Pretty Sweet - Christina Lee Page 0,9

under wraps around the dudes at work. That was my problem, not his.

Mom turned to place the roasting pan in the center of the table. “It’s that bar that has sort of a cute name.”

Obviously, Mom knew stuff about his life, and he didn’t seem to mind. So maybe it was because we didn’t know each other that well.

“The Playground,” Seth replied, having recovered from whatever the hell that reaction was. “Well, really the Underground.”

“Say what now?” I asked as Mom scooped potatoes, carrots, and beef onto my plate. It smelled so good, I immediately dug in, not realizing how hungry I was.

“It’s like a speakeasy in the basement of the bar,” he replied around a bite of meat, and then moaned a little, which I totally got because Mom made a mean roast. “This is so good.”

“Thank you,” Mom replied. “Ooh, tell Jake about the password thing.”

He chewed a bit more, then wiped his mouth on his napkin. “So, they post a password on their Instagram page, and you have to use it to get into the Underground. They’re not strict about it or anything, but it creates this whole other like, forbidden vibe.”

“Like from prohibition days,” Mom added, with a bit of whimsy in her tone.

“Sounds pretty cool,” I said, though I couldn’t for the life of me imagine myself in a place like that. Not only because it was a gay club and I’d probably stick out like a sore thumb, but because I was more of a shitty-corner-bar type of guy. “And you play the piano?”

“Uh-huh.” He sipped more of his beer. “Jesse sings, or should I say croons, and we get into character, Rat Pack style.”

And now my curiosity was piqued. No way could I picture this guy looking or acting any way other than how he’d presented tonight. Jeans, sneakers, and backward baseball cap—eyeliner included, which gave him this feminine vibe I was digging. I could never pull it off, but damn if I didn’t admire him for going there, for being himself.

“You two should show up sometime. I mean, not that you have to come see me play.” He took a breath. “I mean that you might like the atmosphere and the music, and like, to do something different…”

He was rambling again, and I couldn’t help cracking a smile. It was obviously infectious because Mom was grinning too. She leaned over and patted his hand. “Sweetie, I’m pretty sure my son would not be going to any clubs with his mom. It’s enough that he has to live with me.”

I sobered immediately. “Ma—”

“Not much longer now,” she said, trying to hide the anxiety in her features. “And then maybe Jake can actually have some new friends of his own.”

“Not this again.” I gave her a pointed look, reminding her in my own playful way to not drag up my business in front of our guest.

“This dinner is amazing, by the way,” Seth blurted out and then winked at me conspiratorially. Perfect segue. “I don’t eat in much myself, so it’s nice to have a home-cooked meal.”

We were silent a long minute as we all chewed our food, drifting into our own thoughts.

“So, where do you live?” I asked.

“Oh, uh…” The flush again. “Just over at Harrison Towers.”

Damn, must be some nice digs. And now that I remembered the Beamer parked in the driveway at Thanksgiving and Jesse mentioning it was Seth’s, my whole idea of him was evolving. Was he like those customers who dropped off their precious cargo at the garage and then lorded over us from the waiting room, making sure we didn’t leave a scratch? But that didn’t seem to fit Seth at all, which made me even more curious.

“I’m from Philly. I moved here for college because it’s my father’s alma mater,” he said, and now the picture was crystalizing even further. I could imagine his upper-crust parents sending him off. I would even bet he was working toward some very important degree—maybe business or the sciences. Definitely not the arts, even though he’d probably excel there. My gut tightened, hoping his father wasn’t the same type of bastard mine had been.

“Is that how you met Jesse?” Mom asked.

“I actually met him at the coffee shop near the university,” he replied with a tinge of sadness to his voice that he tried to cover with a smile.

Mom must’ve picked up on it too because her gaze softened. “Sounds like you miss him.”

“Suppose I do—and just having a roommate in