Page 35 of Bro Amazing

"So we're your dirty little secret?" Ethan looks so hurt, and I cringe a little, hating that I put him in that position.

They're not just a secret from my parents, they're a secret from everyone.

"Fine," grunts Quintin, wrapping his hands around my waist from behind and pulling me tight against his body. "What do we get for keeping your secret?"

"Any ideas?" adds Lionel, steeping closer until I'm pressed between their two bodies.

Oh, I have a lot of ideas. One of them being to hook my leg up over Lionel's waist and let him fuck me right here against Quintin's body.

But my parents are downstairs. Waiting for us. So we can go to lunch.

"You'll wear normal jeans and be nice to my parents and keep my secrets?" I glance at the stairwell, praying my parents haven't overheard this entire conversation.

"If the conditions are right for us," agrees Miles, eyes dark as he takes in the way I'm pinned between two of his teammates.

"What do you want in exchange?" I bite my lip. All of my ideas might be dirty, but I'm sure anything they come up with will be dirtier. And way more enticing than going out lunch with my parents.

"Maybe we could watch something together," suggests Helix, looking around to his teammates to gauge their reactions.

The slow smirks that unfold across their faces tell me they're not suggesting just any old movie. My heart races, eager to follow them down whatever dirty path they lead me.

After lunch with my parents, that is.

Chapter Fifteen

"Fine, deal." We don't have time to sort out details right now because we've already been up here a suspiciously long time and I really don't want my parents coming up to check on us.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, Quintin drops his hands and they all disperse into their rooms. I kind of want to peek inside their rooms since they've all seen the inside of mine, but now isn't the time.

Maybe I can get them to invite me into their personal spaces at some point. If I suggest a little sexy time on their beds, would they really say no?

As my boyfriends come out of their rooms still zipping their jeans, I realize I've watched them pull down their sweatpants, but I've always been so wrapped up in my post-orgasm haze I haven't paid attention to the part where they get dressed again after.

Maybe we do have an extra couple of minutes to spare. If we're quick. And extra quiet.

I shake my head to dislodge the thought. I'd rather have enough time to really enjoy myself. Plus, we reallyhavebeen up here a lot longer than we should have been.

I lead the group of them back downstairs. There's a shuffling sound and when they come into view, my parents are standing weirdly straight and stiffly, and I'm certain they were snooping through the box of random stuff I'd cleared off the front hall table. I hope they haven't found anything embarrassing. I don't think there were any sex toys in there. Pretty sure I'd remember if I threw any in.

Yikes, we need to leave now.

"Ready?" I ask, my voice coming out higher than normal. I open the door for everyone to file out quickly, and hope any awkwardness stays behind and we can get through lunch without any trouble.

My parents hurry outside. I'm not sure if they're also feeling the tension, or if they're just hungry and ready for lunch.

"Yeah," my boyfriends grumble as they troupe out the door behind my parents.

Moving to the front of the pack, I lead my parents down the street in what I'm pretty sure is the direction of the restaurant. I keep the conversation light, hoping they forget about how they disapprove of my roommates' careers, and focus on things they actually want to talk about. Such as their drive in today, and all their neighborhood gossip.

I'm not ignoring the guys, or punishing them for tagging along on our little lunch outing. I'm just distracting my parents from asking about how our living together is going. They might have agreed to keep the fact that we're sleeping together a secret, but that's not to say they won't accidentally let something slip and end up with my parents shifting from conversation to interrogation.

We file into the restaurant and suddenly I get the overwhelming feeling that this whole thing is about to become even more of a disaster.

"Table for eight," I tell the host. Hopefully they have enough space to push a few tables together for us without too much of a wait. Otherwise, we'll have to choose a different place to go, and probably will have to drive there since my parents claim public transport makes them nervous.

"Actually we have a reservation under Miles," says Miles, stepping around us.

"Of course," says the host, "right this way." They weave through the tables to the back of the restaurant, stack of menus in hand.

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