Page 2 of Oliver
“The queers will be taking over the country before you know it,” Father remarks. “Disgusting is what it is.”
My chest tightens and my stomach clenches. I feel a wave of nausea washing over me and reach for my water glass, sweat prickling on my forehead and the back of my neck.
“Sounds to me like the only thing she did wrong was not accept her son for who he is,” Olivia retorts, and I almost choke on my drink. Father glances at me, his gaze hard, before turning his attention to my sister as Mother lets out a gasp.
“Olivia, you will not talk to your mother like that. Not in this house.” His voice is raised and my cheeks flush as I wipe my face with my napkin.
“I guess it’s time for me to leave, then,” she states, and scoots out of her chair before turning to unbuckle Freddie from his highchair.
Mother and Father look at my sister with eyes wide in astonishment, and quite frankly so do I, but probably for a different reason. I think getting out of that awful relationship has taught her to speak her mind in a way she never has before, and I can’t believe what’s happening. Neither of us has ever up and left a family meal, no matter how much we were wanting to. And we’ve been hearing them spout homophobic bollocks our entire lives.
“I’m going to leave, too,” I say.
“Sit down, both of you,” Father snarls. “This behavior is absurd!”
My heart is thundering, and there’s a very large part of me that is tempted to sit back down as Father demanded, but I don’t. I grab my keys and then the nappy bag as Olivia hefts Freddie onto her hip.
“Goodbye Mother, Father,” she says. “Tell Hannah thank you for dinner.”
“Of all the…” I hear Mother saying as we step out onto the front porch into the cool New York weather. I’m shaking as we walk down the front steps of their Scarsdale mansion.
I open the passenger seat and set the nappy bag inside, before a gentle hand lands on my shoulder. I turn to meet my sister’s gaze.
“You alright?” Her eyes flit over my face and I swallow.
“Yeah,” I croak out, then clear my throat. “I can’t believe we just did that. That you just did that.”
Her lips pull into a frown. “They’ve not had anyone stand up to their bigotry and I am done with it. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
I shake my head even as I wrap my arms around myself, a shiver running down my spine. “No, it’s alright.”
“You sure?” she asks, her hand moving to my upper arm. I nod, and she seems skeptical but lets it go.
“You heading home? You look exhausted. I’m sorry work has been so rough.”
I give her a small smile as my heart starts to beat at a more normal rhythm and warmth seeps into my bones once again, my adrenaline subsiding. “I’m pretty wired after that. I’ll probably drive around for a bit, maybe find a pub. I could use a drink.”
“I would join you but I have to get Freddie to bed.”
“I know.” I kiss her cheek and wave goodbye to Freddie before she gets in her car and drives off. I’m honestly surprised Father hasn’t come out to chastise us and bring us back inside, demanding an apology to Mother, but the door is closed and remains so as I trudge to my Bentley and slide into the driver’s seat. I close my eyes and rest my head back, gripping the steering wheel as I take in a deep breath and let it out. Then I start the car and pull out of my parents’ driveway.
I honestly don’t know where I am going, but my headache resurfaces as I drive, and when I look at the clock on the dash I realize it’s been an hour since I left my parents’ house.
My phone starts to ring as I pull up to a bar I’ve never been to. I don’t usually frequent this side of town. I ignore the call when I see it’s Father, and head inside. Normally I would pick up, because that’s what I do. I’m the good son. I cater to my father’s every whim. If he says jump I say, “how high?” The only reason I’m dating, period, is because he and Mother were pushing me into a relationship. I thought having a girlfriend would get them to shut up, but all it’s done is open the flood gates. Now it’s a wedding and grandchildren they want. I could do far worse than Amanda, though. She’s lovely, if I’m being honest. Intelligent, kind, hard working. We met in a coffee shop near her office and after sitting together due to lack of room we exchanged numbers and a few days later she called me. Things went from there.
The phone rings again, but for whatever reason, be it the stress or the adrenaline crash, or exhaustion, I’m feeling a bit reckless tonight and don’t answer this time either. He can ring all night for all I care.
It’s a little after nine pm, so it’s not as crowded as it will be in an hour or two, but it’s still lively. Music and chatter fill the space around me as I make my way up to the bar and take a seat. I unbutton my suit jacket and slide it off, draping it over the back of the bar stool before rolling up my shirt sleeves. I run my fingers through my hair and let out another heavy sigh. When a sultry voice reaches my ears, I look up to see a young man, probably in his early twenties, with blond hair that falls to just above his shoulders, vivid blue eyes, and a kind smile. He’s probably a few inches shorter than my own six feet and is toned and trim, dressed in a snug black T-shirt and jeans that cling to his slender thighs and accentuate his arse, and I let my gaze linger a little longer than is socially acceptable.
Men have always enticed me, but just because I find them attractive, it doesn’t mean I’m attractedtothem. Still though, there’s something about the way he moves, oozing confidence, and that toned but slender body that has my heart rate picking up again, and my cock twitching.
I’d wondered since I was thirteen what it might be like to kiss a boy, to have strong arms around me, a firm body pressed up against mine. It didn’t mean anything. Just that I appreciated the male form. The sturdiness, the strength, the elegant grace even at times, because some of the most beautiful men I’d ever laid eyes on were slender and more fragile in appearance, but no less captivating. But that was as far as I'd allowed myself to go. Imagining. Never looking for long, never touching. I’d only ever dated women. Though I wasn’t particularly attracted to them, I could see objectively that they were attractive and told myself that once I got to know them more, that attraction would grow.That’s what I told myself when I fucked Amanda, and that’s what I’d been telling myself for years.
The young man takes the towel from over his shoulder and shoves it in his back pocket as he approaches me, and I do my best to ignore my rapidly beating pulse, telling myself he’s far too young for me anyway. No thirty-six year old man should be even flirting with the idea of shagging a boy at least fifteen years his junior.
“Hey handsome,” he purrs, and my cock jerks. Bloody hell. “What can I get you?”
“Painkiller, please,” I say.