A Guy for Christmas - K.C. Wells Page 0,78

you reach twenty, and we’re still stupid in love, maybe then we come clean and tell your family.”

Robin swallowed. “Can you wait that long?” He wasn’t sure he could, if he were honest. Okay, so he was the one saying they should keep quiet, but the thought of stealing moments with Dean for a couple of years?

Dean chuckled. “I know you want everything now, but real life is sometimes about delayed gratification. And this, what we have here?” He leaned in and kissed Robin, taking his time. When they parted, Dean murmured against his cheek, “This is worth waiting for.”

Robin buried his face in Dean’s neck, loving the soft scrape of Dean’s beard, the musky scent that reminded him of the past two days. “I love you too,” he whispered. He didn’t care that they’d only met in late November. It didn’t matter how long it had taken them to reach this moment—what mattered was that they were here now.

Dean stroked his hair. “I’d better get you home. They’ll be expecting you.”

“Are you going to come inside?”

Dean shook his head. “Better not. The way I’m feeling, your parents will take one look at me and that will be it, game over.”

“How will they know?”

Dean kissed him lightly on the lips. “Because I don’t think I could hide how I feel about you.” He sighed. “I’m not going to see you over Christmas, am I? They’ll want you to stay home.”

Okay, that hurt. The thought of Dean so close, and yet so far away… His gift for Dean would have to wait until after the festivities. “There’s still time for you to change your mind, you know. Your parents would love to see you.”

“No.” Dean’s fingers wound through Robin’s hair. “That would only mean I was over eight hundred miles too far from you. I’ll stay home with Lady and Loki. That way, if you do get a moment to visit, I’ll be there.” He switched on the engine, and pulled out of the boatyard.

Robin fought the urge to cry. He didn’t want to face his parents with red eyes, but the thought of being parted from Dean made his heart ache. When Dean stopped the car outside his house, Robin grabbed the bag that lay at his feet, then laced his fingers through Dean’s.

“Love you.”

“I love you too. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

That almost broke him. “Merry Christmas.” Robin released Dean’s hand, opened the car door, and got out of there. He didn’t look back as he walked up the path to the front door. He waited until the sound of the car’s engine had faded into the distance before letting himself into the house.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, he was struck by how quiet it was. “I’m back,” he called out. He couldn’t even hear the TV.

“In here,” his dad said from the living room. “Can you come in here please?”

Robin walked into the warm room, the fire burning brightly, the tree lights casting colors around the room. Mom and Dad were sitting on the couch. There was no sign of Ryan.

Then he saw their faces, and Robin’s heart sank. Oh fuck.

“Has something happened?” Ryan’s absence took on a whole new meaning. “Is Ryan okay? Has he—?”

“Ryan is fine. He’s in his room. And we’d like to talk to you about Ben Taylor.”

For a second there, Robin was stumped. “Ben? Why do you—” Cold washed over him, and ice trickled down his spine. Oh fuck. Game over.

“I ran into his mother in the village on Saturday,” Mom said, her voice tight. “I knew her from the PTA, only I didn’t connect her with Ben. We got talking. And when I thanked her for putting up with your frequent visits to her home, she was puzzled.”

“I can explain.” Robin’s heart rate climbed and his palms were clammy.

“Good, because we’d like to know where you were all those times.” Dad’s eyes were like flint. “More importantly, we’d like to know why you lied to us.”

Robin took a deep breath. “I couldn’t tell you because… you wouldn’t understand.”

Dad arched his eyebrows at that. “Try me.”

Robin’s legs were like jelly. “Can I sit down?” He felt as though he was in the dock, facing a jury. Which was what his parents were in that moment.

Dad gestured to the armchair, and Robin almost fell into it. Mom had her handkerchief in her hands, twisting it.

“The thing is… I’ve met someone.” And wasn’t that the understatement of the year? Dean was so much more