We Have Till Monday by Cara Dee (moboreader .TXT) 📕

ignored how my heart was suddenly pounding furiously, and I forced myself to turn away from Camden. King was safer. He was busy unloading groceries onto the counter.

“Ah—no. I was thinking. With introductions out of the way, perhaps it’s best if I head over to my motel and return tonight. I don’t wanna interrupt whatever you’re—”

“But you just got here,” Camden protested. “I wanna know everything about the Fender Initiative.”

I side-eyed him. At least those words brought me some relief. Music was a topic I didn’t have to worry about, and it made perfect sense if he had an interest in playing an instrument and wanted to discuss that. What didn’t make sense, however, was the possibility of Camden calling me hot behind an anonymous BDSM account on Instagram.

Because if he was the guy who’d followed me and liked several of my photos, I’d just walked into some kinky dynamic that was none of my business.

“It’s your choice, of course. I understand you must be exhausted,” King said patiently. “But you’re not interruptin’ anythin’. My only plan is to throw the meat for tonight in marinade and park my ass on the patio with a beer.”

“It’s settled, then!” Camden said triumphantly. Then he legit grabbed my arm and tried to drag me toward the patio. Emphasis on tried. He didn’t pack a whole lot of strength in his perfect little body.

His behavior wasn’t very reassuring either, because he reminded me of the unfiltered glimpses I’d seen of my buddy Moshe.

“Did your feet grow roots?” Camden grunted and stared down at my feet.

My mouth twitched with humor.

He had to know he wasn’t acting…normal.

If he didn’t know, King seemed to. He was frowning at the boy. “Camden.”

The two locked eyes, and King’s look was pointed—a silent reminder of something that made Camden release my arm and avert his gaze to the floor.

“I apologize, Anthony,” King said. “We don’t entertain often. And Camden was clearly raised by a pack of wolves.”

“Was not,” Camden whispered. Next, he excused himself to go to the bathroom, and he disappeared out of the other kitchen entrance.

Dejection was written all over his posture, and it tugged at something in me.

King followed after sending me another look of apology, and I had a feeling he was beginning to regret having a bunch of people over for a barbecue. Because there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell they had a regular relationship dynamic. They reminded me too much of my friends, although Moshe handled the transition between family life and playtime much easier. But it was still there, like an undercurrent, obvious to those who knew.

The psychology major in me had always been fascinated, and I didn’t think twice about taking a few steps closer to the doorway to see if I could overhear anything. Douchebag move of me, but whatever.

It took a beat before I heard anything, long enough for me to suspect they’d locked themselves in somewhere.

“…just wanted to meet him.”

“I know, darlin’, but you need more recovery time to come out of your regression.” That was King, in a low, reasoning tone. And he confirmed my guesses. “This isn’t what you want to hear, but I think you should rest today.”

“But, Daddy…”

Cazzo, that soft whine coming from Camden was something else.

“Hey.” King lowered his voice further. “This is on me. I should’ve told Clara today was off-limits. I knew you weren’t ready.”

“I am—I will be—”

“No. You will take today off. You know our rule, love. We don’t push our lifestyle onto others, do we?”

I’d heard all I needed to hear, and I felt the most forceful urge to assure them that I didn’t mind. Because I didn’t. I returned to the kitchen island and decided to wait for one or both of them to get back, and then I’d say something.

In one capacity or another, I’d been around alternative dynamics all my adult life, and I knew the stress it could bring to have to constantly explain yourself to people who didn’t get it. I was lucky in that my folks had accepted my sexuality fairly quickly. Pop and Nonno had been on the fence for a while, which I’d counted on. Irish-Italians smack-dab in the middle of Brooklyn, with Catholicism’s chokehold as an added spice. An instant acceptance hadn’t been on the radar. But they’d come around, thanks to Ma and Nonna. And by the time Nicky came out, they were seasoned pros.

My family had struggled more to accept my relationship with Charles, who’d been thirty years older than me.

This was no different. Fetishes were just an extension of our sexuality. We didn’t choose our kinks and preferences.

When King returned, I could tell he had another apology on the tip of his tongue, and he was probably ready to scrap this day and try again later tonight. So I spoke before he could.

“I have friends in the lifestyle. You don’t have to hide that when it’s just me.” I was still a realistic man, and Camden running around like a carefree kid tonight would likely not go over well with some of the other guests.

I was fairly certain I detected at least an ounce or two of relief in King’s eyes, and some of the tension eased off his shoulders.

“I appreciate your sayin’ that, Anthony, but I knew today was a bad idea.” He opened a cupboard and hauled out two bowls in different sizes. “PR people—Christ. Can’t reason with them. Clara would probably turn our life into a reality show if nobody hit the brakes.”

I couldn’t imagine. My own life was as different from theirs as it could be.

Hoping I wasn’t overstepping my boundaries, I joined King at the long counter along the wall and turned on the water in the sink to wash my hands.

“Well, instead of kicking me out, how about you put me to work? I’m completely useless at cooking, but I clean up like a champ.”

He gave me a sideways look. And a faint smile. “First of all, my mama would