A Betting Man by Sandrine Gasq-Dion

Author:Sandrine Gasq-Dion [Gasq-Dion, Sandrine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Gay Romance
Publisher: Wilde City Press
Published: 2013-09-11T04:00:00+00:00

~KENT~

I woke up to a purple streak of hair across the bridge of my nose and Terry’s soft breaths in my neck. I moved the hair over to the side and looked at perfection. Long black lashes hid beautiful, deep blue eyes. I trailed my fingertip over Terry’s soft, Cupid’s-bow lips. A soft whimper escaped him and I smiled. I vaguely heard pots and pans clunking around in the kitchen and moved carefully so as not to awaken Terry. He seemed pretty out of it. I threw on my sweats from high school, which were now a few inches too short. Cracking the bedroom door, I looked down the hall and saw shadows moving back and forth in the kitchen. Both of my parents were up. I stopped in the bathroom to splash my face and then continued into the kitchen. The stove was warming the kitchen tiles and sun peeked through the lace curtains.

My mother was busy taking pies out of the oven as my dad made coffee. I’d forgotten their morning ritual. Except for the pies. The pies were always made on Christmas Eve. My eyes widened and I looked at the calendar on the wall. How could I have forgotten about Christmas? I caught myself before I snorted. Of course I’d forgotten. Between work and Terry, I hadn’t so much as looked at the date in weeks. My mother noticed me first and a bright smile lit up her face.

“Morning, baby.”

I walked to my mother and hugged her tightly. God I felt like an ass. I hadn’t been home for Christmas in over six years. Who the hell had I become?

“Morning, Mom. That smells good. Pecan?”

“Of course! You know I always make pecan pie for Christmas.”

“You and Terry are staying for Christmas, right?” My father crossed his arms over his chest. “I won’t be havin’ you leave beforehand, Kenny.”

“I can’t speak for Terry, but I’m staying.” I hugged my dad. I pulled out of the hug and looked them both over suspiciously. “You made the hospital thing up, didn’t you?”

“No, not really.” My mother blushed and smiled at me wryly. “Your father ate some bad pig’s feet.”

My stomach turned over and I felt bile rise. I put my hand up as my mom rushed over to me. I must have gone pale. “Nope, I’m good,” I choked out. I never could understand how people ate pig’s feet. I couldn’t even lick someone’s toe during sex.

“Is Terry still sleeping?” my mother asked, as she put another pie in the oven.

I nodded, inhaling the fresh-from-the-oven pie on the counter. It smelled like home. “Yes, I think he was jet-lagged.”

“Well, he is just cute as a button!” Mom exclaimed. “Wherever did you find him, sweetie?”

I smiled at my parents, thinking about that day—it seemed so far away now. Terry walking into my office with a package and those blue eyes and beautifully curved lips.

“He found me.”

“Well, I’m sure glad he did,” Dad said, setting the table. “You’ve never looked so happy, son.

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