Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“My date, my rules.”
“It’s not a date.”
Spinning around, I grasped his shoulder and shoved him up against his car. Legend raised a brow at this, which rose higher as I slid my hand between us, rubbing him through his pants.
“Come on, Legend. Trust me. I have something special planned for you. I know you’ll love it.”
“What is it?”
“A surprise,” I teased, tracing the outline of his cock. My not-so-small friend raised his head in interest.
“I hate surprises.”
“You know, for someone who said they’ll give me a fair chance, you’re being very difficult right now. Give me the keys and I keep this”—I cupped his package—“up the whole way.”
He plucked off my hand. “I told you you’re not getting in through my cock.” I shrieked when he picked me up. Legend rounded the car, unlocked the door, and plopped me in the passenger seat. “And you’re not driving either. Tell me where we’re going.”
I didn’t tell him shit. Instead, I just said to drive and told him when and where to turn. He was not going to find out until he saw the signs. In between directions, I told him stories.
Stories of growing up on the farm. Stories of my early life in Chicago. Stories of my parents—the few that I had. And stories of Gran and Rainey. Legend listened in silence, neither commenting nor offering memories of his own.
But he listened.
“Gran and Dad had a real relationship. They were close,” I said. “He’d talk to her on the phone every week. We visited as much as we could. One year, Dad paid for a farm sitter, so she could come on a cruise with us. It’s funny now, remembering her in a floppy hat and floral muumuu, kicking back on the beach with a fruity drink. I never saw her that relaxed and free again, but at least I got to that one time. That one memory of my family all together and happy. At least I have that,” I whispered.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
“We weren’t always this way.”
I stilled—not moving, not looking away from the trees whipping by my window.
“My folks and I,” he clarified. “Right now, they seem like the stereotype. A rich couple that’s too wrapped up in their money and each other to remember they spat out a kid twenty years ago. But it wasn’t always like that.
“My mom suffered six miscarriages before becoming pregnant with me. I was their miracle baby. The child they longed for. When I was born, Dad took leave, and left the running of the business to his second. The two of them were all over me when I was little. They took me everywhere. We did everything together. I had three shadows.
I chanced a peek at him. His expression was as blank, relaxed, and handsome as it always was. Was it hurting him to tell me this? I couldn’t tell, but he was telling me.
“What changed?”
“It’s what changes for nearly every family. They’re no stereotype, de Souza. They’re like every other parent who wakes up one day and discovers they’ve given birth to an individual, not a copy of themselves. I was their only child. The one they poured all their hopes and dreams into, and I was perfect—as they told me every chance they got. Their perfect son. Their angel.
“Until I started showing interest in men and women, and Dad didn’t know what to do with that. Then Mom started organizing acting auditions and modeling shoots for her handsome little boy, but all it taught me was how to act like I enjoyed it. Their interests, plans, and hopes for me weren’t mine. So... they pulled back.”
Cautiously, I touched his thigh, rubbing soothing circles. “I’m sorry, Legend.”
“Don’t be.” He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “I never thought they did it because they stopped giving a shit about me. The opposite actually. I had a feeling they were just... scared. Scared if they pushed too hard, I’d hate them. Scared if they said the wrong thing, they’d damage our relationship beyond repair.
“They thought I wanted them to stop smothering me and”—he inclined his head—“some days I did. But what I really wanted was for them to accept me the way I was. But that’s nothing new. Like I said, billions of sons and daughters have said the same about their parents. It’s almost boring how typical the St. Jameses are.”
“It may be typical, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Not being accepted by the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally? That’s how Dantes are made.”
He chuckled. “I’d be offended, but considering what I do as a Bedlam Boy, you may have a point.”
“That wasn’t a dig at you.” Sitting up, I pointed out the window. “Right here. Take this right.
“I’m just saying. Humans don’t do well when they don’t feel loved. That’s one thing Jacques and I agreed on. No one from a sweet, loving family with great friends and a support system, is running with the Black Letter Crew. Those monsters are broken,” I rasped, fist balling. “They’re broken beyond repair.”