19. Thomas

CHAPTER 19

Thomas

I might as well still be on vacation for all the ‘work' I'm doing. I've spent most of this past week just staring at my phone, waiting for Arlo to message me back every time I send him a text.

It was such a relief when he sent me that first message. I told myself that it needed to be him who made the first move. After that, it felt like I had permission to contact him freely. I know how much he has going on at home, so I don't want to add to his stress in any way. He's the one in control of the relationship.

Whereas I'm just a lovestruck fool, who needs reassurance that this is a relationship.

At some point, I want to bring up being exclusive. But if he's closeted with his family, I probably don't have to worry about him running off down to the clubs and banging the first hot Daddy he sees.

Damn, if that mere thought don't make my blood boil, though.

I tell myself that it's only been a week and the fact that we're still talking is a really good sign. But I want to make plans for when we're going to see each other again. I want some kind of insight into what our future together might look like.

We're dancing around anything to do with our actual relationship, however. We talk about our days, I tell him he's a good boy, and sometimes he gets a bit flirty and teases me. But that's it. We bore our frigging souls to each other in Bali, and now we're just friends.

I'm driving myself nuts.

It's not like he's trying to let me down gently, I'm certain. It's more that he's not sure what the hell's going on in his life, so he doesn't want to make any promises he can't keep.

To be fair, I'd promise him the moon if I could.

On the plane ride back, I really worried that my feelings would fade once we weren't in each other's pockets twenty-four seven. But when I got his text, I jumped out of my skin, my heart immediately leaping into my throat, my skin tingling with anticipation.

It's like that every time he messages.

So yeah. I'm pretty sure this is the real deal.

I'm in love.

Which is why I'm sitting on my hands so I don't chew them off, metaphorically speaking. I'm forcing myself to be patient. Arlo might take some time to see what the shape of this is gonna be, and as long as I'm in the picture when he does, I'll be fine with whatever he wants.

Unless he wants to break everything off because long distance is too hard, and he wants to find a Daddy closer to home.

Gah! Stop!

Logically, the next thing I want to suggest is a video call. I know he's afraid of his folks overhearing us, but I figured if he puts headphones on and lets me do all the talking, we could at least start there and see how we can progress.

I've looked at those selfies we took so much they're seared into my brain. I need the real deal back or at least the closest we can manage with an ocean between us. I just want to put him to bed, for Christ's sake. I want to tell my boy how good he is and see him blush in real time.

I want to call him Daddy's little slut and watch him jerk off.

But his safety is the only thing that matters. He's never going to relax if he's worried out of his skull that his mom's going to burst in on him. It sounds like if she even encounters a locked door on his bedroom or bathroom, there will be hell to pay.

I can't imagine having your mom as your enemy. She's supposed to be there for her kids when they fall, when they're uncertain, when they need unconditional love. I don't know this woman, so I try not to hate her, but it's hard when I can see clearer every day the harm she's causing my little Lolo. At least his dad seems to be your typical emotionally detached rich asshole. That's a bit easier to manage.

Speaking of moms…

My intercom goes off. I've been musing in my living room with the TV down low, half-heartedly drinking a beer. But the buzzer pulls me out of it, and I drag my ass up to the speaker, pressing the button.

"Mijo! Let us in!"

"Mom?" I say in confusion.

I hear my sister snort down the line. "I told you he'd forget. Hey, bozo! You forgot! Let us in!"

"We have Chinese," my mom says in a sing-song voice.

"Yeah?" I say, my heart lifting.

I did forget they'd bullied their way into coming over for dinner tonight. I've been deliberately avoiding telling them about my vacation. Okay…I've been deliberately avoiding telling them about Arlo. But apparently now I don't have an option.

"We got all the Chinese," my sister gloats. "So you gonna let us in, or do we have to eat it out here?"

I scoff and press the button to open the door. In the time it takes them to come up the elevator, I get out plates and chopsticks as well as wine glasses, because I know my sister hasn't come all this way to drink juice. I hear the excited chattering from out in the hall, so I jog over to open the door before they can knock.

"There's my little man," Mama coos as she bustles her way inside and throws her arms around my neck. She's barely five foot tall, but I know I'll always be her little man until the end of time. My heart expands as I wrap my arms around her plump frame and accept her embrace gratefully.

"Hey, jerk face," Camila says, kicking the door to my condo shut as her hands are full with the bag of Chinese takeout in one and—judging by the clinking sounds—at least a couple of bottles of wine in the carrier the other is holding.

"Language," our mom says with a roll of her eyes.

Cam snorts. "That ain't any kinda language, Mama," she assures her.

The next few minutes are spent getting boxes out and opened on the table, then a mild frenzy as we pile food up on our plates. I make sure everybody has a healthy measure of white wine before raising my glass. We always toast before we drink…but in that moment I realize I'm not sure what to say.

Because I only want to raise a glass to Arlo, but he's not here, and my mom and sister have no idea who he is.

Camila gives me a questioning look. "To a good vacation?" she suggests.

"Yeah," I agree, wincing when my voice catches.

Mama arches an eyebrow and puts her glass down without drinking. "Oh, mijo. Was it no good? I know you were worried. Were you too shy? Did someone recognize you?"

"No, nothing like that," I say with a sigh. "Actually…I met someone amazing."

Camila slaps my arm hard enough to make it sting, then frowns as she takes a gulp of wine. "Then why are you moping?"

I shrug and poke at some noodles. "He lives in England, and his family is…complicated." I explain about Arlo's bigoted, old-fashioned parents, and my family listens sympathetically.

"So there's hope," Mama says with a nod, wagging an egg roll at me.

I shrug. "Maybe? There's a lot to overcome."

"Is there?" Camila asks around a mouthful of spicy chicken. "Seems like you two are smitten. It's actually kinda gross."

She winks to let us know that she's only teasing. I sigh, feeling pretty helpless. "I'm not gonna argue with you there. Maybe it's dumb to think I've fallen in love so fast or that my first relationship with someone who's, um, like me could be a serious, long-term one."

Camila has an idea about my kink. I'm almost certain that Mama just thinks I mean a gay relationship, as I haven't had a boyfriend since I went pro and got famous. It doesn't matter, though, as she's got my back either way.

"If this boy's special, he's special," she says firmly. "It won't matter if you've known him two weeks or two years. I think your heart knows."

"But…" I bite my cheek, not wanting to sound like an insecure teenager. Who else can I ask if not my mama and sister, though? "It's a bit hard to know if he feels the same if he's living in another country."

"Can't you just ask him?" Camila says with a skeptical look.

"I could, yeah," I reply. "But I'm not sure he'll give an honest answer and tell me what he really wants. He's so wrapped up in his duties and responsibilities. I don't want to barge in and tell him that his parents are assholes and he doesn't have to listen to them. But…"

"Language," Mama says on reflex. "They don't sound very nice to me, though, mijo. If you're thinking about waiting for their approval, it sounds like you're going to be waiting a very long time."

"Oh, agreed," I say with a scoff, and take a second to pop a sweet and sour chicken ball in my mouth, pondering as I chew and swallow. "It's going to take a hell of a lot for them to accept their son is gay from what I can tell—if they ever do. They seem dead set on traditional marriage and babies."

"Men can get married," Mama says hotly, and my heart aches with love for her. "Men can have babies, too! They can adopt or use a surrogate, or I saw a trans man on the Instagram who carried his own baby." She turns to my sister earnestly. "It was so beautiful, Cammy. I cried."

"Aww, Mama," she says with a laugh as she hugs her.

I pat her hand. "Arlo isn't trans, Mama. But you're absolutely right. If we wanted kids, we could have them."

"Grandbabies," she says dreamily, making both my sister and I roll our eyes.

"Not yet, Mama," Camila says firmly.

"I don't think that would be enough for Arlo's family," I say glumly. "They don't want grandkids to spoil them. They want the next family heir."

"Like Bridgerton?" Camila squawks indignantly.

"That's what I thought!" I assure her. Then I sigh and shake my head. "I am the total opposite of the imaginary duchess these people have in mind for their son. He's been trained to please them his whole life. It's going to take a lot to convince him to take a risk and be with me. Long-distance relationships are hard. I saw so many guys on the team struggling."

"So convince him," Camila says. She's got the devil in her eyes as she takes a swig of wine. "You said it's like Bridgerton? That's basically the same as Pride and Prejudice, and one of the chicks in that goes off about how the girls have to show more love than they might think they feel to secure a match. Obviously, this is slightly different." She waves her hand so I can't interrupt her train of thought. "But my point is, this cute little Brit might need a truly OTT gesture from you to believe that you're all in."

I rub my chin and narrow my eyes at her. "You might actually be onto something there, sis."

She flips her hair. "Of course. I'm a mastermind."

"You should send him flowers," Mama suggests.

Camila kisses her cheek. "That's so sweet, Mama. But I'm thinking waaaay bigger than that."

I wave a finger at her. "Hang on, wait a minute." I knit my eyebrows together as my thoughts catch up to each other. "He said something about his parents hosting a fancy ball this weekend that he's being made to go to."

Camila slaps her hand to her chest. "A ball?" she cries in a pretty funny attempt at a posh English accent that I very much enjoy.

"Does that sound like the place to stage something dramatic?" I ask with a grin.

She raises her wine glass. "It certainly sounds like something better to toast to! Let's get scheming!"

And scheming we do.

Lots of it.