Bad Boyfriend Page 7

  There was no salvation coming from the talkative women. Claire failed to offer her usual call to action about the latest health threat she’d discovered about online. Alyssa fought off a giggling fit, biting her lips, cheeks rounding like a chipmunks. Paula was occupied with a whining Faith who was flinging unwanted items from her salad onto the tablecloth.

  Crunching on a crouton, Quinn pushed harder on Eli’s thigh, praying it would keep him from leaping into the conversational void.

  With a smirk that deserved a punch to the jaw, Dennis said, “So how did you guys meet?”

  “Why don’t you tell him the story, baby?” Eli turned to face Quinn with a half-lidded expression that Quinn guessed was supposed to be romantic, but made Quinn think of the way Eli’s dark-rimmed eyes had looked when he came.

  Quinn jerked his chin in Faith’s direction. It wasn’t a complete cover. Their meeting wasn’t exactly fit for a nine-year-old’s ears.

  “Ah.” Alyssa winked. “We’ll talk later.” She gestured between herself and Eli.

  “You betcha.” Eli returned her wink.

  Wishing his hand was leaving dents on the brat’s ass instead of resting on his thigh, Quinn tried a pinch right above the inseam. He wasn’t sure he’d made an impression through the denim until Eli flinched.

  A phone buzzed, and Peter pushed away from the table enough to check his display before tucking the phone back into his case.

  “I didn’t know you were on call.” Chrissy turned toward her husband.

  Peter’s hand paused in the act of bringing a huge leaf of lettuce to his mouth. “I’m not. Force of habit.”

  A fireman could always be called in, Quinn knew well enough, but he hoped to God Peter wasn’t up to his old tricks with a brand-new baby who’d be the one suffering this time.

  “What do you do?” Eli asked.

  “City fireman,” Peter muttered. “I’ll bet you’re in school.”

  Eli shook his head. “I work for a newspaper.”

  “Paperboy?”

  “God, Peter. Anyone would think you were jealous,” Chrissy said with a light laugh.

  In the deafening silence that followed, Quinn missed his stab at a cherry tomato. It rolled off the plate, ricocheted off the basket of rolls and left a trail of dressing as it spun down to the far end of the table where Roger caught and ate it.

  “Actually, I’m a photographer.” Eli’s voice was cheerful.

  Claire seized the topic at last. “That’s wonderful. You know, now that Gabriel’s here, I want to get a new family portrait done.”

  Eli rested his fork and knife on the edge of the salad plate. “I don’t have a studio or anything. We do mostly digital work.”

  “That’s exactly what I want. The family has a webpage now, so it would be perfect.”

  Claire’s web update on the rest of the Laurents and her own family took them through the salad course and what felt like an eternity from the plates being cleared to the waiters bringing out roast beef and vegetables, family style.

  “You’re not a vegetarian, are you, Eli?” Paula asked.

  “Nope.” Eli helped himself to two thin red-centered slices before passing the plate to Alyssa. “My friend Nate is, though. He eats so much healthy stuff it makes me sick.”

  Faith asked for clarification on vegetarianism, declared a newfound affiliation and reached for another roll. Her mother dumped a pile of broccoli and carrots on her plate and put the roll back.

  “Where’s your little boy?” Eli asked.

  “With my folks. I thought we might enjoy a meal without him reenacting the Battle of Verdun around our legs.” Paula tilted her head to look down the table. “Thanks for that, Dad,” she called to Roger.

  “Roger’s a military history expert.” Quinn relaxed as the conversation no longer felt like a minefield. “He volunteers down at the Torsk and the Taney.”

  “In the ship museum at the piers,” Alyssa clarified.

  “Cool.” Eli added some carrots to his plate. “Maybe I could get the paper to do a feature. I’ll talk to Nate.”

  “Your vegetarian friend is your boss?” Alyssa asked. The word vegetarian made Faith glare at her mother and poke at the mountain of vegetables she’d been given.

  “Among other things.” Eli winked at her. “But that was in the past.” He patted Quinn’s arm, and Quinn began counting down the seconds to the next explosion.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Eli wasn’t giving up the stage now.

  “Quinn is so lucky to have you all. Do you remember the thing last year with Kellan Brooks? He was on Get a Job with Kimmie Stafford?”

  “The one whose dad is head of Brooks Blast? The energy drinks?” If it was pop culture, Alyssa knew it. “Right. He came out. It was all over the internet. I showed you that, Mom.”

  It wasn’t all over Quinn’s part of the internet, because he had no idea what they were talking about.

  “His dad cut him off after he came out. He walked away from all that money to be with Nate.” There was nothing affected about Eli’s voice now. Strong and warm with awe, it sounded like hero worship. “I know for a fact Kellan turned down half a million, just to be honest about who he is.”

  The sound of silverware on the restaurant plates echoed in the aftermath of that conversational bomb. Quinn didn’t know whether everyone not looking at Peter was any better than if they’d all stared. Eli had neatly set that up and detonated it from a safe distance. It might have been aimed at Peter, but the shrapnel raining down on Quinn cut deep.

  Maybe Eli had a broader target in mind. Quinn knew he deserved it. He hadn’t been honest with Eli. And the thought of meeting Chrissy’s kind gaze made his head ache.

  Gabe came to his father’s rescue with a brief whimper and then a gut-deep wail. Peter was up before Chrissy could blink. “I’ll get him.”

  “So. What are your plans for the holidays?” Claire said.

  Eli stretched his arm along the back of Quinn’s chair. “Quinn’s talking about taking me to Hawaii.”

  Quinn choked on his ice water. He should have gotten a beer. “That’s—”

  “You mean you wouldn’t be here for Christmas?” Claire was horrified.

  “Well, it’s still up in the air,” Eli said.

  Quinn turned a steady, threatening glare on him. It worked on surly fifteen-year-olds. But Eli was made of sterner stuff. He grinned back and continued. “We’re not sure. Everything’s so unsettled with civil unions and marriages.”

  Under a stream of excitement from Alyssa and Paula, Quinn heard Dennis choke out, “Marriage?”

  Quinn began to weigh the advantages of murder over suicide.

  Somehow Quinn managed to endure through dessert without having to decide on either option. He gulped a little coffee, took two bites of the overly sweet cake and looked with longing at the pastries that had been a source of further contention as Faith decided she was a sugartarian instead. Eli had sucked down a napoleon and an éclair while Quinn stuck to black coffee, cursing his thirty-five-year-old metabolism and trying not to think of how obscene the chocolate and cream looked on Eli’s wide mouth.

  As Quinn pinned his two fifties to the christening gown displayed on the gift table, the women clustered around Gabe who was apparently doing something precious. Dennis and Peter had followed their father into the bar, and Eli was about to disappear into the men’s room. Quinn caught up to him in the narrow hall.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “What do you think? I swear your ex-father-in-law is trying to get me drunk. That’s the third Canadian whiskey he’s bought me.”

  “Don’t say—”

  “Whiskey?” Eli blinked slowly. “Or father-in-law? If you’re going to follow me in, give me a minute because I really gotta pee.”

  Quinn was a patient man. He taught teenagers, for Christ’s sake. But leaning his head back against the Budweiser sign on the dark paneling didn’t do anything to control his need to shake Eli and dem
and to know what the fuck made it so funny to screw with Quinn’s life. Knowing he wanted to follow the tirade by shoving his dick so far up Eli’s ass he’d taste him for a month didn’t help either.

  When he went into the bathroom, Eli met his gaze in the mirror where he was washing his hands. Eli licked his lips, and Quinn caught sight of himself. His cheeks were flushed, eyes hard and focused, the sweater clinging to his chest. One thing he didn’t look was old. He folded his arms across his chest.

  “Exactly what are you doing? And don’t say washing your hands or just sitting on a pillow will feel like burning coals by the time I’m done blistering your ass.”

  Eli blinked again, smiled and ran a cool finger along the V-neck of Quinn’s sweater. “Mmm. Hot. But I prefer to save that kind of stuff for bed, Daddy.”

  Quinn did not shiver, even if the jolt to his body could qualify as one. The chemistry between them had nothing to do with Eli acting that way in front of the family.

  He grabbed Eli’s hand and squeezed, forcing it down to his side. “Listen, you little shit, you do not get to waltz in here and—”

  “I didn’t waltz in. You invited me.” Eli wrenched his hand free and jabbed his finger into Quinn’s chest. “And don’t think you didn’t invite me to do exactly what I did.”

  Anger beat hot and strong in Quinn’s temples, tightened his spine, forced his hands into fists. He took a step back.

  Eli followed, crowding Quinn against the sink. “You wanted Peter to think you’d moved on. You wanted everyone to remember the big gay elephant in the room that none of you could talk about because of Peter. I did all that.”

  The anger wasn’t for Eli now. It was for himself because there was no arguing with that. Punching himself wouldn’t help, though, so he unclenched his fists.

  “Now.” Eli crowded into him in an entirely different way, spine and hips moving fluidly. “You knew what would happen when you followed me in here and it wasn’t just you bitching.” He hooked a finger in Quinn’s belt. “Jesus. You looking at me like that is getting me hard. C’mon.” He yanked Quinn by the belt into the stall and reached around him to lock the door.

  Eli wrapped an arm around Quinn’s neck, dragging him down, other hand unlatching his belt, his fly.

  “We can’t.” But Quinn’s words were an ineffective moan against Eli’s lips. Had he known this was going to happen when he came in here?

  “We can and we are. So hurry up.”

  Eli licked and sucked on Quinn’s lower lip, forearm sliding over Quinn’s dick as Eli got his own pants open.

  “What if someone—?”

  Eli leaned back against the stall barrier, one leg sliding up to wrap around Quinn’s thigh.

  “Oh.” Quinn’s hands landed on Eli ass, shoving under his clothes to find skin, and lifted him up. “God, yes.”

  Eli wrapped both legs around Quinn’s hips, a hand busy getting their dicks together, working what slick he could get from the tips as they started grinding.

  Quinn’s fingers dug in, and Eli’s mouth opened on an almost silent moan. Quinn dove into his mouth, chocolate, cream, then just heat and Eli’s tongue meeting his. Quinn’s common sense left his brain, riding the blood flow down to his balls, where Eli’s fingers teased and tugged, hard enough for an ache that sweetened as their shafts rubbed together. It was dirty, raw, hot and stupider than anything Quinn had managed even as a desperately horny teen. His—Peter’s—family was out there, and he was humping away in a bathroom stall.

  Eli’s mouth and tongue mimicked what his hand and fingers were doing, stroking along Quinn’s lips in long licks as his fingers found the shapes under the tightening skin of his sac. Wet slow kisses as his palm pressed hard flesh against hard flesh, a flick of tongue to chase his thumb over the head and then a deep suck as he tugged.

  Quinn’s hips picked up the pace, driving their cocks together, and Eli clung to his shoulders now, legs squeezing. Dimly Quinn’s brain sent up a warning flag about flimsy construction and getting caught when the stall collapsed around them, but Quinn told his brain to get fucked, and lifted Eli higher, getting the perfect drag of skin and slick cockheads.

  Eli tore his mouth free. “Please.”

  The word made pleasure wash sweeter through his pipes, everything getting so hot at the tip of his cock it burned.

  Eli wrapped a finger in the curl of long hair at the nape of Quinn’s neck and yanked.

  “Go ahead, honey. I got you.” Quinn breathed it along the sweat on Eli’s neck.

  “Finger me. C’mon. Need it.”

  Oh, Christ. Eli would fucking kill him. Gripping tighter, he inched his index finger into the warm crease, found the velvety ripples damp from Eli’s sweat. Soft, but hard too.

  “Relax.”

  “Fuck that. Now.”

  Quinn pressed. Eli jerked.

  “Yeah. Gimme two.”

  Quinn lined up another and shoved. Eli bucked and rocked into him. Trying to hold him, hold them together, was like trying to hang on to that moment right before he came when everything was bright and perfect as the sparks built to the point of no return. Then everything tipped.

  Arching farther back, Eli grabbed two fistfuls of sweater and curled his hands around it, muffling his moans in Quinn’s shoulder as he pumped hot and slick between their bodies. The wet warmth sliding over Quinn’s cock was all he needed to follow over the edge, hips jerking and teeth digging into his lip to keep from shouting.

  Quinn managed to keep his feet, dragging Eli back toward him as a bolt in the wall clanged loose. The stall rocked and settled back, amazingly still upright.

  Quinn wanted to sink onto the filthy tiles, but he held on as their breathing slowed and Eli tried to separate himself without leaving come all over their clothes. They were marginally successful. The cloakroom was just across the hall. After they cleaned up, a sprint would get them to the extra protection of another layer—and then maybe a quick disappearance.

  Eli tilted his head as he scrubbed with the toilet paper. “I think we saved most of the sweater.” He hitched his pants back up over his ass and eyed them both. “The sink will help.”

  Quinn met Eli’s gaze and held it. In less than twenty-four hours, this piece of ass in black eyeliner, Eli—whose last name he didn’t even know, who was barely a few years older than the kids in his class—had completely rewritten all the rules Quinn followed to keep his life on a peaceful path.

  He should have been furious, he should have been scared, and he was, but those feelings were taking a backseat to an overwhelming sense of gratitude—floating on a fresh wave of joy—like being caught in a gentle summer rain that rinsed away the weight of heat and humidity.

  He reacted to it the way he would have standing in that sweet shower—he drank in the source.

  Eli’s eyes were wary, but they closed as Quinn gave him a slow kiss. Eli pulled back, but Quinn took him under the jaw and kissed away that resistance. Almost as soon as Eli was kissing him back, he was reaching out to unlock the door.

  “I think we’d better see if we can salvage our clothes with some water.”

  “I’ll run and get our jackets,” Quinn promised.

  But he didn’t.

  Because leaning against the door, blocking it with a full body sneer, was Peter.

  Chapter Seven

  Eli followed Quinn out of the stall and felt his body snap into tension. “What?” Eli looked around Quinn and caught sight of the newly straight ex-boyfriend. “Oh.”

  “You couldn’t keep it in your pants for an hour?” Peter’s voice was filled with loathing. “There are children here.”

  “I doubt we have to worry about Faith in the men’s room. She can read. And if Gabe makes it in here on his own, I think there’s a lot more we should be talking about.” Quinn was calmer than Eli could have managed, though Eli felt the absurd need to slip around him. Not to get between them to break up a potential fight, but to shield Quinn from the look Peter had leveled at his ex. One that said w
hat the hell did I ever see in you?

  “Maybe that piece of bar trash you dragged along to humiliate me doesn’t know how decent people behave, but—”

  Quinn didn’t raise his voice, but the soft tone had an edge that cut through Peter’s complaint. “You watch your fucking mouth about him.”

  Eli’d had enough of hanging in the background. He stepped in front of Quinn. “I got this one, baby.”

  Peter’s face was a splotchy red. It might have been puffed with anger, but Eli saw the flicker of something else in his eyes, had seen it in plenty of men’s eyes.

  Eli ignored Quinn’s maneuvers between the sink and the urinals to get back in front, and stood his ground. “This piece of bar trash might not know how decent people behave, but he has a keen sense of smell. Someone besides the two of us got off in here, and don’t expect me to think one of the old guys from the bar out front came in to whip it on live gay porn.”

  Peter’s flush deepened. “I’ve been standing here to make sure you didn’t get caught. To protect my family from—”

  “We’ve covered the kids, and your father and brother don’t strike me as the kind of people to be scarred for life if they trip over people having sex.”

  “Normal people do not have sex in a bathroom. What the hell kind of thing are you?” Peter sneered.

  Quinn put his hand on Eli’s back, and Eli stepped more determinedly between them. “I’m the kind of thing Quinn picked. When you were jerking off in here, what got to you most? The memory of his body? God, he’s strong. The way he sounds? Those grunts he makes? They’re all mine now. How does that feel, Peter?”

  Peter turned toward the urinals. “Get him out of here, Quinn. Right the hell now.”

  “I’ll be sure to say goodbye to your beautiful wife.” Eli let Quinn push him through the door, but when it seemed Quinn was going to stay back, Eli grabbed his hand.

  “No.” Eli tugged. “Leave him. He made his own fucking mess.”

  “Pull yourself together, Peter,” was all Quinn said before he followed Eli into the alcove where their jackets were.

  “Here.” Eli handed Quinn his sport coat and shrugged into his own blazer. After tucking the stained tails of his dress shirt into his jeans, praying no one saw him looking like a nerd, he handed his hooded sweater to Quinn. “Hold this over your arm in front of the spot. There.”