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Richard gave me one last smoldering kiss and rocked our bodies together.

While we ate, he talked about his plans for a new development project he had his eye on. I was glad to be around for the aftereffects of the excitement and thrill he got from his work. I cleared my plate faster, the anticipation building with each glance at him. Matthew smiled and squirmed through the meal, animated in a new way. Richard's business success had a positive effect on all of us.

When the food was gone, Matthew retrieved some papers from the kitchen counter. He bounced into his seat and slid a sheet over to Richard. “It came in the mail today.”

Richard unfolded the paper and concentrated for a minute. A smile formed, and he met Matthew's gaze. He passed the paper over to me without breaking the stare.

Matthew's test results. Negative.

Matthew slid a sealed envelope to each of us. Richard opened his, scanned over the results, and smiled again. He handed his paper to me. His results were the same. I passed it to Matthew.

That left me.

I flipped the envelope over and over in my hand. How many times had I been tested? How many times had the results been important to me and no one else? I opened it and slipped the paper out.

A knot formed in my stomach. I unfolded the sheet and read it over.

My heart thudded in my chest, drummed in my ears, filling the quiet. What the hell was I going to say?

I forced myself to look at them. Richard's brow was furrowed. Matthew's mouth hung open.

“I'm not ready.”

Richard grabbed my hand. “But you're okay?”

“Oh... yeah. Results say I'm good.”

He squeezed my hand and sank back in his chair. Matthew lowered his eyelids and released the breath he'd been holding.

Worry. I might not have seen it often, but I knew it on someone's face. Worried about me. “I'm sorry. I'm... I can't yet.”

“That's fair,” Richard said. “It's only been a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah,” Matthew said. “It won't be any good until we're all ready.” He stood and stepped around the table. He straddled my thighs and settled onto my lap. His hands cupped my face, and he kissed me. A sweet, luxurious kiss unlike any he'd ever given me. “You're okay. That's what matters.” He kissed me again. And again. “You're okay.”

Richard knelt behind him. “He's right. Your health is what matters.”

Matthew nipped at my neck. His legs squeezed, and he rocked over my lap. The swell of his dick mashed against my abdomen. I wrapped my arms around him and moved with him.

A moment later, Richard slipped a condom into my hand.

For a brief moment, I wanted to throw it on the floor and give into the ache of knowing what it would feel like when Richard's cock filled me with his spunk and Matthew's mouth swallowed my cum.

The moment passed before I could act on the foolish inspiration. Matthew and Richard were standing and kissing. I nudged them toward the stairs as they held on to each other. Fucking them with condoms was nothing to shy away from.

It was something to relish. Every night.

I wouldn't let myself lose that. Not yet.

Chapter Seventeen

“Holy shit. You look like your father.”

Roger Vance stood in the doorway of his home gawking at me. With that one sentence, I already hated the guy. He wasn't going to make my Christmas card list— if I had one of those.

I turned on what charm I could muster where an old friend of my father's was concerned. “Thanks for taking the time to see me.”

He gestured for me to step inside. “No problem.” I slid in past him. He stood holding the door open, staring at me, not moving a muscle. He shook his head and shut the door. “Sorry. It's just such a blast from the past. I could be looking at John.”

“You're not.”

“I hear ya. Come on in. Wanna drink?”

He led me to a kitchen. The room was small, and the counters were overflowing with cereal boxes, cans of Mountain Dew, and appliances like those indoor George Foreman grills sold at Walmart. Not a single inch of bare counter space remained.

He grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge. “Beer okay?”

“Thanks.”

He sat on a stool at a butcher block island in the center of the room. “Have a seat. Sorry about the mess.” He gestured to a nearby kitchen table. It was covered in a disarray of placemats, stacks of opened mail, a Hannah Montana backpack, and a pair of soccer cleats with mud caked to the soles. “Kids, you know?”

“Sure.”

“Our grandkids have been living here for a couple of years now. Since their mom took off. You got any kids? Is Johnathan Moore a grandfather?”

“No. I'm not married.”

“Oh. He'd like that.”

“What? That I'm single?”

“Nah. I meant grandkids. Only guy I knew in college used to talk about his future in terms of a wife, a house, kids, the whole nine yards.” He swallowed a mouthful of beer. “I remember the night he met Elizabeth. He came into Uptown— that's this bar we used to hang out at— and he just announced it to me and Phil. Said he'd met the woman he was going to marry.” Roger Vance laughed as he stared down at a frying pan with what smelled like bacon grease congealing in the bottom. “He said it just like that. They hadn't even had a date yet. John always did know what he wanted, and things always seemed to work out the way he wanted them to. But marriage? We thought he was crazy.”

I took a swig of the beer in my hand. No way could I keep a straight face through that.

Vance's attention was back on me. “I was at your parents’ wedding. Such a nice gal, Elizabeth. I knew he was right then. I knew they'd end up together for the long haul.” He paused and watched me like I was supposed to say something.

I nodded