More, Sloan Parker [guided reading books TXT] 📗

But that feeling couldn't last.

Could it?

Chapter Sixteen

I entered Amy's Cafe and spotted Mark Summers talking on his cell at a booth near the rear exit. He looked identical to his online photo. He also looked like a reporter— someone who had everyone sized up and knew more than he ever let on. I approached the table but hung back a few steps to give him time to end his call.

He mouthed my name and I nodded. He gestured me forward and slid his phone closed. “Sorry. The wife.”

I nodded again and took a seat.

He watched me with intense interest. “You're not married?”

If he didn't know at least that much, then maybe he wasn't the reporter I wanted to talk to. “This isn't an interview,” I said. “I'll tell you what I want you to know. And anything I say is off the record until I give the okay.”

He tucked the cell phone into his bag. “That would sort of make this a huge waste of my time.”

“Join the club. It's off the record for now, or you don't get to hear anything.”

He set his bag on the empty seat beside him and leaned back. “Okay.”

I waited a moment so when I spoke again, we were both clear who was leading the conversation. “I'm gay. And I'm living with two men. And they're not my roommates.”

He stared at me.

I stared back. “Not what you expected?”

“You know, you're father's a hero to a lot of people. He's worked hard to stabilize the economy. To help people find jobs. To— ”

“I've read the stories.” I glanced out the nearby window at the bustle of men and women in business attire rushing by, cell phone in one hand, coffee in the other, and not a single one of them paying attention to any other person in the crowd. Lunch hour in the business district. My words were barely a whisper. I wasn't sure if he heard me. “He's not a hero to everyone.”

Summers didn't talk again until my gaze returned. “His public views on gay rights are the one area where he's been criticized. But hell, even the gay press glosses over that.”

I nodded.

He seemed to be sizing me up as much as I had him via my online searches. “No one's that good,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“That's why I'm here. I figure you've got something on him.”

“I might. You don't expect me to trust you with it, do you?”

“Didn't think so.”

He eyed me for another minute and then spoke again. “Let me ask you this: did your father tell you much about his life before politics?”

“He's been in politics all my life.”

“But before that? Before he was married?”

“He was in college.” My father's college years were the one thing he did talk to me about. He talked about the fraternity, his classes, told me what a great place it was to “try out” different women. That conversation had been one of the reasons I wanted to come out to him. He kept telling me how important it was for me to find the right girl. He said college was the best place to find out what you liked. The irony of that was never lost on me. From the moment I met Tim, I knew he was the man for me.

“Did you know he didn't go to his graduation ceremony?” Summers asked.

I scrutinized him. He was waiting for me to take the bait, maybe seeing if I wanted to follow his threads. “You're pointing me toward something. Why?”

He shrugged. The expression didn't seem natural on him. “Stories get killed all the time. It'd be a shame for this one to get buried.” He grabbed his bag, plopped it on the table, and looked inside as if there was something he wanted to take out and show me. He removed his empty hand and set it on top of the bag. “He's done a good job of keeping you a secret. People know he has a son. There've been a few rumors that you're not on speaking terms, but nothing about your sexual orientation.” He smiled.

“I take it my being gay is going to make it into your story? Or perhaps my current living arrangement will?”

His smile grew. Then he dialed it back and stilled his expression. “There seems to be a lot about your father you don't know.”

I was about to ask what when he spoke again.

“I've got a few details to nail down. It might take some time. You think it over and let me know if I can run with it.”

Run with what?

Summers already assumed I'd go through with it. Which I would. I had no issues telling the world I was gay. I had issues with my father knowing anything about Richard or Matthew. But I'd just opened that door. I'd given a crumb to a reporter who wanted to find the entire gingerbread house.

He grabbed his bag and stood.

“He's that newsworthy?” I asked.

Summers laughed as he walked away.

“Hey, guys. I'm home.” I kicked the door shut with my foot. “Sorry I'm late. I got movies.”

The sound effects of Matthew's favorite game, Call of Duty, filtered down the stairs. I dropped off the DVDs and my laptop bag in the foyer and headed up.

Richard and Matthew were sitting on the floor in Matthew's room, both fixated on the TV. Richard was clicking away on a game controller, tilting it from side to side, and Matthew was laughing his ass off. I leaned on the doorframe and watched them.

A loud explosion blasted from the TV's speakers, and Richard threw the controller on the floor. “Damn thing's broken.”

“No,” Matthew said. “You suck.”

Richard rolled over and pressed himself on top of Matthew. “That's right. And you're pretty damn lucky I do.”

That had Matthew laughing again.

Richard stood. “Hey, Luke. Get us a good movie?” He crowded me against the door and kissed me.

Matthew came to us. He ran his hand over my ass. His fingers twined with Richard's. “You guys