Page 73 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
Lucian pushed aside his barely touched pizza and attempted a smile, but it was as thin, gray and washed out as an old rag.
“Babe, you’re starting to worry me.”
Lucian snorted. “Seems like I’m a worry to everybody. Oh, I’m sorry.” He slumped back into his chair. “It’s just that I spoke to Mum earlier. I told her about us.”
“You did? That’s great. Or it should be.”
Lucian shook his head as one hand found his fork and turned it over and over. Arlo leaned forward and rested his hand on his, stilling Lucian’s agitated movements. Nerves crept through his stomach. Whatever Lucian had told her, she hadn’t liked it, and he had the creeping feeling he knew why.
“I’d planned what I was going to say, and how. But, you know, best laid plans and everything.” He shrugged. “My brother was there too, for some of it. They expect me to pack up and leave, to go home and just… just fall into line and do what I’m told. It’s like I don’t have any say over my own life. I said, no, I wasn’t ready to go home because of what I have here. And then I told Mum you were older. She put two and two together and came up with five.”
Arlo said nothing, biting down hard on anger, frustration, and a kind of inevitability. Of course Lucian’s mom was worried about him, worried about the age difference, worried history might repeat itself. He got it, he got it all. He wasn’t anything like that fucker Miles, but they didn’t know, because they didn’t know him.
“Lu—”
“My family, they’re protective.” The words rushed from Lucian. His eyes were wide, as though beseeching him to understand. Arlo ground his teeth together. Lucian needed to talk, and he needed to let him.
“They always have been. When the shit hit the fan with Miles, I was glad of it, I suppose, until it got too claustrophobic.” Lucian thrust his fingers through his hair. “I told Mum you’re nothing like—”
“I would never treat you like he did,” Arlo ground out. How could anybody could ever harm a hair on Lucian’s head? It made him feel sick, and so angry he could get blood on his hands. His heart hammered hard. A light touch, resting on the backs of his hands, cleared away the red mist that had overtaken him.
“I know you wouldn’t. All that matters is us, when it comes down to it. What I think, what you think, what we think.”
Arlo nodded and wished it were that simple.
They continued with their meal, but it was half-hearted, and when they pushed their plates aside, they left more than they’d eaten.
Guilt swirled through Arlo’s stomach. He’d caused a rift between Lucian and his family. They were close and Lucian was the youngest; it didn’t matter that he was a grown man, it was who he’d always be to them. He cast a glance at Lucian, who looked fed up and so downcast it was a physical pain in Arlo’s chest.And he looks so damn young…
The thought crashed into him, a baseball bat to the head, making him dizzy and breathless. Young. Too young… those words again. From Hank and Francine. Friends, good friends, friends he’d always been able to trust and depend upon, despite the bitter, angry words of their last meeting. He’d stormed away, refusing to listen to anything they’d had to say. They’d been wrong, and he’d been right… because he and Lucian were right. They were right for each other.
A bug burrowed under his skin. Were they? Were they really?
What the fuck… Why the hell was he thinking like this? Why were they letting others’ views get in the way of who they were? Arlo grabbed for his beer, but his hand was clumsy and he knocked it; catching it quickly, he only just stopped it from spilling all over the table.
“Now who’s distracted?”
“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”
Minutes later, they were outside on the sidewalk, their table taken by the next in a long line. They made their way past all the busy bars and restaurants, and the park where a few people still lingered. An empty bench beckoned, and they sat down.
“What did you tell your mom about me, other than being an old man?” He’d meant it as a joke, but his words fell flat and heavy.
“That you’re kind and thoughtful. That you make me feel good about myself. That you’re great at sex. That you let me be me. That your blow jobs make me weak at the knees—”
“That I’m—what?” Arlo’s bolt of terror deflected when Lucian laughed, the first light-hearted sound he’d heard from him all evening.
“Okay, I didn’t mention the sex stuff, but I did say the rest of it because all that and a load more is true.”
Arlo placed his arm around Lucian’s shoulders and pulled him in, warmth filling his chest as Lucian nuzzled close.
“Your mom focused on the age difference because there is a big gap between us, so I understand her concern even if I don’t share it.”
The words burned Arlo’s throat. He hated what he was saying, but their ages were a fact. They could ignore it, but others didn’t seem able to. But maybe other people’s problem made it their problem, too. Too young… too old… don’t let history repeat itself…
“You think I don’t understand?” Lucian wriggled out from under Arlo’s arm and turned and stared at him.
Dusk was falling fast, and although the shadows were stealing over Lucian’s face, his eyes had never looked larger or more intense.
