Chapter 26 Jason
To say I was nervous about telling Joe the truth about the Santa Fund was a gross understatement. I’d made the choice to open this door. Tonight, I’d see how he reacted to the gala and through that, I’d be able to ascertain how to proceed.
I liked to think he wouldn’t bat an eye at my wealth.
But it’d been proven to me time and time again when I was a kid that money changed people. That was a fact of life. I could so easily remember the first time it’d happened.
I was seven.
My nanny used to take me to the local park to play with the other kids. It was one of the few drops of normalcy I had between the functions my parents required me to attend—when they were home—and the emptiness of our home when they weren’t.
It was my holy grail.
For those few short hours every day, I got to be a kid.
There was this little boy. Chauncey. He had red hair, wore ripped jeans and scuffed-up sneakers—and he’d been my best friend. Chauncey and I had been little devils. Running around the playground, hogging the slides, taking turns pushing each other on the swings higher, higher, higher.
Then one day, it changed.
Looking at it with adult eyes, I understood what had happened.
The previous day, the kids had been telling me that my mom was pretty—and I’d told them she wasn’t my mom.
She was my nanny. And she took care of me so my mom could do more important things, like save tigers, or build cities in Antarctica—I was a very imaginative kid.
One of the parents had overheard.
Chauncey’s dad.
And that had been the start of the end.
I approached Chauncey like I always did, ready to kick up dust, and cause a riot.
I had a plan that we’d take turns seeing how long we could stay inside the slide before gravity forced us down.
There was a stopwatch in my pocket, and a grin on my face.
I’d been dreaming about it since the night before, lying in bed, plans compounding on top of one another.
I was practically vibrating by the time I reached him, mouth half-open, ready to speak.
But he moved away.
Headed toward the swings before I could catch up. Confused, I’d chased him down.
Maybe he just wanted to start there?
That was fine.
I was totally good with that, so long as we did my plan after.
When I got to the swings, Chauncey gave me a look. It was a weird look. Not something I’d ever seen before, and I didn’t know how to interpret it. So I stood there, still ready to play, opening my mouth for a second time to speak.
“Why are you following me?” he asked, sitting on the same swing we always played on, his brow furrowed.
“Oh. I thought we could play here—” I started.
“I’m not supposed to play with you anymore,” he cut me off.
I was confused to say the least.
“But—”
“My dad says that your family will sewage mine if you get hurt, and I’m the one with you,” he said. “He said he can’t afford any shit.” I’d never heard Chauncey swear. Despite the harsh words, I almost wanted to laugh. “So I’m not supposed to play with you anymore.”
“But don’t you want to?” I asked, my tiny heart squeezing so tight it felt like it’d pop. “I want to play with you.”
“Sure, but…” Chauncey kicked at the wood chips, sending one flying in my direction. “I guess I can’t.”
At the end of the day, Chauncey didn’t choose me. I couldn’t be angry about that. Not when he was just doing what he was supposed to. So instead…I was just…sad.
I’d been hurt and baffled as I’d gone back to my nanny. I demanded to go home—which of course, made her alarmed. I never wanted to go home early. In fact, most days I was begging to stay.
We were quiet as we drove.
“What’s a sewage?” I asked her, staring out the window as we passed by the blur of houses. Houses that looked different than mine. Smaller. Warmer. I’d never noticed.
“A sewage?” she asked, sounding as confused as I was.
“Chauncey says he won’t play with me anymore because my parents would sewage him.”
A few minutes later she got down to the root of the issue. Explained to me what suing someone was. Tried to help me make sense of my very first friendship breakup. She softened things. Tried not to make me feel “other”, but no matter what she said, I understood.
It was the money.
Chauncey’s parents had been scared of our money.
And because of that, I couldn’t be his friend anymore.
That’s when it started. The distrust. The fear that everyone in my life would leave the moment they found out who I was. I’d carried it with me through boarding school. Carried it into college too, though there, I’d tried to reinvent myself.
Been honest, only to have my peers alienate me all over again.
Sometimes it was just a look.
This…fizzle of fear in their eyes.
Sometimes…it was manipulation.
All it’d taken was a few boys in school convincing me to buy them things before I’d realized my money was sharp on both ends.
We’d just pulled up to what had to be the most audacious lodge I’d ever seen.
We’d been lucky enough to avoid another snow storm, at least for now.
It was going to hit that night when we were safely nestled in our room.
I’d booked us the fanciest one I could. Partly to impress Joe, but partly to… to see how he’d respond.
If he’d be uncomfortable.
If he’d treat me differently.
And depending on that…maybe I’d tell him the whole truth. About the Santa Fund. About my feelings for him. All of it.
Maybe.
Joe hadn’t batted an eye at the gaudiness of the lodge, or our room. He’d been curious about the hot tub, but otherwise hadn’t said or acted any differently. Just plopped his bag beside the bed we’d be sharing.
“Better than an air mattress,” was all he’d said.
Which…I mean…true.
Joe turned to look at me. Gorgeous as hell in his suit. Blond hair styled. Square jaw perfectly shaved aside from a little knick at the corner that’d scabbed over since that morning. He looked like an apple pie personified. Golden and earnest. The kind of sweet seriousness that made my teeth ache.
“Thank you for coming,” I said. And then, “I hate this thing.”
“Of course,” Joe blinked, “It’s the only time you get to see your mom, right?”
God, he was smart. The fact he’d deduced that was clever as hell.
“Right.”
I was nervous for them to meet. Nervous about a lot of things tonight. But…something told me Joe wouldn’t let me down.
Joe was…Joe.
He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. Wasn’t like any of the people who had hurt me, changed me, molded me.
Case in point.
The fact that his expression hadn’t wavered. The way he looked at me hadn’t changed. Not once since we’d stepped out of the truck. He watched me the way he always did, awaiting instruction. No fancy hotel room or flighty mother was going to change that.
Gratitude welled up inside me so fiercely I nearly choked on it. On the need to be close to him. To touch him. Feel him. For him to soothe this ache in my chest.
He headed for the door, a man on a mission. Sexy as hell in his suit. It hugged his waist, making it look fucking tiny in comparison to those huge-ass shoulders and his plump ass.
I was half-tempted to fall to my knees and bite it.
Party be damned.
Hell, nothing was stopping me. Mom was always late. She wouldn’t notice if I was too.
Once at the door, Joe turned around to face me. His eyes flickered over mine, and a flush traveled over his cheeks, betraying the fact he knew exactly what I’d just been thinking about.
“Don’t we need to—”
“On the bed, Joe,” I commanded.
Joe wavered for a moment, glancing between me and the exit. Then he shrugged, turned back around, and headed for the mattress. He sat down, bouncing to test it—like a little kid. When he caught me looking, he stopped immediately.
Ohmygodsoadorable.
“Have you ever received a blow job while wearing a suit before?” I asked, charitably not calling him cute out loud and ruining the sexy vibe we had going.
Joe blinked.
The flush on his cheeks traveled down his throat. His ears were so red they were practically fluorescent.
“You know I haven’t,” he husked out shyly.
“I know,” I purred. “I just like to tease.”
“You’re a bully,” he accused. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and I tracked the movement. Tracked every inch of him. The way his hands kept bunching up on his thighs, the way they only did when he was anxious.
“We don’t have to,” I promised. His hands relaxed, fingers spreading across his thick, trouser-clad legs.
They hugged every inch of his musculature, practically obscene.
I was going to be the talk of the party tonight, with him on my arm.
Whether or not I’d sucked his brain out through his cock first.
Joe gave me my favorite look.
I grinned.
“Are you going to get mad at me for asking for consent again?” I inquired as I crossed the distance between us. Every time I took a step, Joe’s nostrils flared. Tense, but eager. He shifted a little, legs widening, aaaand there it was.
His dick.
Already hard, and trapped against his inner thigh.
He was so much fun.
“Yeah, ’cause you ask every five seconds,” Joe huffed.
“Sounds to me like we need a safe word.”
“What’s that?” He blinked up at me when I came to a stop between his spread legs. I kicked one of them gently, and he spread wider, without even having to think. He looked up at me, big blue eyes swimming with curiosity and trust.
Trust that I had him.
That I’d take care of him.
And god, was that heady.
“A safe word is something we can use in place of ‘no’ or ‘stop.’ That way, you can say those things without me—”
“Stopping,” Joe finished for me. He contemplated this. “And if we had one…you wouldn’t keep checking in?” He looked hopeful.
“I still would,” I said. “I know you don’t like it, but it makes me feel safe when I don’t know for sure that what I’m doing is something you want.”
“Oh.” Joe obviously hadn’t thought about it that way.