Page 96 of The Blame Game

“Shea? Are you there?” Dom’s voice broke through his thoughts. “I didn’t hear a crash so I don’t think I put you to sleep behind the wheel or anything but I’m getting a little concerned here.”

“Sorry.” Shea blinked. He’d been zoning out on the taillights in front of him. “No, I haven’t crashed or fallen asleep. Just thinking.”

“What were you thinking about?”

That was a loaded question but Shea could answer some of it. “About expanding our options when it comes to sex.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I think we need to get creative and I’m going to give you some homework while I’m gone.”

“Homework? What is this? Are we roleplaying some weird teacher-student scenario?”

Shea laughed. “Uhh, no. Not unless you want to.”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. So fine, don’t call it homework then. We’ll call it … something to keep you busy while I’m out of town and you’re waiting for testing. I want you to come up with a position or kink or toy you want us to try that we’ve never done before. Don’t force it. I don’t want it to feel like a chore. But maybe something we’ve never done that you feel like your back can handle right now. Something that sounds new and fun.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dom sounded a little confused but also intrigued. “I could do that.”

Shea grinned. “I look forward to hearing what you decide on.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Of course, I have to survive the weekend here first, Shea thought with a sigh as he pulled into his parents’ driveway half an hour later.

He took a few deep, cleansing breaths then turned off the vehicle. There was no point putting it off any longer.

The air was chilly when he got out and, shivering, he grabbed his overnight bag, the cake box, and the small gift bag he’d stashed in the backseat. Despite his mom saying she wanted nothing besides dinner with him and his dad, Shea didn’t feel right showing up empty-handed.

He walked up the sidewalk to the modest brick home on the outskirts of London. He’d grown up here. Played ball hockey in the summers. The cul-de-sac at the end of the street meant that there was little traffic going by most days, so he and his sister had played safely for hours without being interrupted.

He remembered running out into the street to play with his friends or go to practice and trudging up the sidewalk, hockey bag slung over his shoulder, tired and hungry after a game.

He hesitated outside the blue front door, then knocked. It never quite felt right to let himself in anymore.

The door swung open a moment later, his mom on the other side.

Sonya Barnett was tall for a woman, with a toned, athletic figure and light brown hair. Her expression brightened when she spotted him and she stepped back so he could come inside. “You made it! We were starting to get worried.”

“Just heavy traffic on the way out of the city,” he said, dropping his overnight bag to the floor. “Sorry. I should have given you a heads-up that I was running late.”

“Oh that’s okay. We’re so glad you’re here!”

‘We’ being her, apparently, because his dad was nowhere in sight. Shea could hear the sound of hockey playing in the background so he assumed his dad was watching a game.

Shea and his mom stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before he leaned in for a hug.

“Hey. Took you long enough, squirt,” a familiar voice said.

Shea glanced up to see his older sister Emma wheeling into the hallway in the light, foldable wheelchair she used indoors.

“Em!” he said, grinning. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then gestured toward the larger, sturdier chair she used outdoors. “You got new wheels?” He whistled. “Tight. I like them.”

“Thanks!” She glowed. “Much better for off-roading.”

---