Chapter 99
Stacy reminded him, “Your dad said no.” James did another somersault, this time tumbling to the floor amid childish giggles, and Stacy tugged on the back of his shirt to make him stand up. “Come on, James. It’s getting late.”
“Are you sleepy already?” James wanted to know. “I’m not even tired yet.”
Stacy thought that was a stupid question to ask, but he shrugged his backpack into a more comfortable position on his shoulder. “Which room’s mine?”
James raced back into the hall, bounced off the railing by the stairs, then hit the door on the other side of his bedroom door. “Bathroom,” he said as he slapped the door. The one beside it he christened, “Closet.” Then finally, at the end of the hallway, he reached the last door. Looking back at Stacy, he tapped the door. “You.”
The guest room was nothing like the boy’s bedroom. The bare walls were painted a shade of blue so faint, it may have been Stacy’s imagination, and the light switch turned on a lamp beside the full-size bed, casting shadows into the corners of the room and silvering a window that overlooked the street. With relief, Stacy dropped his bag to the bed and sank down on the edge. James clambered over the covers behind him to plop against the pillows. “I could sleep in here,” he suggested.
“Your dad said no,” Stacy repeated. The pout James gave him made him laugh. “Come on. I’ll see you in the morning.” James pouted harder. “At breakfast?” Pointing at the dresser by the foot of the bed, Stacy asked, “Think I can put some of my clothes in there?”
James just shrugged. Taking that as a yes, Stacy stood up and dumped the contents of his backpack on the bed. The few clothes he’d managed to grab as he left Lamar’s were wrinkled—they looked worn and old, and seeing them made Stacy sigh. He wanted to pitch them in the trash, just scoop them up and throw them out, but for now they were all he had. Picking out a rumpled pair of jeans, Stacy shook them hard then smoothed his hands down the legs to iron out what he could. As he folded them into shape, James prodded one of Stacy’s schoolbooks that lay wrapped in an old t-shirt. “Why are you back in school?”
Uh-oh.Stacy shrugged so James wouldn’t see how much the question bothered him. “Aren’t you in school?”
“Not in the summer.” James scooted down a little on the bed and nudged Stacy’s book again with his foot. “You’re too old to be in school.”
Out in the hallway, one of the stairs creaked and Stacy knew Darian had joined them. Choosing his words carefully, Stacy told James, “I messed around when I was in school the first time. I didn’t like it.”
The boy scrunched up his nose in disgust. “I don’t like it much either.”
Stacy grinned. “You may think that now but let me tell you, it’s no fun going back to finish something you should’ve done right the first time. Ask your dad.”
“Ask him what?” Darian leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. When James saw him, he squealed in delight and burrowed into the covers on Stacy’s bed. Coming into the room, Darian gave Stacy a quick wink and raised his voice to ask, “Wasn’t James just in here? I thought I heard him…”
Stacy nodded at the bed. “There.” He folded the rest of his clothes into the top drawer of the dresser as Darian tickled his son through the bed sheets. Why couldn’t I have had that growing up?he wondered, listening to them rough-housing in his bed. A father like Darian, a carefree childhood like James’s. Would that have been asking too much?
But it was his bed, he reminded himself. And so what if he hadn’t had a perfect life before? Who said he couldn’t start having one now?
* * * *
Stacy was stacking his schoolbooks on the dresser when Darian returned from putting James to bed. His boss stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him, then stepped into the bedroom and eased the door shut until it stood open only an inch or two. “What do you think?” Darian asked, his voice a low rumble like thunder in the distance. “Will this work for you?”
“Sure.” From the corner of his eye, Stacy saw Darian sink down to the edge of the bed. Had his shirt been unbuttoned that far before? Stacy didn’t know, but he didn’t think so. Then Darian leaned back, propped up on one elbow, and it was all Stacy could do not to jump him right there. Pin him to the bed, one leg on either side of those ample hips, dicks pressed together despite the layers of denim that separated them. The rest of those buttons undone, the shirt smoothed out of the way, Stacy’s pale skin against Darian’s dark chest, finally. What would Darian do if Stacy rubbed the palms of his hands against his boss’s nipples, stirring them erect? What would he say when Stacy took one between his teeth? Where would his hands clutch when Stacy made his way down that broad chest and unzipped those jeans? How many licks would it take him to get to the center of that?
He didn’t know but God, he wanted to find out.