Bad Boyfriend Page 6

  “No.” His mother scooped Tommy the Terror back into her lap. “Don’t encourage him. He has to learn to sit still.”

  A male arm clapped Quinn on the shoulder, and Quinn offered a buddyish handshake across the seat back.

  The guy had sandy brown hair, the woman blonde. It was hard to tell which one might be Quinn’s in-law versus sibling. In fact, mother, father, or the next generation, none of them looked like they could be related to Tall, Dark and Sexy next to him. The men weren’t short or soft, but they didn’t have Quinn’s rangy muscles and lean face.

  Eli realized he wasn’t the only one staring. The man who’d gripped Quinn’s forearm was giving Eli a steady once-over without the slightest trace of cruising approval. Eli had an idea he was being measured for a coffin.

  “Dennis Laurent.” The man offered his name without a smile. The last name didn’t help. They hadn’t gotten as far as a last name.

  “This is Eli,” Quinn said, smiling enough for both of them.

  “Hi, Eli. I’m Paula.” The woman kept a firm grip on Tommy the Terror, but gave Eli a friendly nod. “You met Tommy and this is Faith.” She tilted her head toward a preteen girl with ribbons in her hair who was ignoring her family in favor of whatever reading material she’d found in the rack in their pew.

  Eli was tempted to follow her excellent example—if he didn’t think the material might spontaneously combust when he touched it. When Quinn had invited Eli along, he’d completely forgotten how complicated the whole family business could be. It was easy to do, not having one of his own. He’d seen himself offering support for Quinn if things got disapproving with some aren’t-straight-people-weird humor, but from the steady look Dennis was giving him, Eli thought he might be the one in need of protection.

  There was a general rustling and some warm-up notes on the organ when a side door opened and a woman who looked a little older than Eli snuck into the pew behind them. She earned a stern look from the mother which she returned with an unrepentant grin. She whapped Quinn on the back of the head before sitting next to the Dennis-Paula family.

  Eli wanted to kiss her—on the cheek. Not only was she later than they were, but the tips of her silver blonde hair were a faded magenta. He hoped she was Quinn’s sister. In fact, he hoped if he turned around and suggested a run for it, they could be out of the church before the guys in robes got their act together. But the organ hit a few notes and everyone stood up. The mom passed an open songbook their way.

  Eli took advantage of the shared book and the cover of bad singing to whisper in Quinn’s ear. “I am not looking forward to putting my butt back on that hard seat, thank you very much.”

  Quinn’s breath stuttered over the word lamb. “Not in church.” But Eli could hear a trace of amusement in that grumble.

  Things dragged on. Eli rummaged through the material on the rack in front of him, barely controlling a whispered score when he found a paper program. Baptism to follow Saturday’s 10:30 mass. Yeah, thanks a lot, Quinn. He skimmed the families until he found the Laurent baby. Okay. Now he could ID the players. He looked around as he checked off the names.

  Unseen baby: Gabriel. Mother: Christine Laurent. If he sat up really straight—ouch—he could see a blonde woman in the first pew. The older people on her left must be her parents, the grandparents with the DeForest last name. Now for the rest. Father, Peter Laurent. Another blond, taller, in the front pew. Laurent grandparents: Claire, the lady with the nice smile and fashion sense, and Roger. Godparents: Alyssa Laurent and a-ha! Quinn Maloney. Well, that explained a little of what Quinn was doing in the middle of all these blonds.

  Quinn didn’t go up for communion like the mom and dad did, but as other family members went up, Eli got a look at the parents of the baby Gabriel. The Dennis Laurent behind him and the baby’s father were clearly brothers. Maybe Quinn was a cousin? Related to the mother? But it was the Laurents who seemed to know him well.

  While her parents went up for refreshments, the magenta-tipped godmother slipped into their pew and right up next to Eli, who was kneeling in serious gratitude that the pressure was off his ass again. He hoped God had a sense of humor about his prayer.

  She nudged him. “Alyssa. Ex-sister-in-law. And you are?”

  Ex-sister-in-law? Quinn had been married to one of them? Was he—no, in this family it would have to have been a she—dead? Did you become an ex if the spouse died? No. So a divorce. Catholics didn’t get divorced, except when they did. Was she here? The family seemed awfully happy to see their ex-in-law who was now gay with a really young male date, the steady glare from Dennis being the exception. Eli might have been watching SOAPnet.

  Eli realized his mouth had become frozen while he worked through that, and Alyssa was staring at him wide-eyed, waiting for an answer. “Um, Eli,” he said like he wasn’t sure what his name was. At the moment, he wasn’t.

  “Nice to meet you, Um Eli.”

  Somehow when they were supposed to offer their neighbors the kiss of peace, Quinn’s lips were otherwise occupied to the point where he shifted around Eli to get at Alyssa.

  Eli heard, “Not another word or I tell everyone you have Bieber Fever,” from Quinn as he embraced his former sister-in-law. As threats went, Eli thought it was fairly effective.

  He accepted a kiss from Paula and a handshake from both Dennis and Faith. Tommy was sleeping on his mother’s shoulder.

  If Quinn thought shutting Alyssa up would save him from questions, he was deluded, but they’d wait until they got in the car. At least that’s what Eli told himself as Quinn and Alyssa went up to take their places as the baby’s godparents. So far no one had acted like Quinn had done anything odd by bringing Eli to the baptism of his former wife’s nephew. If it really were a soap opera, the ex would burst in to the church right before the end of the day’s show.

  She didn’t.

  Eli wondered if there was another reason he was here, but unless he got Alyssa talking again, he wasn’t sure he was going to hear it. Really, what did Quinn owe him on the basis of last night’s sex and today’s favor? Definitely not the history of his life. If Eli had any hope of having his curiosity sated, he was going to have to hope Alyssa wasn’t too afraid of being outed as a fan of the Prince of Tweens.

  Eli watched and listened as the assembled parents and godparents made their promises about bringing children up in the Church on behalf of the babies. It was like a Holy Assembly Line. Posing for pictures with the newly minted Catholics followed. He stood off to the side as Peter, the father, put baby Gabriel in Quinn’s arms. Maybe Eli was so focused on figuring it out that he was inventing things in his head, but at that moment the cameras and conversations stopped abruptly. A look passed between Peter and Quinn, no more than a second long, but the blond’s cheeks pinkened and he stepped back, and everything got sparklingly clear in Eli’s head.

  A side chapel promised escape, and Eli slipped into it, staring at the candles at the feet of what he assumed was St. Agnes, who had a palm frond and a lamb in her arms. He wondered what kind of gruesome history had earned her sainthood. She looked pretty serene about it now. Eli wished he could get his face that expressionless, especially when Quinn found him a few minutes later.

  “Does it bother you?” Eli asked.

  “What?”

  Eli knew Quinn wasn’t playing dumb. There were a couple different ways to interpret that. He picked his first question of the day, half-hoping for a fight that would get him out of this mess. “Repeating that B.S. up there. About the church.”

  Quinn didn’t get angry, just took two dollars from his wallet and fed them into a slot in a brass box next to the candles. “It’s not B.S. to me.” He glanced over at Eli. “Give me a minute, okay?”

  Quinn lit a candle and knelt at the rail, head bowed over his hands. Eli had only known him for twelve hours, but Quinn was all too easy to read. Of course he’d never be the one to walk away from a marriage. Quinn was the kind of guy who met his commitments. The baby’s father had b
een the one to leave, and based on the family’s reaction, Quinn hadn’t deserved that. So how did everything end all nice and sweet with Quinn being the baby’s godfather? Given that look between them, things weren’t ended, especially not on the new dad’s side.

  Quinn had said he was bringing Eli along partly to make a Big Gay Statement. Now Eli knew what the other part was. Quinn wanted to score one off his ex, maybe make him jealous. Eli didn’t know why Quinn couldn’t have come out and asked, but okay, this Eli could do. Hell, this he would be good at. By the time he was done, Quinn’s old flame would be as green as the palm frond in St. Agnes’s hand.

  Quinn stood up. “Ready for a party?”

  “Born ready, baby.” Eli took Quinn’s hand.

  The car trip to the luncheon was mostly silent as Eli tried to find a decent music station since Quinn’s car had no hookup for his iPod. As Eli hit the tune button again to escape a commercial, Quinn said, “You’re quiet.”

  “I’m digesting.”

  Quinn gave him that smile—the one that was both laughing at and with Eli. “What?”

  “Information.”

  Twelve—okay, thirteen—hours of acquaintance didn’t give Eli any more rights to Quinn’s past or to be pissed about being used to make someone jealous. As for the second, Eli was looking forward to it. Quinn was a nice guy, and it didn’t take much to figure Peter, the bastard—apologies to the nice Claire Laurent—had hurt Quinn. There was one thing Eli hadn’t been able to work out on his own, and he didn’t know if Alyssa would have full intel on it.

  As they pulled into the parking lot, he unbuckled his seat belt and popped the door. “Just one question.”

  “Just one?” That damned smirk again.

  “Peter—the ex-boyfriend you brought me here to make jealous—did he get that woman pregnant before or after he dumped you?”

  Chapter Six

  Quinn didn’t know how long he sat in the car. But the car door slam was a distant echo and Eli had already disappeared into the Brickdoor Tavern when Quinn managed to shake off his shock. Why he should keep being surprised at anything Eli did, Quinn didn’t know, but he’d better follow Eli before he had a chance to leave the rest of the family gaping like freshly caught fish.

  He caught his breath in relief when he found Eli in the entranceway, hanging his denim blazer on the coat rack.

  Eli cocked his head at Quinn. “It’s kind of warm in here.” He stripped off the hooded blue sweater, too, then unfastened the next button on his sport shirt to reveal the silver chain and began rolling up his sleeves. The shirt was shot through with metallic stitching and narrow shining stripes of bright blue against the black background. Quinn had been wanting to run his finger over the lines to see if they were as satiny as they looked. Actually, he desperately wanted his hands on Eli, and the shirt would be a nice excuse.

  But the sound of laughter and conversation reminded Quinn why they were here. “She doesn’t know,” he whispered.

  “Who?”

  “Peter’s wife. She doesn’t know…about me. About us. Me and Peter.”

  Now Eli looked like he should be the one staring back from behind the glass at the National Aquarium. His mouth opened and closed. “Are you kidding me?”

  Quinn shook his head.

  “That is the—”

  “There you guys are.” Of course Chrissy would find them.

  Everything behind Quinn’s rib cage shrank under the familiar combination of anxiety and guilt. Because she should know. Had a right to know what might be waiting for her down the road, but he could never be the one to tell her.

  She shifted Gabe to her other shoulder. “Eli. It’s so nice to meet you. Alyssa told us your name since Quinn here’s been keeping you a secret.”

  “Yeah, he’s a secretive guy, our Quinn.” Eli gave her a big smile and put his arm around Quinn’s waist. “Gonna have to talk to him about that.”

  “Well at least he finally brought you around to meet the family. And speaking of, here. I think you’re the only one who hasn’t held him. Grab the opportunity now. I just changed him.”

  She stuck the baby into Eli’s chest, and he grabbed him. He looked like he’d never handled anything as exotic as a one-month-old baby, but after a bit of juggling, he tucked Gabe onto his shoulder, neither hand losing contact for an instant.

  Chrissy laughed. “You should have tried holding him in that satin gown Claire lent us. He was slippery as an eel.” She put her hand on Quinn’s arm. “I want to thank you for being his godfather. It means a lot to us both.”

  “He couldn’t refuse. Not after you asked him in front of everyone at Dad’s birthday.” Peter came up behind his wife, crowding the little vestibule.

  “Quinn’s been telling me how proud he was that you asked him,” Eli said, a light sway to his hips that could have been all about the baby, but the motion reminded Quinn of how hot Eli looked dancing. Man, Eli had one hell of an act.

  “Really?” The delight in Chrissy’s voice made guilt squeeze Quinn hard enough to drive out that memory.

  “I didn’t catch your name.” Peter put his arm around his wife, and Quinn thought if he were going to be trapped in a French farce, there at least ought to be an extra door around to escape through.

  “Eli. Wow.” He jiggled the baby. “This is one big boy you’ve got here. Must take after his dad.”

  Only someone who knew Peter well, someone who’d run his hands down that chest, grabbed his waist and held him as their bodies slammed together, could really tell through his dress shirt, but Peter had packed on about ten extra pounds since his marriage. Right then, picking up a hot piece of ass in black eyeliner ranked as one of Quinn’s best plans ever.

  “Everyone’s waiting.” Peter turned and walked into the restaurant.

  “He’s adorable, thanks for letting me hold him.” Eli handed Gabe back to Chrissy.

  She beamed. “You’re welcome. We all love Quinn, you know.”

  “I know. It’s so hard to fight it. Why would you try?” Eli flashed Quinn a wink.

  Or maybe picking up a way-too-smart piece of ass in black eyeliner was the most dangerous thing Quinn had ever done.

  Quinn plastered himself to Eli’s side, though he couldn’t make himself give in to the way his hand itched to ride possessively, almost proudly, on the lower part of Eli’s back. The habit was too well ingrained from all the years spent around the Laurents when he was with Peter. The family knew, Dennis had blurted it out since Peter probably never would have, but terms of endearment or physical contact crossed some unwritten line.

  Eli couldn’t seem to stay inside a line if his life depended on it. Even Peter’s dad, Roger, laughed with Eli about some sly remark on Baltimore politics. Roger, as conservative as only a retired cop could be, slapped Eli lightly on the shoulder and asked him what he was drinking.

  Eli charmed Claire with shy smiles—though Quinn was reasonably sure Eli had never felt shy about anything in his life. As he punctuated his imaginary story with light touches to Quinn’s arm and right, baby’s, telling her how glad he was to meet her since Quinn often spoke of her, Quinn felt like a sounding charge had gone off next to his ear, leaving him shell-shocked.

  He tuned back in as Eli said, “I planted iris bulbs in the backyard, but the squirrels keep digging them up.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “You know the space between the forsythia and the shed?”

  How in the hell did Eli know what Quinn’s backyard looked like? Pretty much all Quinn had done after getting Eli in the house was fuck him. Quinn pictured that cupcake of an ass in his kitchen this morning. Right. Eli had been up early, and the kitchen window looked out into the backyard.

  “No,” Claire said with a regretful smile in her voice. “Quinn’s never had us out to his new house. But maybe now that you’re in the picture, we can fix that. Give me your email address, and I’ll send you an article about bulbs.”

  “That would be great, Claire. Thank you.”


  Their two waiters had started bringing out salads, so Quinn urged Eli toward a seat with something like relief. With years of experience at the Laurent table, Quinn knew Claire, Paula and Alyssa were quite capable of maintaining conversation without anyone else’s input. Eli’s little performance would be upstaged.

  Because the luck of the Irish held true for this Maloney, he and Eli ended up across the table from Peter and the empty seat Quinn knew Chrissy and the baby would be occupying.

  Alyssa hadn’t made it into the seat next to Peter before she was shrilling, “Oh my God. Finally. You wore it. It looks great on you.”

  Quinn glanced down. He’d taken off the sport coat. Purple argyle diamonds. God help him.

  “You bought him that sweater? We have totally got to go shopping.” Eli’s voice had taken on a singsong affectation that was nothing Quinn had heard from him before but all too familiar to anyone who’d seen a stereotypical gay man on television. In a minute, Eli would start snapping his fingers. “Quinn’s closet comes in two colors: gray and grayish.”

  “Count me in for shopping,” Paula put in.

  “Me too.” Chrissy slid into her seat, handing off a complicated piece of baby equipment and the baby to Peter.

  He dragged an empty table over and put the carrier on it. Standing behind his wife, he shot Quinn a disgusted look.

  “Quinn hates shopping,” Alyssa said as if that was akin to hating puppies.

  “I know, right?” Eli added in that same tone. “Sometimes even I’m not sure he’s gay.”

  Peter’s chair made a grinding scrape as he dragged it out and took his seat. Unable to meet Peter’s gaze, Quinn looked to Dennis for help. Dennis, who’d had his back since the Academy, only stared like Quinn had lost his mind. All Quinn could hope for was that Roger’s selective deafness had kicked in.

  “The sweater looks very handsome on you, dear,” Claire said gently.

  “We’ll work on it,” Eli fake whispered to Alyssa.

  Quinn put his hand on Eli’s thigh as a warning.