31. Indiana
THIRTY-ONE
INDIANA
He sure the fuck has my attention now.
“I’m listening.”
“Why don’t we clean up and move to the living room? I don’t want to have this convo with my dick out.”
Laughing softly, I kiss his cheek. “Good call.”
It takes us a few minutes to clean the cum off and put our clothes back on, and no sooner are we sitting on the couch than a woman’s voice calls down from the upper floor.
“Knock, knock. Salem?”
Salem hops up, hurrying over to the stairs. “What are you doing here, Mom?”
She comes down, pausing when she sees me. Her cheeks bloom pink, just like her son’s do sometimes, and she smiles warmly.
“I live here,” she says.
Salem scoffs. “I know that. You were supposed to be out for the evening.”
“Yes, well, there was an incident at Barb’s. Her son accidentally let the huskies in and in their excitement they overturned the bunco table and spilled the margaritas everywhere. After we cleaned up, we decided to try again on a different night.”
Salem’s cheeks are so red he looks sunburned. “Huh.”
“I’m baking a chicken pot pie. It’ll be ready in about ten minutes, and I thought your friend could join us for dinner.”
Salem sputters as he looks between me and his mom. “What? How long have you been home?”
“Oh, about thirty minutes or so.”
Now Salem looks mortified. “Aw, Mom, we weren’t planning to hang out long.”
“But it’s a big pie, and I made a lovely fresh salad to go with it.” Her eyes are on me as she speaks. “You don’t want me to eat dinner alone, do you?”
“I don’t think?—”
“I’d love to stay for dinner,” I say. I can’t take the guilt trip.
His mom’s face lights up. “Wonderful. Come up in ten minutes. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Indy. Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Barlowe.”
“Please call me Maggie.”
She ascends the stairs while Salem rubs his forehead. “She heard us. There’s no way she didn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Her cheeks were red. It’s a huge tell for both of us. Ugh.”
“I don’t have to stay if you don’t want me to. We could make something up.”
He leans on the banister. “Are you sure you want to?”
“I could eat a home cooked meal.”
A slight smile pulls at his lips. “She’s a great cook.”
“Perfect. I seem to have worked up an appetite.”
“Raincheck on the conversation?”
“Absolutely.”
A few minutes later, we walk upstairs to the scent of savory goodness wafting through the room. The stairs let out into a small foyer that leads to the kitchen, and Salem’s mom is fussing over food preparation.
“Would you mind setting the table, Salem?”
“Not at all.” He grabs a stack of plates from a cabinet, nodding to a drawer. “Want to grab utensils?”
“Sure.”
The two of us gather everything together and Salem leads me to a dining room. There’s already a pitcher of water and glasses on the table.
“Does she do this all the time or is it because I’m here?”
“A little of both,” Salem says. “She likes playing Martha Stewart when she can, so she tries to make it nice even when it’s just her and Dad, but I think she’s kicked it up a notch with you staying.”
“That’s cute.”
He smiles. “It is.”
Just then, the sounds of a door opening, heavy footsteps, and a bellowing voice fill the space and Salem groans.
“Oh god. Why is my dad home?”
He practically stomps to the kitchen, and I follow just in time to see his mom smack his dad’s hand away from the salad.
“Why are you home?” Salem asks in the same accusing tone he used on his mom earlier.
“I live here.”
I have to fight back laughter as Salem glares at me with his hand on his hip.
“I thought it was poker night.”
“It was, but James and his wife were watching their grandkids and the youngest one had a blowout all over the cards while James was bouncing him on his lap.”
“A blowout?” Salem asks.
“Diaper blowout. It happens, but it’s not easy to recover from.” His eyes shift to me. “Hello. ”
“Hello, sir.”
“Will.”
“Indy.”
“Indy Hart?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. I read about you on the business page. You bought the old bar in town.”
“I did. Well, me and my business partners did.”
“The place you work?” his dad asks, shifting his stern gaze to his son.
“Yep,” Salem says, clearly uncomfortable.
His dad nods, but his expression screams disapproval.
“I guess you know what you’re doing.”
“Will,” Salem’s mother says, smacking her husband’s arm.
I’m not sure what to say, but the urge to defend Salem and our relationship is strong.
Wait.
Our relationship ?
I guess that’s what this is. Or what it’s become. After what we did tonight, it’s probably time for me to face facts. This isn’t casual anymore, and I don’t think it has been for a while now.
I grab Salem’s hand and pull him a little bit closer. Salem’s pretty eyes settle on mine and my stomach flutters. Oh yeah. I’m totally fucked.
“We’re adults,” he says. “We know what we’re doing.”
The oven dings, saving us from additional awkwardness when his mom pulls dinner out. Salem’s dad carries the dish to the dining room while Salem grabs the salad bowl and I carry a pitcher of what appears to be iced tea.
The four of us sit at the table while Maggie dishes out servings of the piping hot entrée. I inhale the aroma and my stomach growls in response .
“Smells incredible. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home cooked meal.”
“Oh?” Maggie asks. “Not much of a cook?”
“I do okay, but our house has been under renovation for a little over a month, so we’ve had to resort to takeout or burgers on the grill.”
“Our house?” his dad asks. “Who do you live with?”
“None of your business, Dad,” Salem says. “Geez.”
I pat Salem’s thigh. “It’s okay. I live with my five friends. One of them inherited his uncle’s mansion, but it was in bad shape. We’re told it’ll be done in another week.”
“Winston Beckett’s old place?” his dad asks.
“Yep. My friend Ridley is his great-nephew.”
“It’s nice to see it being restored,” his mom says. “It was such a beautiful house in its prime.”
“It will be again. Next week it’s being painted on the outside and new landscaping will be put in. I can’t wait to sleep in my own room again, but I need a new bed. New everything actually.” I turn to Salem. “Maybe you can help me.”
The two of us lock eyes, and I’m close to leaning in to kiss his pretty mouth when my brain helpfully reminds me his parents are watching us.
Salem’s cheeks turn bright red, and I clear my throat.
I take a bite of the chicken pot pie and close my eyes for a second. Wow. The pastry is buttery and the filling is good enough to eat on a shoe. “This is incredible.”
Maggie beams. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Always a hit.”
“I can see why.”
The rest of dinner is relatively comfortable. I’m aware of his mom’s wistful looks in our direction, and his father’s curious ones, and I wonder if Salem will hate what I’m about to do, but I’ve always been a face-it-head-on kind of guy .
“Do you have any questions for me, sir?”
Salem’s breath hitches as he digs his fingers into my thigh under the table.
“You can call me Will, but I appreciate the good manners.”
I nod before taking a sip of my tea.
His dad leans forward, folding his hands on the table. Maggie looks nervous and Salem is definitely tense.
“How old are you? You sure as hell don’t look twenty-eight.”
“Nope. I’m forty.”
His dad’s jaw tenses. “Forty. What happens when this is over? Does Salem lose his job?”
“Dad.”
“First of all, that’s illegal. But second…” Pausing, I direct my gaze to Salem. “He’s important to me. Actually, to all of us. He’s helped us immensely as we build out this space, and he’s become invaluable to us. If anything goes south, we’re adults and we’ll figure it out.”
Salem nods, smiling softly.
“But I think we still have some life in this.”
Salem’s lips part in surprise.
“A lot, actually. I’m pretty sure neither of us are on the way out.”
“No.”
I lift his hand and kiss the back of it, forgetting for a moment that his parents are watching, but then again, I kind of don’t care. I’m in this with Salem, and for the first time in my life, I think it’s time I face up to what’s been building between us.
I’m falling for Salem.
I’ll take feelings-I-never-thought-I’d-have for a thousand, Alex.