His baffled gaze bounces back and forth between my mother and me several times as he asks, “Um, brister?”
“Didn’t Leon tell you?” she asks him before turning her questioning to me. “Leon, why didn’t you tell him? Are you ashamed of your Ancle?”
With a sigh, I shake my head as Aunt Bobbie holds up her martini glass, throws her arm, around my father’s shoulders and lets out a yell. “YEE-HAW!”
Ignoring her outburst, I look back at my mother. “You know I’m not ashamed, Mom, it just never came up.”
Sam still looks like he’s debating whether or not running out into the snow is a good idea as my father steps forward to clear up his confusion.
“Aunt Bobbie used to be Uncle Bob,” Dad explains, like every family has a resident transvestite. “His wife left him when she caught him in her closet trying on all her clothes.”
“Good riddance! She had shitty taste in shoes anyway,” Aunt Bobbie comments from behind him.
“Reggie, take their bags upstairs,” my mom interrupts and steps aside so my dad can start grabbing our things. “You kids go on into the living room while I finish heating up some leftovers for you. I’ve got homemade meatloaf, fried potatoes and sweet corn.”
My mom quickly turns, grabs Aunt Bobbie’s arm, and pulls her with her into the kitchen down the hall, all while my dad loads up his arms with our bags and heads upstairs, leaving Sam and I alone in the entryway.
“I will completely understand if you’ve changed your mind and want to leave,” I tell him softly, the faint sounds of my mother trying to shush my aunt when she won’t shut up about the size of Sam’s package floats down the hall.
“Are you kidding me? She made meatloaf,” Sam replies with a serious look on his face. “Nobody fucks around with homemade meatloaf.”
I can’t help but smile as he slides his warm hand around mine and we make our way down the hall to the living room.
Chapter 4
Sam
We eat heated-up leftovers off of paper plates on the couch next to a roaring fire with stockings hung on a mantle overcrowded with pine branches, blinking lights, and enough Christmas knick-knacks to fill ten mantles. The largest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen takes up the corner of the room across from us, and as much as I want to deny it, seeing the softly falling snow out the window next to the tree is kind of nice.
Trying not to look like a fucking pig while Noel’s mom and…Ancle stare at me silently as I shovel meatloaf and mashed potatoes in my mouth—not so nice. After eating nothing but shitty M.R.E.’s (meals ready to eat) for a year and a half, I have a hard time containing my moans each time I bring the fork up to my mouth.
“Leon, I put you in your old room. Logan can sleep in your mother’s sewing room,” Noel’s dad states as he walks back into the room and I set my now-empty plate on the coffee table in front of me, Noel doing the same.
“Reggie, they can both sleep in Leon’s room. It’s fine,” Noel’s mother says with a sigh.
While the two of them argue about sleeping arrangements, I lean closer to Noel. “You need to tell me what the deal is with them calling you Leon. I’m starting to get concerned.”
She turns her face toward me and whispers back. “Later.”
With a smile and a wink, she returns her attention back to her arguing parents while I stare at her profile. Her long, thick hair hangs over one shoulder, and I have the sudden urge to slide my fingers through the silky length, pushing it aside so I have a better view of the smooth skin of her neck. I watch her tongue dart out to lick her lips and I mentally tell my dick to keep his shit together. This Leon nonsense needs to be cleared up soon. If this ancle/brister thing runs in the family and Noel used to be Neal, I will never live this shit down.
While I was preoccupied with staring at Noel and thinking about what her lips would taste like, her father stalks over to us and stands right next to the arm of the couch on my end, peering down at me with his hands in his pockets.
“I’m not very comfortable with my daughter shacking up with you under my roof,” he informs me. “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? Do you like milk, son?”
Noel’s father is about five-foot-six, a small man compared to my six foot height, but the look on his face tells me he wouldn’t hesitate to kick my ass right out the door if I answer his question wrong. I’m not going to lie; I’m a little scared of him right now.
“Uh, yes?” I answer in confusion. “No. Yes. Wait, I don’t know!”