Chapter Eleven
The more Robin thought about it, the more convinced he became that his parents were never going to buy it. Maybe Dean coming over and talking to them is the way to go. Except he felt sure that would only lead to more questions. So when dinner time arrived Friday evening, he bit the bullet.
“Guess who I ran into the other night on the way home from Ben’s?” he said as casually as he could manage while passing the mashed potatoes to his dad.
“That’s it? We don’t even get a hint?” Dad teased.
“Remember Mr. Quentin, who came to the boatyard to order a canoe?”
Dad coughed. “It was less than two weeks ago. I think I can remember that far back. Where did you see him?”
“He’d been out for a run.” Robin hated the lies with a passion. He hoped to God his face wasn’t flushed.
“Someone else who likes exercising at night,” Mom commented. “Having said that, I guess his school work keeps him busy. It might be the only time he gets.”
“He knows we’re not going to start work on his canoe until after New Year’s, doesn’t he?” Dad asked. “I did tell him that.”
“I’m sure he does, but we weren’t talking about the canoe. He was kinda excited. A friend of his is about to perform in a dance production Off-Broadway. Apparently, Mr. Quentin danced in one of his shows once.” Robin’s heart pounded. This isn’t gonna work.
“Wow.” Mom widened her eyes. “He must be good. Well, both of them. So what kind of production is his friend dancing in?”
“I’m not sure,” Robin said truthfully. “I made Mr. Quentin laugh though. I told him about when I was a kid.”
Before he could say any more, Mom laughed. “My little would-be Nureyev.”
Robin frowned. “Who?”
She sighed. “Never mind. You were so enraptured by ballet. I’ve got a video of you someplace.”
He stared at her in horror. “What kind of video? I don’t remember that.”
“Oh my God, you were adorable. You were wearing your Spiderman underwear, and cavorting all around the yard, twirling and leaping, like you’d seen them dancing on TV.”
Dad let out an explosive snort, which he then muffled with his hand. He glanced at Mom. “And he thought we’d be surprised he’s gay.”
Robin made a mental note to go through the box of video tapes in the attic, and find it. That was one video that would never see the light of day again. Then he recalled there’d been a point to this conversation.
“Well, after Mr. Quentin found out how much I’d liked the ballet, he asked if I would be interested in seeing the production with him. He’s got a spare ticket for the opening night. The friend who was going with him had canceled on him.”
Dad frowned. “Seriously?”
Robin nodded. “He said he’d be going the day before, when school closes for the holidays, and coming home Sunday.
He said he’d take me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and a bunch of other cool places.
” He summoned up all his courage. “I said I’d love to go.
I’ve never been to a theater in New York before.
It sounds amazing. And I don’t remember anything from that last trip we took there. ”
Mom glanced at Dad, who shrugged. “Where would you stay?” Mom inquired.
“Mr. Quentin said he’d get me a room at the same hotel where he’s staying.”
Another glance at his dad. “What do you think?” she said.
“Maybe I should talk to him.” When Robin opened his mouth to speak, Dad held up his hand.
“Yes, I know you’re eighteen, and you’re a man now, and yes, I know he’s an okay guy—well, he seems like one—but I’d still like to talk to him.
This is a huge deal, son. You’ve never done anything like this.
Hell, you had to be dragged kicking and screaming to summer camp when you were a kid. ”
“That was only because you sent me there with Ryan,” Robin retorted.
Mom chuckled at that.
Dad waved his hand. “I’m not talking about grilling the man.
I only want to make sure he’ll look out for you.
It’s an awfully big city, and nowhere near as safe as Lake Placid.
I’ll call him tomorrow. I’ve got his number at work—it’s on his order details—so I’ll go to the office in the morning.
” He glanced at Robin’s plate. “Eat. Your dinner’s getting cold. ”
Robin wasn’t sure he could eat a thing right then.
He took a forkful of chicken, but his mouth was dry as a bone, and his throat tighter than a fish’s asshole.
He did his best to eat most of it, but he was counting the minutes until he could be excused from the table and go to his room to text Dean.
Gotta warn him what’s coming his way. Not that he thought Dean would be concerned, but forewarned was forearmed, right?
“This production… it’s the day after the high school closes, did you say?” Dad asked suddenly.
“Yes, sir.”
Dad nodded slowly. “So you’d be taking the Friday afternoon off—if you go.”
Robin opened and closed his mouth. Half a day off wasn’t that much to ask.
His mom got in first. “And of course, you’re snowed under with all the work you’ve got on right now,” she said with a glint in her eyes.
Dad blinked. “Well… no… but—”
“You said a moment ago you’ve got orders you’re not even starting until after New Year’s.”
Dad gave her a hard stare. “Hey. Whose side are you on anyway?”
“I’m not on anyone’s side,” she said in a patient tone.
“But Robin’s right. This sounds like it would be an amazing weekend.
He hasn’t had a break this summer, unlike Ryan.
Robin worked right through it, while Ryan hung around the house and went out with his friends.
I think that deserves a reward, don’t you? ”
Robin gave her a warm glance. His mom was awesome.
Dad gave a grudging nod. “I suppose you’re right. He did start working with me right after graduation.” He smiled at Robin. “I’ll still talk to Mr. Quentin, but I don’t foresee you having a weekend away being a problem. And it sounds like Mr. Quentin has plans to make it a fun weekend too.”
Robin had no doubt they would have fun—it just wouldn’t be the kind of fun he could tell them about.
Once he’d cleared the table after dinner, Robin dashed to his room and sent a quick text to Dean.
Dad is going to call you tomorrow.
A few seconds later, Dean’s reply arrived. Okay. Thanks for letting me know. How did it go?
Robin smiled. Better than I thought it would. After Mom’s intervention, he breathed a little easier. Then his phone pinged again. Another text from Dean.
Call me tonight before you go to sleep? Make it a video call?
Okay, that was new. Sure. I don’t go to bed all that late, even though it is a Friday night. Then he thought about it. But you’re going to see me tomorrow morning. Can’t it wait until then?
Dean’s reply sent a rush of heat through him. No, because I want to see you in your bed. Humor me.
Robin’s heartbeat quickened as he typed his response. Only if you’re in yours. He waited to see Dean’s reply, his mouth dry again.
Deal. Buzz me when you’re in bed. (Grin emoji) I bet you have the cutest pajamas.
Robin couldn’t resist. Who says I wear them?
A little purple devil emoji popped up on his screen. Brat. Now I’m hard.
Robin laughed as he typed. Damn I’m good.
He couldn’t wait for bedtime.
At ten-thirty, Dean’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up hurriedly.
In bed.
Dean grinned. I can’t believe I’m about to do this.
He went upstairs to his room, stripped off his clothing, and sat on his bed, leaning back against the carved wooden headboard.
He pressed the video icon, and seconds later, there was Robin’s sweet face, framed by the white cotton of his pillow, a snowy white comforter pulled up to his chin.
Dean noted the earbuds already in place. Clever Robin.
“Hey there.”
Robin’s gorgeous smile greeted him. “Hey.” He spoke quietly.
“You know, seeing you like that? You look like a virgin.” Dean chuckled. “Except that’s not true anymore, is it?”
Oh my God, that flush is cute as fuck.
Robin cleared his throat. “Okay, I’m in bed. You’ve seen me.” His lips twitched. “You’ve seen what’s under the comforter too.”
Dean grinned. “What does your bedroom look like?”
“Really? You wanna see my room?”
“Like I said in my text. Humor me.” He wanted Robin relaxed and comfortable.
“Fine.” Robin flipped the camera, and Dean gazed at the tidy room. A typical teenager’s room, sure, but way neater than Dean’s bedroom had ever been. There were posters on the wall, mostly of movies, and a tall bookcase crammed full of books.
Dean liked what he saw.
“What kind of books do you read?”
The camera zoomed in on the bookcase. “Take a look.”
Dean scanned the shelves. There were little kids’ books on the bottom shelves, but farther up he spied a lot of science fiction and fantasy, plus a big selection of books on Art.
One spine caught his eye. “You like the Pre-Raphaelites?” He hadn’t expected to see such a book in a young man’s bedroom.
The camera flipped again, and Dean was looking at Robin once more. “Yeah. I love their paintings. Especially the ones that showed knights and kings, girls in long, flowing dresses…”
Okay, that told Dean a lot. “Well well well.” Robin was becoming more interesting by the minute.
Robin’s eyes widened. “What?”
Dean smiled. “You’re a romantic at heart, aren’t you?”
Robin sighed. “That’s what Ryan said too.” He swallowed. “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“Nothing at all.” Dean lay on his side, propping up his phone against a pillow. “Why didn’t you take Art classes? You’re obviously interested in it.”
Robin’s shy smile made Dean’s heart glad. “I guess woodwork won the toss. I couldn’t do both, and I knew I’d need those skills if I was gonna work with my dad.”
“That’s a pity. I’d have loved to have you in my class.
Most of the kids who did Art thought it would be easy, some kind of a dodge.
The Art history part bored them to tears.
From a purely selfish perspective, it would have been so good to have a student in there who was genuinely interested in the subject. ”
“I’m sorry I missed out on having you as a teacher too.”
Dean loved the quiet melody of Robin’s voice. He could listen to him talk for hours. “Tell me. Who’s your favorite Pre-Raphaelite painter?”
Robin screwed up his forehead, obviously deep in thought. “That’s tough. I don’t think I could name one. Holman Hunt was awesome, but then again so was Edward Burne-Jones. And I love Rossetti, but Millais was just as good.”
Dean beamed. “Well, you’ve named my favorites.”
Robin’s face lit up. “Really?”
Dean picked up his phone and flipped the camera to reveal the large print on his bedroom wall. He caught Robin’s gasp.
“Ophelia. I love that one.”
Dean flipped the camera again, then replaced it in its former position.
He lay on his side, Robin mirroring him, and they talked about their favorite paintings, the model Rossetti used, Holman Hunt’s trips to Palestine to get the lighting right for his more biblical works…
It wasn’t until Dean glanced at his bedside alarm clock that he realized they’d been talking for almost an hour.
He let out a soft chuckle. “This wasn’t what I had planned at all for this call,” he confessed.
Robin smirked. “Yeah. I kinda got that.” He stilled. “But this has been amazing.”
Dean had to agree. With one reveal of his books, Robin had derailed Dean’s intentions, and what was to have been a hot bedtime chat had morphed into a fascinating discussion.
Dean couldn’t have been happier.
“I’d better let you sleep,” he said reluctantly.
“We can always talk some more about this tomorrow while we put up the lights and stuff,” Robin suggested.
Dean liked that idea. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I haven’t enjoyed a conversation so much in ages.”
“Same here.” Robin’s eyes appeared as though they were about to close at any second.
“Go to sleep, beautiful.” Dean blew him a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Here.” Robin blew a kiss back to him. “Goodnight, Dean.” Then he was gone.
Dean rolled onto his back. How did he do that? The night had gone nothing like he’d planned, and Dean didn’t give a fuck. What he was left with, however, was the desire to spend more time with Robin. His gorgeous exterior was merely the icing on the cake.
What lay beneath was just as alluring.