“I can’t believe you’re finally mine,” I blurt as he wiggles his fingers into my waistline.
“It was always you, Thom. I just needed time to understand it.”
This time, I kiss himand would never have stopped if he hadn’t pulled his fingers out of my pants, smacked my ass, and said, “Do you really want to be late?”
* * * *
Thirty-five minutes later, we step into my parents’ house, only two minutes late. Hand in hand, we enter the kitchen where my parents sit next to each other, doing a crossword puzzle.
“You’re early, son,” Dad says, then looks up. His sharp eyes take in what’s in front of him and he understands immediately; how close we stand to each other and our interlocked hands are a dead giveaway. Dad’s face splits in the widest grin I’ve ever seen, and he elbows my mom.
“Bob, what the heck?” she says and looks up. When she notices us, she falls back against the chair with a loud groan, and my dad holds out his hand to her, palm up.