Chapter 10 The Boyfriend
THE BOYFRIEND
EMERY
Quin and I stand outside my office building, a gust of wind whipping past us. Our lunch breaks have become stolen moments away from reality. But as he faces me, his expression turns solemn. Reality always catches up.
I toss an empty pastry bag into a nearby trash can, frowning. “What's wrong?”
"About Alison… I haven't heard anything back from the hospital yet, but I've got a contact in the city mortuary who said he'd look into it. It's just...difficult to track anything down without any official paperwork."
I’m glad he’s brought it up. I didn’t want to push the subject.
"Maybe you can ask your father." Unease settles in the pit of my stomach. “Maybe he’d know?”
Quin winces. "I will, but I'd rather save that as a last resort. Give me a week or so more, if I don't get answers, then I will."
I nod, sighing as dread presses down on my shoulders. What a mess.
Quin takes my hand. “We’ll get our answers, darling. I promise.”
“I know.”
“Then what is it? You look…worried.”
I nibble on my bottom lip, hesitant to voice my irrational fears. Or maybe they’re rational. Something in my gut is telling me that the trip he’s leaving on tonight isn’t exactly as safe and normal as he’s painting it out to be.
"Are you sure you need to go to Texas?"
Quin casts me a weak smile, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's only for a couple of days, love. I'll be home before you know it."
I eye him warily, uncertainty gnawing at me. "Fine. But be careful."
He brushes off my concern with a dismissive wave. "It's just a study, darling. I'll be—"
I cut him off, my tone firm and unwavering. "Be careful, Quin. I mean it."
Right there, in that moment, I see a flicker of dishonesty in his eyes.
I want to pry. I want to force him to spill his guts to me, but I stop, protecting myself from the havoc the truth may cause.
Maybe he knows me better than I know myself.
Whatever he’s hiding, maybe it’s for the best. Maybe it won’t hurt him. Or me.
“I love you, darling.” Quin caresses my cheek with the back of his cold hand. “More than anything in the entire world.”
I lean into his touch, praying that he’ll make smart choices, that he won’t do something stupid. I’d die if anything happened to him. I’d cease to exist. “I love you too.”
Quin swallows, a silent understanding passing between us as he leans in to kiss me goodbye. His lie lingers on my lips as I watch him leave. I wipe it off, unwilling to let it soak into my skin.
When I step into the elevator, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see my mother's name flashing on the screen.
My unease triples.
Oh God.
Racing through the corridors of the office building, my heart pounds inside my chest, matching the frantic pace of my steps.
I reach my office door and fumble with the code as my phone continues to ring.
I've been avoiding her calls for weeks now, dodging her questions and evading her probing meddling.
But I can't keep this up forever. Sooner or later, I'll have to face the inevitable.
The last text she sent still burns in my mind.
I will take your lack of communication or visitation to mean you've found yourself a man.
I wince, the memory like a knife slicing my fragile reserve. I've always been good at lying to my mother, but the thought of deceiving her in regard to the two most important men in my life, men who saved me, both physically and mentally, fills me with a deep sense of shame.
But how can I tell her the truth? How can I explain that I've been keeping secrets from her, that I've been living a life she knows nothing about? A life she won’t, in a million years, understand. It’s not like I can introduce them both.
It’s not like I can say I love them both. She’d have a heart attack. Literally.
My phone buzzes again, interrupting my train of thought, and I stare at the screen with a mix of dread and resignation. With a shaky breath, I answer the call.
"Hello?"
"Emery," my mother's voice comes through the line, crisp and composed as always. "Your father and I are coming to Manhattan to visit you next week. Let me know if you have hypoallergenic pillows or if we need to bring our own."
I balk, reeling with disbelief. "You're what?"
"Well, since you refuse to leave your little island, it appears this is the only option," she replies, matter of fact. "Plus, we'd very much like to meet this man who's been keeping you so busy these days that you have no time for your parents."
"But…" My mother? In Manhattan? Visiting? Not just visiting, but staying with me?! No. They can't. They—
"Oh, and I assume space won't be an issue," my mother continues, oblivious to my distress. "My friend Sue-Ellen mentioned that she saw you stepping out of a lovely brownstone on the Upper East Side last week, keys in hand."
My heart lurches in my chest, blood draining from my face. Damn it. She’s clever. I was definitely going to use space as an excuse as to why I couldn’t host them. But now? They can’t stay in the brownstone. I live there. With Quin. And Damon. And… Oh fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"When were you going to tell us you moved?" she asks with thinly veiled disappointment. “Well?”
A lump forms in my throat as I struggle to find the right response. "I—"
My mother sighs. “Emery, if you moved in with a man, you can tell me. You’re an adult. I’m not going to judge your premarital choices.”
Two, mom. I moved in with two men. Both of whom fuck me raw on a daily basis. Oh, and we have a cabinet in our bedroom solely dedicated to toys and whips and oils.
I swallow. “Well…”
“Oh, Emery.” She clicks her tongue. “Will you relax? I’ve never told you this before, but your father and I had our fair share of unorthodox dalliances prior to our wedding. I’m not as much of a prude as you think I am.”
My eyes widen. I’m ninety-nine percent confident that when she says dalliances, she’s talking about kissing and holding hands. Nothing near as sinful as my day-to-day adventures.
“Now’s not really a good time,” I squeak out. “Work’s really busy and—”
“We’re coming, Emery,” she states, no room for negotiation. “Send me your address by the end of the day.” She pauses. “We can’t wait to meet this mystery man of yours.”
I hang up the phone and plop down into my chair, my forehead dropping down on my desk. I groan, attempting to process what in the fuck just happened. What am I going to do? What am I going to say?
They can't both be there. I can't kick Damon out of his own home.
I can't kick out Quin. My mother will snoop.
She'll find the different dress shirt sizes.
She'll notice the different styles. She'll see that there are twice as many male grooming products in our bathroom.
Oh God, and the bed. She'll definitely notice the custom-made extra-large bed.
The sound of a laugh filters through my ears, followed by, "Should I be concerned?" I prop my head up, blinking at the fuzzy silhouette of Amir standing in my doorframe. He lifts a brow. "You don’t look so hot, Miss Jones."
"Go away," I whine, forgetting to filter my language. "I'm not in the mood right now."
Amir refuses to be shooed away, stepping inside my office and slightly closing the door behind him. "Is that any way to speak to your boss, Miss Jones? 'Go away?'"
"I will throw a stapler at your head if you don't leave.”
Amir blinks, unperturbed, and plops down in the armchair across from me. "And workplace violence? Yikes. I would say that's almost grounds for termination."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing away the headache threatening to split my skull in two. "What do you want, Mr. Hadid?"
"I was coming over here to check on the status of that report.” He gives me a loaded smirk. "But it appears we have more important things to discuss."
I glare at him, lips pursed in frustration, but the genuine curiosity in Amir's expression forces me to bite back an insult. He knows. He knows that I’m dating both Quin and Damon. Dating? Are we even dating? It seems like such a cheap word to describe the richness of our relationship.
Amir cocks his head, studying me intently. "Go on, Miss Jones. What ails you?”
Fuck it. There’s no way I can come up with a solution myself. Maybe he’ll have some sage advice. Or insights. Or maybe I’ll drop dead here and now from embarrassment and avoid this whole catastrophe altogether.
“My parents just informed me that they’re coming to visit,” I begin, temples throbbing. “They want to stay at my house and…and meet my…boyfriend.”
Amir's eyes widen in mock surprise, his lips curling up into a smirk. "Your boyfriend, huh? As in...singular?"
I glower at him. "Yes, singular."
Amir sucks in a sharp breath. "It appears you've found yourself in quite the quandary, Miss Jones."
"No shit.”
Amir chuckles. "See, this is why I don't do this whole throuple lifestyle. It never ends well. Someone always ends up being the third wheel."
I scowl at him. "From what I hear, you're not a fan of being a couple either."
Amir smirks. "I prefer to stay...unattached. Why stick to one flavor when you can try them all?" He perks a brow. "Although, I guess two flavors are better than one, so I give you kudos on branching out, even if it's with those two manchilds."
I scoff, heat rising to my cheeks. "Trust me, Mr. Hadid, Quin and Damon bring enough flavor to keep me satisfied for three lifetimes." I pause, casting him a knowing smile. “You’ve seen us. You know there’s nothing childish about our relationship.”
He grins. "I like that. A loyal woman."
I roll my eyes. "You can leave now, clearly you're no help to me."
"Oh, come on," he says, adjusting his position in the chair. "I was just kidding around. I'm sure we can find a solution to your...terrible little problem."
"Yeah? How? What can I possibly do to fix this without hurting anyone's feelings? These are my parents. Regardless of public appearances, it’s a big deal.”
Amir leans back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Well, for starters, you could tell them the truth."
I scoff. "And what? Watch as their heads explode right in front of me?"
Amir shakes his head. "No, no, no. You just need to ease them into it. Let them get to know Quin and Damon first without dropping the bomb that you're in a relationship with both of them. Once they see how happy you are, they'll be more likely to accept it."
I snort. “My parents love me but not that much. There’s no way in hell they’d accept this lifestyle. Plus, they already think I have a boyfriend. Either way, I’d have to introduce one of them as such. And given our agreement, it’d have to be Quin, but that’s so fucking unfair to Damon.”
“So have them both at dinner, introduce Quinny Boy as your lover and Damon as just a friend,” he suggests. “It’s the twenty-first Century, women are allowed to be friends with men.” He lifts a brow, scanning my flustered expression. “Right, Miss Jones?”
“Are you insinuating that you’re my friend, Mr. Hadid?”
“Of course,” he grins, popping off the armchair in an animated fashion. “Let me know how this works out for you, huh?”
Unwilling to argue, I wave him off, burying my face in my hands.
How the hell is this going to work?