“What?” he asked, dropping the act as he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Do you really want to know?” I asked, drawing out the sweet, sweet taste of victory.
“Yes, tell me,” he demanded.
“When Marshall gets here, do you think he’s going to let his new, submissive boyfriend sit on the outside of the booth? No way in hell,” I said, seeing the realization dawn on his face. “Oliver is getting the inside seat too. Right across from me,” I finished with relish.
Spencer looked across the booth at the empty bench. I watched as the wheels turned in his head as he looked from one spot to the other.
“Switch spots with me.”
“Fuck you,” I said as I leaned back into my seat and got comfortable.
“Come on, Nolan,” he whined. “Do this for me, please?”
“Not going to happen,” I replied with an immense rush of pleasure.
“When did you become such a sadist?”
Spencer opened his mouth to complain some more, but I stopped him when I noticed Marshall walking through the door. “They’re here.”
That got his attention. He stopped bugging me and turned toward the entrance.
Marshall was making his way around the room, clearly looking for us while tugging a cute, blonde waif behind him. His navy, short-sleeved button-up shirt and gray shorts were normal enough, but his shoes gave him away. He had on a pair of canvas sneakers encrusted with gold glitter.
Spencer had been right. Oliver was a little. It was in his every movement. He swung his hand as he held Marshall’s and sort of bounced as he walked as if he couldn’t contain the excitement in his little body. Then there was the way he was looking at Marshall. It was as if he thought Marshall had hung the moon and stars—they way I imagined all happy littles looked at their Daddies.
I must have been staring too intently because he looked up and met my gaze, his bounce faltered as he slowed down and tried to duck behind Marshall.
Spencer nudged my side. “Stop staring. You’re making him nervous.”
Looking back, I saw that Marshall had noticed something wrong with his boy. He’d stopped and turned to Oliver, giving him his full attention.
I watched as Oliver peeked around Marshall to look at us again.
Spencer, of course, noticed. He hunched over and lifted his hand, wiggling his finger at Oliver as he grinned.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, looking up to see Oliver’s reaction, but he’d already disappeared behind Marshall once again.
“Hush, I’m working,” he whispered.
I decided to watch Marshall and Oliver to see if what Spencer had done had worked. Within seconds, Oliver peeked around Marshall again, but this time he had a smile on his face. I had no idea what Spencer did this time, but it worked, too. Oliver giggled, burying his face in Marshall’s side.
Spencer elbowed me. “Littles love me,” he said with a smug smile.
“You’re insane.”
He shrugged. “Same difference.”
Oliver was still giggling as they approached the table. I tried to relax, not wanting to scare him again.
“Sunshine, these are my best friends, Spencer and Nolan,” Marshall said as he pointed at us. “Guys, this is Oliver.”
He lifted his hand, giving us a little wave. “Hi.”
As we returned the greeting, I started watching Oliver again. I could see now why Spencer—and Marshall—were drawn to them. He radiated a certain kind of innocence. It was easy to imagine Spencer wanting to corrupt that innocence as much as Marshall wanted to protect it.
As I watched Oliver, he seemed lost in his thoughts. He picked up his napkin and started tearing it into little pieces, making a neat little pile on the table. He rocked in his seat as the waitress came by and placed a soda in front of him.
Wanting to interact with him, I leaned forward. “Hi.”
He looked up, and when his blue eyes met mine, I gave him a soft smile. See, I’m not so scary, I thought when he smiled back.
“Hello.”
I searched for anything to say. What did one say to a little they’d just met? “I heard this is your favorite place to eat.”
He nodded earnestly. “The Mediterranean Sunrise is the most perfectest pizza on the face of the Earth.”
Now we were talking. Of course, Spencer chose that moment to butt in. He leaned over the table and dropped his voice. “I should have guessed, Marshall. You have Daddy written all over you.”
Oliver blushed while Marshall choked on his drink. Once he got himself back under control, he gave Spencer a warning glare. “Behave.”
“That doesn’t work on me,” Spencer said with a smirk, but I’d been watching Oliver, and it obviously worked on him.
He looked at Marshall innocently as he reached up and pushed the small pile of napkin pieces he’d created behind his soda. It was so amusing that I lifted my hand to cover my mouth as a laugh threatened to expose him to his Daddy.
But Spencer wasn’t done yet. “Can I be Uncle Spencer? I’ve always wanted to be an uncle.”
The reaction on the other side of the table said it all. Oliver choked on his laughter while Marshal gave a huge, put-out sigh. “Spenser, I swear to all you hold dear—”
“Oh, come on! Hear me out!” he said, beginning to plead his case. He lifted his hand and started tallying his merits. “I give awesome presents. I am a champion hide-n-seek player. And I make the best cupcakes.”
I nodded. Spencer did make the best fucking cupcakes I’d ever tasted. Baking was a hobby he’d picked up in college to impress the boys, and it worked. “His cupcakes are really good,” I said to Oliver. “His red velvet with homemade cream cheese frosting is to die for.”
He studied my face and then turned to Spencer. “I like cupcakes.”
Spencer lifted his fist and then slammed his arm down. “Yes.”
Oliver turned to Marshall. “I like your friends, especially if they give me cupcakes.”
Marshall dropped his head into his hands, but I could see him smiling. Oliver leaned into his side until Marshall lifted his arm and wrapped it around his boy. “I think they like you, too.”
A different waitress stopped by our table. For a second, I worried that something was wrong with our order, but apparently, Oliver came here so often he was on a first-name basis with half the people who worked here.
“Hi, Oliver,” she said, looking at the rest of us around the table.
“Hi, Missy,” he said and then introduced us. “This is my boyfriend, Da—Marshall and these are his friends, Spencer and Nolan.”
She smiled at us and then turned back to Oliver. She pulled something out of her apron, but I couldn’t tell what it was from where I was sitting. Oliver wanted whatever it was. He nodded enthusiastically and held out his hand.
It was a kid’s menu and a couple of crayons. I watched in fascination as he unfolded it and debated his options before starting to color one of the pictures.
“So,” Marshall said, interrupting my Oliver-watching. “How’s work?”
I groaned. I didn’t want to think about work because if I thought about work, I’d think about Quentin. “Don’t ask me that,” I begged, but it was already too late.