11. Chapter 11

"Hey. Phillip, is it?"

The teen across from me nods, fiddling with his work shirt. There's a badge for a gas station on his breast pocket. Scott, the head of the LGBTQ+ community center where we're meeting, told me Phillip is eighteen, but the kid looks a good couple years younger than that.

I extend my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Phillip. I'm Teddy."

He shakes my hand quickly before resuming his nervous fidgeting.

"Scott said you could use some help," I say, hoping to lead him into discussing why he's here. Or, rather, why I'm here.

"Um, yeah," he says. "But I don't know what you can do."

"Well," I say, opening my palms. "Why don't you explain what's going on, and we'll figure it out?"

"Okay, so…" More nervous shirt tugging. "I moved into a place earlier this year when I turned eighteen."

I nod, encouraging him to go on.

"Um, and my landlord keeps raising my rent. He says it's normal, but I don't know anyone in the building well enough to ask. And, uh, he keeps making comments. About me being gay."

"You think he's discriminating against you because of your sexual orientation," I say gently.

The kid nods before shaking his head a little and shrugging. "I don't know."

"Well, in Nevada, a landlord needs to give their tenants notice before implementing a rent increase. At the very least, that would be fifteen days, depending on your lease agreement. Is he giving you any notice?"

Phillip shakes his head. "No. He just tells me the price when the rent is due."

Yeah, that's certainly not legal.

I give Phillip a gentle smile. "First, let me assure you I can help with this, okay?"

He nods, and I open my notebook.

"All right, then. Let's start at the beginning."

Phillip and I chat for a good thirty minutes before he needs to leave for work. After our brief preliminary meeting, I have a list of rent payments Phillip made to his landlord, price hikes included, an emailed copy of his original lease agreement, and as many details as the kid could remember of his landlord's bigoted comments. It's enough.

Scott catches me as I'm packing up my things in the small sitting room Phillip and I were using. "Hey," he says, tapping the doorframe. "Everything go okay?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "I'll take his case."

Scott exhales in relief. "Thanks, Teddy. I honestly don't know what we'd do without you."

I give him a smirk. "You'd find some other lawyer to do pro bono work for you."

"Maybe," he agrees. "But you're the best."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

He laughs at that, and we walk down the hall. "Coffee before you go?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Scott and I detour into the community center's small café. It's set up like a real coffee shop, with espresso machines and a couple employees who serve drinks and a limited selection of bakery items. It's free for the kids and young adults who come here. At the moment, there are a few college-age students on a couch in the corner, working on homework. Another sits at a table, scrolling through their phone.

Scott grabs me a black coffee and orders a latte for himself, and we take a seat. "How've you been since the last time I saw you?" he asks.

"A whole month ago?"

He chuckles. "Plenty can change in a month."

That's true.

"Actually," I say, holding up my left hand, "I got married."

Scott's eyes shoot comically wide as he sees my ring. "Holy shit." The nearby kids snicker, and Scott says, voice louder, "Sorry, all. Swearing is bad. Stay in school."

They go back to their work, and Scott shakes his head, grimacing. There's a smile in his eyes, though. Scott has a good rapport with the kids here at the community center. I noticed it the first time I visited over three years ago. They trust him, and I guarantee he could name every single person in this café and those walking through the halls. This place and these people are Scott's life, his passion. And ever since he enlisted my help, it's become a bit of a passion project for me, too.

"So, who's the lucky guy?" Scott asks. "I didn't even know you were dating."

"Would you believe me if I told you it was a drunk Vegas wedding?"

Scott eyes me before snorting. "Not a chance. What's the real story?"

I keep my laughter to myself. Mostly. "I've known him for a while, but nothing happened until recently."

"Why's that?" he asks, taking a sip of his drink.

Because I was scared? Because I got burned so badly by my last relationship that I can still feel the scorch marks?

"I guess the timing wasn't right," I answer.

I probably shouldn't be discussing this with Scott in the first place, but he would have noticed my ring eventually. Besides, I count him as a friend, and it feels nice to speak freely about Kipp. To talk about him as my husband, not the guy I'm accidentally married to. My coworkers at Elite 8 Studios know what happened between Kipp and me wasn't real, and yet…that doesn't mean my feelings are fake. Is it so bad to want to share that with someone?

Of course, the wise choice would be to take my ring off and pretend the whole thing never happened. But fuck. I can't do that. I just can't.

"I guess the important question is—does he make you happy?" Scott asks.

Easy. "Yeah. He really does."

After my visit to the community center, I stop by the gym for a workout. It feels good, putting my body through the paces. I try to exercise daily, a habit that keeps my mind centered and my body in shape.

By the time I get home, it's early evening, and Kipp is back from work, stretched out on the couch like a cat. He perks up when I walk through the door, a grin lighting his face. I try to ignore the way my insides warm at seeing him.

"Hey, where've you been?" he asks before wincing. "Yeesh, I swear I didn't mean for that to sound so suspicious or, like, needy. I'm smashing this whole husband thing, aren't I?"

I huff a laugh, toeing off my shoes and setting down my gym bag. "You're doing just fine."

"Were you at the studio?" he asks, sitting up.

I don't for one second consider lying to Kipp. "No, I wasn't. I was at the gym, and before that, I was working a case."

Kipp's head tilts to the side. "A case…"

Here goes. "I guess this is the part where I tell you I'm a lawyer."

His mouth falls open. "Are you freakin' kidding me?"

"No," I say with a chuckle, heading into the kitchen.

Kipp pops off the couch and walks my way, stopping on the other side of the island with his hands braced against the countertop. "Are you telling me my husband is a lawyer by day and a porn star by night? Do you, like, wear sexy singlets under your suits in the courtroom?"

My laugh is louder this time. "When have you ever seen me wearing a singlet?"

"Never," he says. "Which is a damn shame. Are you serious? About the lawyer thing? Not that I'm doubting you, but fuck. That's…"

"It's what?" I ask, pulling some pasta from the cupboard.

"I mean, impressive as shit. And hot. Can you debrief me?"

I bark a laugh, and Kipp grins.

"I am serious," I tell him, filling a pot with water. "I do practice law, just not as part of a firm any longer. I do pro bono work for a LGBTQ+ community center downtown, mostly."

Kipp blinks at me.

"What?" I ask.

"Can I suck your cock?"

"Kipp."

"I'm not kidding!" he says, laughing once. "Holy shit, Teddy. You deserve a goddamn cock suck for that."

I shake my head, fighting my ridiculous smile. "Maybe after dinner."

Kipp groans.

"Actually, no oral yet, remember?" I point out.

He groans again, slumping against the counter. "Yeah. I went and got tested during my lunch break today. Should have results within a few days."

I pull out my phone, scrolling to my most recent results. I aim the screen Kipp's way. "All negative on my end."

He barely glances at the screen before nodding. "If I can't suck your dick, is there anything I can do to help with dinner?"

My lips twitch. "Want to make a salad?"

"Lettuce?" he says with a shiver, coming around the island. "I've never understood the point."

"It's good for you."

"Yes, Daddy," he mumbles.

He yelps when I whip him with a towel. And then he cracks up.

When we sit down to dinner a short while later, my phone rings. "Mind if I pick this up?" I ask. "It's my grandparents."

"Of course," Kipp says, waving me on.

I accept the call, putting it on speaker. "All?."

"Salut, mon chéri. ?a va?"

"Hi, Maman. I'm good," I respond. "Could we talk in English, please? I have a friend here."

"Oh!" she says. "Oui. Of course. Who's your friend?"

"His name is Kipp. Kipp, my grandmother, Elodie."

"Hi, Grandma El," Kipp says easily.

Her soft chuckle comes over the line. "Hello, Kipp." In the background, she calls for my grandpa, telling him she's on the phone with me and my friend. I don't miss the way she says the word with meaning. "Are you having dinner?" she asks, her accent curling around the letters in a way that's familiar. It reminds me of warm, blanketed hugs and garlic cooking in the kitchen.

"We are," I answer. "Chicken parmesan."

"I made the salad," Kipp puts in.

My grandma chuckles again. "That's good, mon chéri. Vegetables are important."

Kipp rolls his eyes when I give him a victorious smirk.

"Théodore?" my grandpa says.

"Hi, Papa. I'm here with my friend, Kipp. Kipp, my grandfather, Luca."

"Hello, Kipp," my grandpa says. "It is very nice to meet you."

His English is a little more stilted and formal than my grandma's. He speaks the language well, but he grew up in a community of almost entirely French speakers. My grandma, on the other hand, was bilingual from the time she was young. Same as me and Cameron.

"Nice to meet you, too," Kipp says, smiling at my phone in between bites of his pasta. "I have to ask, was Teddy as adorable as a baby as he is now?"

My grandpa laughs, pleased, as my grandma answers. "Oui. You should have seen his cheeks. So pinchable."

Kipp's eyes trail down my body, landing on the side of my ass. "I don't doubt it," he says, bouncing his eyebrows.

"Behave," I mouth.

He draws what I believe is supposed to be a halo above his head.

"Mon chéri," my grandma says, "you should show him your photo album."

"Oh, yes. Teddy, you should," Kipp agrees.

"Maybe another time," I say, shaking my head as Kipp pouts. "Papa, how's the garden this year?"

My grandpa launches into a rundown of their vegetable garden as Kipp and I finish our meal. It doesn't surprise me how at ease Kipp is while talking to my grandparents, but it does make me wonder about his own family.

After my grandma grills Kipp about his job in software development, to which he happily answers her questions, our conversation wraps up.

"It was so nice to meet you, Kipp," my grandma says. "We'll have to talk again soon."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Kipp says, his cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink.

My grandpa gives his love in French, I return the sentiment, and then it's my grandma's turn.

"Bisous," she says.

"Kisses," I reply.

When I end the call, Kipp gives me a smile. "Bisous means kisses?" he asks.

I nod. "It's how we say goodbye. It includes a kiss on the cheek if we're together."

"That's really nice," Kipp says, expression soft and yet almost sad. I'm guessing, based on what he's said of his parents, they don't have something similar. "So, your name is Theodore."

I hum, collecting our dishes. "It is."

Kipp grabs our glasses, following me around the island and into the kitchen. "And chéri? What's that?"

"It's an endearment, like darling or beloved. Or," I add, clearing my throat, "sweetheart."

Kipp is quiet for a moment before saying, "Your grandma called me that, too."

"Yeah. She's always been like that," I explain. "Warm and maternal."

He helps me load the dishwasher before leaning against the counter. "You call them Mom and Dad, right? Maman and…"

"Papa," I fill in, nodding. "Yeah, I do. Because they basically are. They raised me and my brother from the time I was one and a half." When Kipp's face falls in sympathy, I explain, as succinctly as possible, "My parents died in an accident. No one's fault, really. But my grandparents on my dad's side took us in. I never knew my mom's family. She met my dad in Canada while on a study permit. Her parents didn't approve of the marriage."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Kipp says. "All of it, really. But…I'm glad you have your grandparents."

"Yeah," I say with a small smile. "I am, too."

"You didn't mention about us being, well, you know," he says, his words almost tentative.

"Does that bother you?" I ask.

"No," he's quick to say. "I mean, it's not like our marriage is real. It's no big deal. I was just wondering."

There's a twinge in my chest that I do my best to brush off. "I'll tell them eventually. Maybe the next time I visit." Once I figure out what to say.

"Yeah, I get it," Kipp says. "Um, wanna watch some TV?"

"Sure. Let's do it."

Kipp walks ahead of me into the living room, practically leaping the last few steps onto the couch like the kid at heart that he is. I chuckle, not minding one bit when he shifts around to set his head in my lap. I sift my fingers through his hair, wondering what the hell I'm doing.

Wondering how I'm possibly supposed to give this up once Kipp decides he's ready to go on his way.