.”
Her words are not lost on me, as Lola comes barreling out with Jacob behind her. I catch his gaze, his blonde hair messy, as Lola jumps in between us and shoves her phone in our faces.
“Look! It’s so good!” she says with a giggle as she plays the video of her performing and Jacob in the background over-acting and pretending to be a backup singer.
“And it’s already up to like five hundred likes! And everyone’s loving Jake!”
Aunt Shannon looks up at him. “I can see why.”
He blushes as he looks at me, and I feel the sincerity of her words. He does fit in. He fits like a glove.
But is it because he fits? Or is it because he’s just really fucking good at his job? Maybe both.
“You ready?” he asks, and I nod.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
He waves to Lola. “See you all later.”
Lola blows him a kiss. “Bye, bestie!”
I nudge his arm on the way out to the car. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
“I know,” he says plainly. “But I wanted to. It sounded like fun. Plus, she seems like a pretty cool kid.”
I smile at him, my heart warming at his words. “She is.”
I open his door, and he gets in with a sweet thank you. When I get in and fire up the car the radio blares and I have to turn it down. He laughs, shaking his head.
“About earlier, my mom, I’m sorry she upset you.”
He turns to me. “She didn’t. It’s just… sometimes it’s hard to keep up with the lies, you know.”
His words hit me harder than they should. The lies. The lies we’re telling everyone else.
The lies we’re telling each other.
The lies we’re telling ourselves, apparently.
There are a hundred things I could say to that, but all I say is, “Yeah, I know.”
When we get to Sal’s, he’s more than happy to see me and I have to say I’ve missed the guy.
“It’s been too long, Aaron,” he says with a smooth grin before raising his eyebrow at Jacob.
“Sal, I need you to find me a killer suit for my boyfriend. We have an event tonight, and he didn’t pack a suit.”
Jacob tenses. He’s told me more than once since this morning that we don’t have to get a suit, that he could wear his dress pants and one of his printed shirts. Which would be fine if this wasn’t Garrett’s party. If I didn’t want to spoil the hell out of him the only way I know how to.
“I told you I’m covering it. It’s part of the expenses for your job.”
He looks at me with a coldness that makes my heart ache, but it’s gone soon enough. He agreed, if only because he knew arguing would get him nowhere.
“Of course,” Sal says as he guides Jacob to the setting stool.
He takes his measurements carefully as I take a seat.
His wife, Laura, comes over to me and offers me a water, which I take.
It’s been years since I’ve gotten a suit from them.
My tailor in LA isn’t as good, but they’ve had my back for years.
Though, there is something about being here in Sal’s shop, with his wife, among the cedar-scented walls that feels comforting. More comforting than it should.
“Okay, I’ll find you a killer suit,” Sal says with a laugh. “You stay here.”
Jacob shoots me a glare, and I have to admit it’s hotter than it should be.
He’s only dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and some tennis shoes.
While he’s worn his khakis and dress pants every night with those perfect button downs, I much prefer him like this.
He looks attractive as hell in his business casual vibe, but when he looks like this—
Every bit the young, charming twenty-four year old who films TikToks and loves Taylor Swift and romance novels… he’s the prettiest.
Because I think this is who he really is. I don’t know for sure, but… I think it is.
And I love the man beneath the illusion as much as I love the illusion.
When Sal comes out with two suits for Jacob to try on I smile.
The first is a dark blue suit and though it looks nice on him, it doesn’t look as sharp as the black suit. I grin.
“That one,” I say, and Jacob crosses his arms.
“What’s wrong with the other one?”
I shrug. “Nothing. I just like this one better.”
“Well, I’m not dressing for you,” he bites petulantly. I grin.
“Oh, you’re not?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
He turns to Sal. “We’ll take the blue one.”
Sal rubs his hands together as he looks at me. “Final decision, boss?”
I catch Jacob’s smirk. Fucking brat; he’s doing this on purpose.
“Mhmm. What the boy wants, he gets,” I say, winking at Jacob. His cheeks erupt into a blush.
I get up, walk over to him and don’t think twice about kissing him. He responds in tandem, slowly kissing me back.
“Thanks, Daddy,” he murmurs against my mouth, and I have half a mind to take him into one of these dressing rooms so he can show me how thankful he is.
But I don’t. Because I have more self control than that, and because we both have more important things to do.
So I tell Sal to wrap it up, pay him for the suit, and then Jacob and I head back to the house to get a jump on preparing our food for our party tomorrow.
When we get back, the Tempests have dispersed, and everyone seems to be taking a break until it’s time to leave.
We spend the afternoon in the kitchen—or more or less, Jacob does.
He tells me what to do, and I do it without protest. I chop fruit and vegetables, spread lunchmeat on sandwiches.
I whisk Jell-O and he fills the plastic cups, snacking on swedish fish as he sprinkles them into the cups with the gummy sharks.
I hip check him and grab a shark and he laughs, the sound genuine.
It takes us too long to make the desserts because every time he tries to use the whip cream I swipe some. On his nose, on his cheeks, on his perfect lips.
Our whip-cream kisses turn slow and sweet, and I only stop when the timer for the Jell-O setting goes off.
I smack him on the ass as he sets to finishing up. We have about two hours until the party, which means we have to get ready. Everyone should be back soon if they aren’t headed straight there.
“Stay here,” I say. “For a second.”
He looks at me in question, but does as I ask.
I head down to the bedroom, to the bathroom, and ready the tub for us.
Jacob did say he wanted a bubble bath, and with everything that’s been going on, we haven’t had the time for him to just soak.
But we’ve got two hours left before the party so it feels as good a time as any.
I turn the faucet on warm, dump some liquid in and head back out to get Jacob.
“Okay, now you can come,” I tell him. I don’t miss the look in his eyes, misconstruing my words.
“There will be time for that later,” I laugh. “Right now, I think we could both use some time to relax.”
He chuckles. “If you say so.”
When I bring him to the bathroom, he gasps. I turn off the faucet, noting the grin on his face.
“You… made me a bath.”
“A bubble bath,” I correct. “Didn’t want that bottle going to waste,” I tease.
I remove his shirt. I kiss him as I unzip his jeans and shove them to the floor. His cock bounces free, sliding wet sticky trails against my stomach. He undresses me slowly, his mouth seeking mine between his ministrations.
I lead us both to the tub, getting in behind him. I wrap my arms around him and he sinks against me with ease, his head falling on my shoulder.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he murmurs, opening those bright blue eyes and gazing up at me.
“I know,” I say, my voice dark and smooth, even to my own ears.
“But I wanted to.” I whisper.
Because I love you. Because I really fucking love you.
He grins, reaching for my jaw as he pulls me to his lips.
“I’m so glad you came,” I say, my hands sliding down his solid, warm body. I find his cock, hard and ready and his cheeks tint with that rosy shade I love so much.
“I haven’t come yet,” he jokes, his voice soft and sweet.
“Not what I meant, but,” I whisper against his lips. “”You will.” I kiss him again. “Promise.”
And he does. Twice. Once, at the utter of the promise, and once again when I bend him over the side of the tub and stroke his prostate.
The sound of his moans are music to my ears.
It takes us far too long to get dressed because we can barely keep our hands off one another. Just as I’m adjusting his tie—hot pink to match mine—I see the sparkle in his eyes isn’t just a sparkle. It’s tears.
“You okay, baby?” I ask, sliding my hand down his tie.
“Perfect,” he says, leaning up to kiss me.
I couldn’t agree more.