Bad Boy 3 Page 2

  “Go ahead,” Peter said, smiling as he watched Chip chase after him into the bathroom. He loved seeing the two of them together, a loving father and son. Peter reminisced about his own childhood, and although his father was never really the lovey-dovey type of guy, he was caring in his own way. He remembered how his father would drill him with intellectual questions at the dinner table, and how the family would talk about the day’s events and each had to prepare a debate on either side of a social issue. And that was all by the age of 9! It probably seemed odd to most people, but Peter had liked the challenge. He just liked spending time with his parents, especially his dad. Even back then, his father was grooming him to become an attorney. Peter sighed at the memories: how he missed those times. Life was so much simpler then, but that was before they’d distanced themselves from him, and he hadn’t spoken to him in nearly two years. That was before he'd disappointed them by coming out.

  Peter found himself walking out of the kitchen into the living room, examining Chip's little apartment. It was simple, but a modern small home, likely only two bedrooms. The kitchen was tiny, making Peter wonder how the hell Chip managed to cook a three-course gourmet meal in there. But everything was clean, even if it wasn't that roomy. It felt very cozy, lived in, loved. The living room was open and cheery: the floors were wood, a rich mahogany that made everything feel warm and welcoming. Big mahogany beams held up a flat roof of adobe. Navajo pots sat by the fireplace and similar rugs hung on the walls, covered in stylized lightning in turquoise and pink. The furniture was a bit of a hodgepodge, likely from thrift stores, but it gave the home a lived-in look that made him feel as though he belonged here, as if he could live here. Peter sighed at his own wishful thinking. On the walls and tables were picture frames with family photos. Peter thought of his own home. He didn't have any family pictures on the wall. Just a messy roommate and a small, dark room. He frowned.

  The coffee table, dark, chunky mission-style wood, had a dozen little framed photos. One of the frames he picked up had clearly cut someone out to the left, because part of the arm was still in the picture. This person was standing next to Chip, who had Johnny in his arms. It was a cute photo, but only made Peter wonder who the person was. It had to be Chip’s ex, the one he made sound like was the Devil himself.

  He only wondered how Chip would talk about him once he was out of the picture. He hated the thought of it: being out of the picture when he was just starting to get to know Chip, but he knew it was inevitable. His stomach sank thinking about the conversation he was going to have to have with Chip, and tonight, there was no avoiding it. What would Chip say about him? 'Oh, that Peter. What a slut. What a liar. He led me on and on, and was never honest with me.' Peter played the conversation over and over in his head until he felt very sad and depressed. The worst part was it would all be true.

  “I’m hungry, Daddy!” Johnny announced behind Chip, startling him. He'd been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't heard Johnny and Chip come back into the room.

  “Go ahead to the table,” Chip told him. “Sorry about that Peter, he’s just so ...”

  “Oooh! You didn't call him Mr. Vanderbilt!” Johnny announced, hopping back and forth from foot to foot.

  “That’s because he’s a grown up and I’m a grown up. I can call him whatever I want,” Chip said evenly.

  “Then why can’t I call him that?” Johnny asked, putting his hands on his hips, jutting out his lower lip in a pout.

  Peter chuckled, then kneeled down to him. “Tell you what. I’ll let you call me Peter as long as we’re not in class, but only if you keep it a secret. Shh.” He pressed a finger to his lips and gave the little boy a wink.

  Johnny’s smile beamed and he raised his finger to his lips too. Then he whispered, “Shh. Okay. Don’t tell anyone.”

  “I won’t,” Peter whispered back. “Now, let’s go on to the dinner table.”

  “Okay,” Johnny continued to whisper as he tip-toed all the way to his seat and sat down. Peter smiled at Chip.

  “He’s a handful,” Chip mumbled, with a huff.

  “Who is?” Johnny asked, reaching for a bread roll.

  “You are, mister. Now keep your hands to yourself. We haven’t said grace yet. Shame on you.” Chip shot Johnny a stern, warning glance.

  Johnny tucked his hands under his lap and swooshed his mouth back and forth. “Yes, sir.”

  Peter was impressed. He was way more respectful and well-behaved at home with Chip than he was when he was in the classroom with the other children. Peter wished he had such a commanding presence and that he'd quit being such a pushover all the time when it came to kids. But he couldn’t help himself. He loved kids and sometimes wished he could adopt every single one of them.

  “Well, I’ve got to hand it to you,” Peter said, “You run a tight ship.” He cut Chip a boyish, crooked grin. He reminded himself not to be too flirtatious with Johnny around. That wouldn't be appropriate. However, it was difficult, given his attraction to the other man.

  Chip shrugged, taking the dinner items from the kitchen and carefully arranging them on the dinner table. “What can I say?” His smile was wry too.

  “Oh, let me help,” Peter said, starting to rise from his seat.

  “No, no, no. You’re our guest.”

  “Be our guest, be our guest, put our service to the test!” Johnny sang the familiar Disney song, interrupting Chip.

  “That’s right,” Chip said, shaking the top of Johnny’s head and giving him a kiss on the forehead, “Silly boy.”

  Peter took in the entire ensemble on the table: it was amazing. Everything was served in brown mission crockery and cast iron pans, steaming away and smelling amazing. The salsas were all various shades of earth tones and red, and bright green guacamole. Each stuffed pepper’s skin was glossy and slightly blackened from the grill. Peter’s heart thumped, thinking that as amazing as this spread was, and no matter how amazing this evening may be, it would all come to a horrible ending in just minutes: an ending with no turning back.

  “It looks and smells delicious,” Peter said, his eyes widening as Chip lifted the lid off of the enchilada pot while the fragrant steam rose out of it.

  “Just wait until you taste it. It was my grandfather's recipe,” Chip said, sitting down.

  “You don’t look Mexican to me,” Peter teased.

  “No, but my grandfather was from Texas, and well, he had a Mexican girlfriend or two who taught him a few things. Some things we can talk about at this table, others we cannot.”

  “I bet,” Peter chuckled. That’s when Chip took his hand and squeezed.

  “Grace?” Chip said, the feeling of his hand in his felt so natural, so warm, so loving, like he belonged, and Peter hadn’t felt that that way in so long.

  “Oh, yeah,” Peter said, bowing his head.

  “Now, normally we have the guest do the honors,” Chip explained, “but seeing as this is your first time at our home, the first of many I hope, I’ll take care of it.”

  The first of many? The thought ripped Peter’s heart out.

  “Son, bow your head and close your eyes,” Chip said, cutting his eyes at him.

  “I am!” Johnny said.

  “And no peeking. I catch you peeking and there will be no dessert for you. Not one bite.”

  “Okay,” Johnny sighed, taking a long sip from his Ninja Turtles sippy cup. “Yes, sir,” he added.

  Chip tried to hide his smile, but Peter could tell he totally adored his son. Nothing was sexier to Peter than a good father. He’d always wanted to be a dad himself, and since he hadn’t had a boyfriend in so long, he thought that being a kindergarten teacher would just have to hold him for now.

  “Dear Lord, God in heaven,” Chip began, his deep voice traveling from his large chest along his strong arms and grip on Peter’s hand, “We come before you to thank you for these many blessings you’ve given us tonight. Our guest of honor, Peter.”

  “Mr. Vanderbilt!” Johnny interrupted.


  “Mr. Peter Vanderbilt,” Chip said, with a smirk on his face, “We thank you for introducing him to our family, for his friendship, for his beauty and kindness.”

  Peter smiled at the compliments. No one had ever talked about him that way. It made him feel warm, loved, and welcomed. Safe. And it made him feel guilty too. He needed to tell Chip the truth. Peter didn't know why it was so difficult to come clean with Chip. He was so afraid that he would change his mind about him and he wouldn't think all those lovely things about him anymore.

  “We pray that you help him in guiding the students at his school, in his life decisions, finances, and most importantly, his love.”

  Chip squeezed his hand on the word, “love.”

  Amen, Peter thought. He could certainly use the wisdom to make some good decisions lately.

  “Protect us, Oh Lord. Help us make the right the decisions, for we know all our decisions affect those around us. Please forgive us of our sins, and we do have many, in Jesus name, Amen.”

  “Amen,” Johnny and Peter said. Johnny immediately began rocking back and forth in his chair and making it squeak, swinging his legs back and forth.

  “That … that was sweet. Thank you,” Peter said, as Chip scooped him up some enchiladas and piled the food on his plate. Words, I don't deserve, Peter thought sourly. How could he just sit there and say 'amen' and agree to all of that when he was lying to Chip?

  “Uh-uh!” Johnny begged, as he looked at the food and bounced up and down in his chair.

  “Wait your turn, son. What was sweet? What’d I say, Peter?” Chip said, playing coy as he scooped up Johnny's portion.

  “You know what you said. Thank you. I didn’t know you were a religious man,” Peter said, taking a bite of the food. “Mmm. Wow," he said appreciatively. It was so good. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a home-cooked meal like this. He was impressed. Just another thing to like about Chip.

  “Told you it was delicious and no, I’m not religious. I just … think some type of structure is good for Johnny.” Chip answered, scooping up his fair share onto his own plate. Peter loved a man who wasn’t afraid to eat.

  “You’re not?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow, surprised.

  “Most days I straddle between agnostic and atheist and an Oprah-tite.” Chip gave him a wry smile.

  Peter chuckled, “What’s an Oprah-tite?”

  “I don’t know: a lot of what she says makes sense to me. Some of it doesn’t, I guess. Doing what I do for a living, I’ve seen a lot things, experienced a lot of things, and it makes you question a lot in life.” Chip's gaze was far away for a moment and Peter wondered what sort of things he'd seen. He imagined being a cop was a tough job, especially in the prostitution division in which he worked, and it clearly had taken its toll on Chip.

  “I can understand that. How did you learn to cook so well? Even these green beans are delicious, and I’m normally not a green bean fan.” He scooped up another forkful. Peter had been neglecting himself lately. He hadn't been eating well, what with his nerves being shattered and all. He was starving, but he tried not to eat too quickly.

  “I hate them myself. But I have to lead by example. It’s the only way I can get Johnny to eat them. I never was a big fan of 'do what I say, not what I do.'” To illustrate his point, he took a big bite of the green beans himself, smiling around the mouthful.

  “I hear that,” Peter said, looking at Chip. Honestly, if Chip asked him, he’d marry him today. He was such a gorgeous man. He loved the way Chip’s eyebrows framed his face, his strong, square jaw, and a soft, generous mouth. While he had a definite masculine allure, something about him radiated kindness. Maybe it was his beautiful eyes: the way they reflected all of the warmth of his heart, his honesty, and genuine nature.

  “What about you?” Chip asked, snapping him out of him reverie.

  “I’m more of an Oprah-tite too, but my parents raised me Catholic. If there’s a H-E-double hockey sticks, I’m going straight there, cause I haven’t been to church in … wooo! I don’t know … too long,” Peter chuckled, shaking his head. He tried to play it off, but a part of him felt badly about it. Maybe he should go back to church sometime. Maybe that would help him find direction and make better decisions.

  “H-E-double hockey sticks? I don’t think so. You’re going straight to heaven, because you’re an angel. My angel,” Chip said, looking at him romantically, his gaze soft.

  Peter blushed. “Why do you have to say things like that?” He could feel his face grow hot from his flush.

  “Like what? I mean it. I … I know I’m not supposed to say this sort thing on a first date, but ...”

  “Is this a date? Is that what this is?” Peter laughed, taking a sip of his juice. It certainly felt like a date and he had to admit to himself that he wanted it to be. His heart was fluttering in his chest and, although he assumed that little Johnny was not exactly aware of what was happening, it felt weird. Even though the little boy seemed totally engrossed with stabbing every last fleck of bacon with his fork, Peter felt self-conscious that he was having this conversation in front of one of his students.

  “Of course, it’s a date,” Chip chuckled. “Here’s the deal. I don’t know what it is about you, but ... I like you. I like you a lot, and I want to get to know you better. A lot better.”

  Peter’s eyes glanced at Johnny who wasn’t paying attention at all: he was too busy stuffing his face with enchiladas, completely oblivious.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Chip said, grabbing Peter’s hands and leaning forward. “I’m very open with my son. I don’t want to keep anything from him.” Chip leaned over and ruffled Johnny's hair affectionately again.

  Peter didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t blame it on the alcohol because there wasn’t any, but he was feeling trapped between euphoria and shame. He knew Chip was expecting him to say something back, and although he wanted to say, “I feel the same way too,” he knew he couldn’t: not if he didn’t want Tony to harm Chip in some way. And once more, his anger for Tony returned. He was sure that Tony wasn't being faithful, and besides, it wasn't as though he and Peter were dating. Not really. Peter was more like some pawn on his great narcissistic chessboard empire. He was so arrogant, so controlling. Peter wished that he could get out of it without dire consequences.

  Peter stared down at his plate and mumbled, “Thanks.” He wanted to roll his eyes at himself. 'Thanks'? Was that all he could manage to say to Chip's kind and affectionate words?

  But then Chip squeezed his hand again and said, “No, not thanks. Tell me.”

  Peter sighed, “Here’s the thing …”

  He looked off into the distance. How was he supposed to phrase it? He realized then that there was no way to say it that wouldn't hurt or paint him in a very bad light in front of the man for whom he was beginning to fall.

  He felt Chip’s hand release as he reached for his napkin and anxiously wiped his mouth. “Look, I’m a big boy. You can tell me. If you’re not that into me, it’s okay.” He could hear the hurt edge into Chip's voice. It stung.

  “No, not at all. I’m very into you. I’m so into you, I can’t see straight.” Peter couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. He sighed. He regretted saying it, especially since the truth would eventually come out.

  A small smile spread across Chip’s sexy lips, “Then, what it is it? Every time I get close, you seem to pull back. Do I stink? Is my breath funky?” He waggled his brows at Peter.

  Peter laughed. “No, Chip, you’re … you’re perfect. It’s just …” He couldn't manage to say it: it was like the words hit a wall before they came out of his mouth.

  Peter's thoughts were interrupted by Johnny using his fork as a catapult, launching green beans across the table, his expression mischievous.

  “Son, if you’re going to play with your food, then please go to your room and watch cartoons.” Chip's voice was stern.

  “Yay!” Johnny said, hopping down off the chair and raci
ng to his bedroom.

  There was silence between them. Not a sound: just the distant noise of Johnny turning on his Disney videos. Admittedly, Peter felt a lot less awkward. Not that he felt at ease: but at least now he wasn’t being forced to choose between lying or exposing his deepest, darkest, most bizarre secrets in front of a kindergartener.

  “It’s just what?” Chip said, turning Peter’s face toward his, “Look at me. Tell me the truth.” Peter felt like Johnny playing with his food. Chip's deep, sexy voice had a no-nonsense tone. He knew he wasn't going to accept any more excuses. Peter's heart started to race.

  Peter swallowed hard. His heart was racing. He couldn’t believe it, but he was going to tell Chip. He was going to actually come clean. And it felt good. Despite being terrified, he could already feel the weight lifting off his shoulders.

  With the worst timing in the world, his cell phone bleeped. It was another text message. Peter looked anxious to check it, so Chip said, “Go ahead. We’ll continue this conversation later.” And although Chip was clearly being understanding, Peter could tell he was hurt and bitter.

  He got up to put the dishes away, “Want seconds?” he asked, without turning around to even look at Peter.

  “No, it was delicious though. I’m just stuffed,” Peter answered. He reached for his cell phone with a sigh. He shouldn't check it. It was rude. But he was so afraid it was Tony, and he knew how Tony got when he didn't answer his texts or calls. Peter's mouth fell open and he looked at the words with shock.

  - HELP-

  It was from his roommate, Anton, of all people. What the hell did he want? After threatening to tell the world about Peter’s “night time job”, he wanted nothing to do with Anton, and now he was asking for help? Peter wanted to just delete the message and continue on his conversation with Chip, but something itched at him. His roommate had never asked him for help before, and the message was so cryptic. What if it was something serious? What if Anton were hurt?