Wyatt scratched at his belly. “Doubtful. We could order in? There’s a bunch of takeout menus in the kitchen drawer. What do you like?”
Linc shrugged, rolling himself into a sitting position. “Anything but Thai food. Too spicy.”
“What’s the matter? Give you heartburn, old man?” Wyatt snarked, exiting the bed on Linc’s side.
The slap to Wyatt’s ass was gunshot loud in the silence and left a perfect imprint of Linc’s palm. Wyatt hissed, but the look he gave Linc could have melted steel. He leaned forward and kissed the print he’d left behind before gently shoving Wyatt toward the bathroom. “Get cleaned up and I’ll find the menus.”
Wyatt threw a look over his shoulder that had Linc half tempted to follow him, but then his stomach growled, and he remembered they had to eat. He shoved his legs into the pair of jeans he’d abandoned by the bed and headed toward the kitchen.
When Wyatt returned in a pair of soft-looking olive-green pants, they ordered Chinese food and settled onto the sofa to wait. Wyatt flipped on the television and lay down with his head on Linc’s thigh. Linc’s fingers folded into Wyatt’s curls, blunt nails scratching along his scalp. Wyatt sighed, content for the moment.
On the screen, a masked man dressed in all black rolled down the side of a mountain in dramatic fashion. Wyatt flipped the channel and Linc snatched the remote and flipped it back. “You did not just flip past the best movie ever made.”
Wyatt scoffed. “You mean the oldest movie ever made? When was this? The eighties? It’s so grainy.”
Linc balked. “I ought to put you over my knee just for disrespectingThe Princess Bridelike that.”
Wyatt’s mouth hung open as he stared up at Linc in shock. “I can’t tell whether you’re joking.”
“Not. And if you don’t like this movie, I don’t know if I’ll ever trust your judgment about anything, ever.” Linc shook his head.
“I’ve never seen this movie, so I have no idea if I like it or not,” Wyatt said hesitantly, as if he couldn’t believe this was the hill Linc was willing to die on.
“We’re starting it over from the beginning and watching it over dinner,” Linc stated, leaving no room for argument. “My sister used to play it for me all the time growing up. We’d watch this andGoonieson repeat whenever my mother was in one of her moods.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Linc wished he could suck them back in. One glance at Wyatt’s face told him he hadn’t missed the comment.
“Moods?” Wyatt asked, his voice an octave higher than normal as if trying for casual.
Linc shrugged. “Yeah, my mother had a temper.”
Wyatt’s expression went soft. “I know how that goes. Did she drink… like your dad?”
Linc tried but failed to keep the bitterness from his tone. “Yeah, among other things. My mom was a rapid-cycling bipolar who drank when she was manic and did speed when she was depressed. My father was probably too drunk to notice something was off about her at first and by the time he did, my sister was four and I was two. So, he left.”
“Left you behind with your crazy mom?” Wyatt stated, pity shining in his bright sea-glass eyes.
“Yeah.” Linc rocketed to his feet, dumping Wyatt on the couch. “Want a drink?” he asked, attempting to deflect his sudden abandonment.
Wyatt scurried into an upright position, peering at him over the back of the sofa. “Yeah, I’ll have a beer.”
“You’ll have water, diet soda, or juice.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Diet soda, I guess.”
Linc opened the fridge and peered inside like some new contents would spring forth at any moment.
“We don’t have to talk about it. I get what it's like to have psycho parents,” Wyatt reassured him.
Linc grunted. “It’s—”
The doorbell rang, cutting off whatever stupid platitude Linc was about to throw at Wyatt. He walked to the door, yanking it open, grateful for the interruption. He gawked at a tiny dark-haired woman in a full face of makeup and a sharp black business suit. Whoever she was, she wasn’t there to deliver Chinese food. Linc stiffened, closing the door until only his body was visible.
“Can I help you?” he asked, tone making it clear he had no intention of doing so.
“Is Wyatt home?” she asked, smiling with too many teeth, peeking under Linc’s arm like she was hoping to glimpse the boy.
In his periphery, he could see Wyatt move to the kitchen, clearly still thinking it was their dinner. It occurred to Linc then that their no-shirt, no-shoes look was too casual for an employee and employer relationship. He hoped this woman did not work for the senator.
