Silence stretched. His father’s chair creaked in the background as his glass clinked down on the desk—all familiar sounds. “How far along are they?”
“Five months,” Tripp said with confidence.
“For fuck’s sake, bring them over already to meet. We’ve got a wedding to plan. I don’t want bastard grandkids. You’re standing up for that boy, you got me?” The stern tone in his voice made Dray raise a brow.
“They’re…” Tripp searched for the right words. When it became clear he was failing, Dray spoke up.
“Sir, it’s nice to hear you. I’m Dray Lackson, and Tripp is my true mate. It’s been a grueling few months, but Tripp has treated me very well. I think he’s wanting to tell you that, by trade, I am a tattoo artist, and I look the part of it.” Dray sighed, resting a hand on his belly as if he were finally allowing himself to see it as a good thing.
“So, you’re all tatted up? You put any of that ink on my son?” Not a reaction from Tripp’s father he anticipated.
“Absolutely, sir, and yes, I did. I offered to cover up when I came to meet you, so you—” Dray halted when his father spoke over the omega.
Tripp waited for the screaming to start—anger and judgment, threats to disinherit. But still, he whispered next to Dray—“His name is Ian.”
But what came next was a shock. “I got this old army regiment tattoo on my shoulder that’s gone to shit. You want to take a crack at cleaning it up?”
“For my mate’s father? I’ll only charge you double.” The cheekiness in Dray’s voice made his father laugh hard.
“Wait, you have a tattoo?” Tripp blanched, and his father grunted.
“I had a life before you were born, little shit. Also, bring the boy by. People are just going to talk if they talk and assume he’s some celebrity.” Tripp could imagine his father waving his hand.
“We’re at my apartment getting cleaned up. We’ll be by.” Tripp half choked.
“Good. I won’t tell Joyce. Let it be a surprise. Your mother’s been so upset about your breakup that she thought she’d have to wait ages for a grandbaby.” His father sniffed. “Alright. You’ve disappointed me, but at least you’re doing right, now.” His father hung up, and Tripp blinked at the car’s dash with surprise.
“Holy fuck.” Tripp mouthed the word.
“I’m a likeable guy. I don’t have clothes to change into, but a shower would be nice.” Dray shrugged. “Unless shower was code for—”
“It’s code for shower.” Tripp’s heart had jumped so high in his throat that he gave himself involuntary CPR when he swallowed.
Dray reached over and rested a single finger on the tip of Tripp’s burgeoning erection. “I don’t have clothes with me… So, they’re coming off if we mess around.”
“Are we messing around?” Tripp’s breath shuddered as Dray sent off a quick text.
Dray leaned across the center console and whispered into Tripp’s ear. “I desperately need to come.”
Tripp sighed in absolute relief. “Thank the gods.”
Chapter Ten
Dray
It was comforting to know that Tripp’s father would be less of a judgmental prick about their mating than he thought. And it was comforting to know it was their baby. A certain rightness had gone through him the first time Tripp ever touched his stomach.
They barely made it through the apartment front door before Dray was assaulted withmillennial depression grayeverything. “Fuck, dude. Your house looks like it was decorated by a set director in a documentary about student loan debt.”
“Oddly specific. I just ordered the recommended fittings for each room from Ikea…” Tripp glanced around nervously.
“Maybe we could spruce it up with some color if we moved in together.” Dray glanced around.
“If it would make you happy, I will throw every piece of furniture in here in the dumpster or give it away and buy all new.” Tripp gave Dray the biggest puppy dog eyes.
“Shut up and show me where your bedroom is.” Dray rolled his eyes and pulled his hoodie off, sliding his pants down as he followed. “We’re on a schedule.”
Tripp showed Dray down the hall and into a sparsely furnished room. A quick glance around told him that, yes, Dray would be doing the decorating when they moved in together. When, not if. Dray had memories of that fantastic cock that’d left its mark on him—and in a way, he’d longed for the male, too.
