My parents just turned up uninvited. Give me until seven. Wear the Speedos.
I pulled on my robe and grabbed a towel as I went to open the door. My parents were barrelling down the hallway, my sister at the rear with a ridiculous grin on her face. “Come on in,” I said. I didn’t miss the way my mother looked at the robe and my bare feet. “Excuse the outfit. Was just about to go downstairs for a swim.”
“We thought you might like to join us for dinner,” Dad said.
I shot Susannah another look. She was smiling with zero shame. “Well, I would have if I’d had some notice. But I have plans.”
I realised my mistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
“Oh?” Mum perked up, instantly interested. “Anyone we might know?”
How would it ever be anyone they knew?
“No, I don’t think—”
“Oh, is this the guy you’ve been seeing for a while now?” Susannah piped up with a look of victory on her face.
I could feel my mother’s stare zero in on me like a missile while her excitement went nuclear. There was a discernible shift in barometric pressure, I was sure of it. “You’re seeing someone, Michael?”
Before I could answer, Susannah said, “Do you know his name yet?”
I glared at her with the invisible wrath of the Death Star on Alderaan. “Yes, I know his name. Christ, Susannah, you can throw me under the bus once, but there’s no need to back over me a few times.”
“Michael, don’t swear,” Mum chided. “And go and put some proper clothes on. You look like Hugh Heffner in that robe.”
I looked down at my Versace robe. At my very nothing-like-Hugh-Heffner robe. I was going to argue, but really, there was no point. “Sure,” I mumbled as I went to my room. “Though I would just like to take this opportunity to remind everyone here that I was going to swim a few laps before going out tonight. If I’d had some notice that you guys were coming . . .”
By the time I finished ranting, I was in my room pulling on a pair of shorts.
And then I heard the very familiar intercom buzzer. I heard Susannah say something, but it took a second to register what it was . . .
Oh my god.
Time seemed to move in slow motion, all hot and cold and pulsing in my ears, and by the time I pulled on some shorts, I almost fell over trying to get out to my living room just in time to see my dad open the door.
Bryce stood there in his Purple Rain T-shirt and jeans, holding up a pair of Speedos. “Get ready—”
His words died right then and there, and he spotted me behind my dad.
“Come in, son,” Dad said. “You must be the boy Michael was just telling us about.”
And I swear to fucking god, my soul left my body.
Chapter Ten
Bryce
An older, very handsome man with blue eyes and grey-blond hair stood in Michael’s doorway. I realised, far too late, as I stood there holding up a pair of rather small Speedos, that it was not Michael.
Then he said something like, “Come in. Michael was just telling us about you,” and I happened to glance past his shoulder and saw Michael.
He looked . . . well, horrified was one word to describe it. Mortified was another. Possibly aghast. Definitely stunned and embarrassed, but mostly horrified.
“Dad,” Michael squeaked.
Michael’s dad grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. “Don’t be shy, we don’t bite.”
I noticed a woman, possibly early fifties, stunningly beautiful and clearly Michael’s mother. Because if I thought he looked like his father, he was the spitting image of her. And there was a younger woman, also tall, thin, and blonde. Her eyes were trained on Michael, her grin was wide.
Michael’s father held out his hand. “Stephen Piersen,” he said.
Stunned and blindsided, I shook his hand. “Bryson Schroeder.”
He waved his hand to the two women. “And this is Reina and our daughter Susannah.”
I gave a nod; my mouth was suddenly dry. “Nice to meet you.”
Michael, wide-eyed and paler than usual, shook his head. He mouthed, “I’m so sorry.”
Then Susannah took my hand. “Nice to meet you too,” she said, clearly enjoying this far too much.
Michael intercepted us, giving his sister a death glare. “You’re the worst sister ever,” he hissed.
She laughed, ignoring him, and spoke to me. “I let you in. He was getting changed.”
I met his gaze. “I sent you a text,” he whispered.
“I didn’t get it,” I replied.
“They were just leaving,” Michael said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “They have dinner plans, but I told them we had a . . . thing on tonight.”
“A thing?” Susannah repeated, still grinning. “I bet you do.”
“Michael, don’t be embarrassed,” his mother said.
“I need a fucking drink,” Michael mumbled. He left me and walked into the kitchen, pulling the bottle of vodka from the freezer. He grabbed a glass, poured a decent amount, and drank it, straight. He shook his head to ward off the burn. Then he poured another decent swig and I was slightly worried he was going to drink it, but he pushed the glass on the counter toward me.
I went to take it but realised I was still holding the Speedos. Michael laughed, and I snorted, thought fuck it, and threw the vodka back in one gulp.
“Okay, we’ll leave you boys,” Stephen said. He shot me an apologetic look as he led Reina toward the front door. “Nice to meet you,” he called out. “Susannah, let’s go.”
Michael’s sister, whose amused smile hadn’t waned one bit, laughed. She and Michael had some silent eye-dagger argument, then she turned to me. “It’s nice to finally meet you. And now I can put a face to the name . . . Well, now that we have a name. Because he has told me about you, and he gets all flustered when he does.”
“Susannah,” Stephen called out again.
“Bye, boys, have a good night,” Reina said.
Susannah chuckled, then she gave me a wink as she walked past. “Yeah. Have a good night.”
The front door snicked closed and the silence they left behind was deafening. I slowly turned to Michael, who now had the bottle of vodka in his hand. He raised it in a ‘cheers’ fashion. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Then he put the bottle to his lips and chugged.
I pulled it from his mouth before he drank too much. He gave no resistance and instead leaned his hands on the counter and let his head drop forward. “I was wearing the robe when they turned up. With Speedos. If that’s any indication of how my evening is going.”
“I waved a pair of the smallest Speedos I could buy in front of your father’s face,” I added. “If you’re wondering how my evening’s going.”
He looked up then and almost smiled. “Fucking hell. I’m so sorry.”
I took a sip from the vodka bottle and relished the burn. “I could tell by your face. The horror-stricken, absolutely mortified look on your face told me you didn’t plan this.”
“Plan this?” He was back to looking horror-stricken. “I’d rather plan a colon cleanse with bleach and a toilet brush.”