2. Keane

CHAPTER 2

KEANE

I choke on my drink and start coughing.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," Henry says, grabbing the gray mohair throw and using it to wipe off the coffee table, then patting me on the back. "I didn't mean to cut off your air circulation. Breathing is very important."

"It's not a problem," I wheeze, my brain whirring as he hovers over me, wearing next to nothing.

Henry Carter is my son's boyfriend . I have no idea what's gotten into him, but there is no way on God's green earth that I'm having sex with him. That's just plain wrong. I'm not going to help him cheat on my son, period, let alone with me.

Tell that to my dick, though. Because for the past few minutes, Henry's been sitting less than six feet away from me, wearing mostly skin. Tempting as all hell. Since the moment I saw him on my doorstep, I've been studying the sinuous curves of his body. The way his lower lip is extra pouty, demanding to be bitten.

He's sweet and utterly beautiful and charming and entrancing, with the brown curls of his hair and his pale gray-blue eyes. I've been fighting an erection this entire time. In fact, I made myself go get water so I could take a few deep breaths before I had to face his sexiness.

Damnit, I can not get hard for my son's boyfriend, even—especially?—when he comes waltzing into my house and propositions me. My brain knows it's immoral, but my body has other ideas.

Like removing Henry's booty shorts with my teeth.

I need to change the subject.

Henry settles back down, satisfied that I'm not going to die, and keeps talking. "I was thinking about coming over here with poppers, but I didn't know if you're into that. Or if you ever were. I mean, things are different now, but I thought it might be some kind of vintage fun. Except I have no idea where to get them, since I don't do drugs, and now I'm talking way too much."

What is he talking about? Poppers? Where does that boy's brain go? I clear my throat.

I need to do the right thing. He's plain old off-limits. There are boundaries I will not cross, and this is one of them. I've never seriously considered him. End of story.

"Henry," I begin, and he can tell from the tone of my voice that he's going to get turned down.

He sets aside the blanket and puts his face in his hands. "I can't believe I came on to you and just said it like that. I'm so embarrassed. Oh my God, I'm going to go move to a different town. Which I can't do, because arghhhhh . I have to manage the B and B." He groans, sliding his hands down his cheeks.

Henry's so damned cute. I want to console him, but that would be sending the wrong message.

I decide to indulge my brain, since I'm not going to let my body do what it wants. "Can I ask why?" I ask.

"Why poppers?"

"No, why do you want to have s—sleep with me?"

"Oh. Because Kerrigan cheated on me."

Of fucking course.

That explains why this adorable man's lower lip is trembling and his eyes are full of unshed tears. Henry's utterly heartbroken.

Oh, sweet boy, you didn't deserve that.

And my brain engages in a quick calculation: Do my concerns still apply, now that Henry is my son's ex -boyfriend?

Yes. It's still wrong. If Kerrigan cheated on him—which I unfortunately don't doubt—then Henry is going through a lot, and he's likely vulnerable and emotional, so he needs to be treated with kid gloves. I'm going to listen to him, and if I can help him, I will. But I'm not touching him.

Not because I wouldn't like to. In fact, if I dig down deep, this isn't the first time the image of fucking Henry has been in my brain. Henry's (normally) geek chic, with an ass that won't quit and a certain anxious energy combined with a lost-puppy look that makes me want to take him under my wing and care for him. Soothe him. Wash away all his worries.

Still … nope. "I'm sorry he cheated on you," I tell him, "but what does that have to do with sleeping with me?"

"I wanted him to feel as bad as I do," Henry whispers. "I couldn't turn the tables and cheat on him, since we're broken up, but I thought this would be … the closest thing, I guess."

I should be upset that Henry wanted to use me in some harebrained plot, but I feel for the guy. He's hurting. It's all I can do not to gather him in my arms and hug him. But. "I'm not going to be used in a revenge scheme against my son."

That said, I'm pretty angry with Kerrigan for treating Henry this way… and ashamed that I raised a son who would cheat.

Henry scrubs his face. "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry. I guess … I've always been attracted to you, and I was just so fucking pissed, and now that"—he waves his hands, indicating, perhaps, that we're both single—"I was wondering if …" He swallows hard.

I shake my head, and Henry sinks into the couch, his disappointment palpable.

"When did it happen?" I ask.

"Two hours ago. I caught him in the act—graphically—with that snake Ian Davis. I thought we were exclusive, but apparently, Kerrigan didn't. And I know that not everyone wants the same thing I do?—"

"You don't need to justify his actions, Henry."

"Yeah, okay. But I understand that monogamy isn't for everyone. Just because it is for me…"

"Me, too. I mean, monogamy is my preference, too."

And as we talk, I find myself thinking This is worse . Because Henry and I have always naturally hit it off. When Kerrigan would bring him over for dinner, I'd find myself talking more to Henry than to my own son.

But even if Henry and Kerrigan have broken up, and even if I were good with being used for revenge—which I'm not—Henry's a cool twenty-two to my forty-two, and that's just … too young.

There's a reason why people are squeamish about age differences. I don't want to take advantage of a younger man—there's an inherent imbalance of power. Except Henry's coming on to me , I'm not pursuing him.

Still, there's an ick factor, although I suppose that's a heteronormative thought. After all, if we aren't procreating—and setting aside potential health issues in the future—what does age matter?

My body doesn't care how old he is. In fact, it likes his lithe form and smooth skin.

Still. I have to say no. But I don't want Henry to feel bad that I'm turning him down.

I sit forward. "Listen to me. I'm going to tell you the truth." I let out a breath and just go for it. "I'm attracted to you, always have been, and if you weren't my son's boyfriend—or rather, ex-boyfriend—and also twenty years younger than me, I'd likely take you up on your offer. Only thing is, I'd want more than sex with you. I'd want you in my life."

He shivers, and I think it's part physical arousal, part emotional.

God, Henry's absolutely perfect.

What I could do to him. With him.

"But the bottom line is, I can't help you take revenge on my son," I say. My voice lowers to a whisper. "No matter how much I want you."

Henry's eyes are imploring me. "You're not just saying that, are you? You really do like me?"

I smile. "No, I'm not just saying it. I've never acknowledged it, but I've probably had a crush on you forever. Still, we can't act on it."

He gives me the most effective side-eye I've ever received. "So, what you're saying is that we should be responsible adults?"

"Definitely."

"Ugh," he moans, and I can't help imagining him making the same sound in other circumstances. "This is worse than the banana nut muffin."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I should get going. I'm sorry, this was a bad idea." He stands, and I stand, too.

"Look," I say. "I'm flattered, for real. And I wish I could date you. But it isn't right."

The sad look he gives me almost cracks my resolve, but he nods. I walk with him to the door.

"You're not going to tell Kerrigan, are you?" he asks.

"Absolutely not." I put a hand on his bare shoulder, and he shudders.

"Thanks." He clears his throat. "I'll see you around?"

"Of course," I say, and he leaves. I watch his pert ass sway in those short shorts as he walks back to his car, and I have to hold myself back from racing after him. Then I close the door and return to my study.

I wish my life were different. Sure, I've been on a few dates here and there since my divorce, but I haven't clicked with anyone. I haven't felt for them a tiny bit of the emotions Henry stirs just by giving me a sheepish smile.

He's sexy as hell, and I could talk with him all day. But nope.

I'd been working from home today, but—big surprise—returning to spreadsheets and inventory isn't anywhere near as stimulating as the few minutes with Henry.

Later, in bed, as my hand finds my cock, I know something in my life has to change. I'm too lonely.

The following day, Kerrigan walks into the back office at the winery, clearly looking for me. Officially, he's our social media manager, but it's basically an excuse for him to go to parties. He thinks he's some kind of it-boy influencer. As far as the company goes, I think he's a tax deduction.

Don't get me wrong—I love my son. But he drives me up the wall sometimes. Especially when I hear stories like the one Henry told me.

I know precisely how I screwed up with Kerrigan. But like most parents, I have no idea how to fix it.

I rise when I see him and give him a hug, although part of me wants to strangle him… for obvious reasons.

"How's it going?" I ask, debating whether to bring up Henry.

My son plants his lanky body in the guest chair across from my desk. "It's okay. I was going to grab a few bottles of the 2008 Reserve to take to a party in Montecito."

Figures he'd ask for that one—our priciest and most limited vintage. "You can take two bottles," I say. "If you need more, take it from the 2019, okay?"

While I usually stay six miles away from my son's love life, there's something about Henry that makes me want to stick up for him. And while I don't want my son to get back together with him—Henry deserves better than someone as selfish as Kerrigan—I still feel like I need to fight for Henry.

"Thanks." He stands to leave, but I lift my chin and point to the chair. "What?" he asks, sitting back down again, a confused expression on his face.

"A rumor is floating around that you and Henry Carter broke up. Is that true?"

Kerrigan doesn't even look contrite. "Yeah."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "That's all you're going to say?"

He shrugs. "Yeah. I mean, it didn't work out."

Anger flashes through me as I think about Henry's face. He was heartbroken, and here's my son not caring at all about his feelings.

I want to lecture Kerrigan. To tell him that if he keeps throwing away guys who are wonderful, he's going to miss out on something great.

But I don't think it will achieve anything. Kerrigan's not going to listen to me, and nothing's going to change. He's an adult, and I can't fix this for him.

So instead of telling him off, I nod and shoo him out of my office.

My best friend, Wolfe LaBella—he's a professor at Albrecht College in Santa Barbara—comes over for dinner a few nights later. And he surprises the fuck out of me by admitting that he's secretly dating a student.

"You're doing what?" I try not to sound accusatory or censuring, but Wolfey is not the kind of guy to break rules. He's more likely to break his reading glasses.

Wolfe sips his wine. "He's worth it," he finally says. "When you find that person … when you know that he's the one, nothing can keep you apart."

"Hmm," I say noncommittally. I can't help worrying about Wolfe. He could lose his job if anyone finds out. "There are some lines I can't cross."

"Look, I'm not going to tell you what to do, but you really should get out there more. I worry about you."

"I'm fine," I tell him, but then I find myself adding, "Although, truth? I'm jealous. I wish I were doing what you're doing. Enjoying things I couldn't before." I sigh.

Wolfey's eyes light up. "It's marvelous when we don't have to hide—that is, when we're not on campus. Sure, we get some looks sometimes, but I don't care. He's worth it."

He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of him with his new boyfriend. What gets me about the photo is not that his boyfriend is cute—though he is—but that they're holding hands while someone took the picture of them.

That kind of casual affection is something I crave deep down in my soul. The one thing I've wanted in a relationship—especially one with a man, ever since I figured out my bisexuality—was to be able to shout my feelings from the rooftops. I've never been able to do that. At first I was in the closet. Now I'm out and proud, but with no one to share my life with, it feels hollow.

After Wolfe leaves, I'm scrolling on my phone and am inundated with ads for Valentine's Day special dinners, chocolates, jewelry, and candy.

Gah. My least favorite holiday. The one that reminds me how alone I am. Why do the algorithm gods hate me so much?

The algorithm answers me by serving up yet another ad, this one for the Heart2Heart dating app. "Ready to fall in love this Valentine's Day?" it reads. "Time to meet CUPID! Over the last five years, Heart2Heart has helped thousands of lonely hearts find their perfect match. Now, just in time for Valentine's Day, we've taken match-making to the next level. Your romantic future is about to get even brighter thanks to CUPID, the Compatible-Unit Partnering Intelligence Databot, which pairs H2H's enormous database with the most accurate compatibility-detection technology ever created. Many users say CUPID knows what they need in a partner even better than they do! Want to know what CUPID has in store for you? Click here to sign up."

I don't know why, but I download the app. Actually, I do know why: I'm lonely, and I don't want to be alone on Valentine's Day.

Henry's face enters my imagination, except I know he can't be the one for me.

But maybe a computer can find the right match. Since this small town offers limited possibilities, I expand the geographic parameters to include Santa Barbara, to the south.

After clicking a few more boxes, I agree to try a date with an unknown partner, and my heart pounds as I wait to be matched up.