Roommates

Part 8

Dinner with your parents was going according to plan until they asked about your new roommate. If the way you choked on the food in your mouth wasn't a dead giveaway, the crimson flush that crept up your cheeks definitely was.

"His name is Shawn," you spoke, sitting up a little straighter in the hard wooden chair.

"His?" your dad questioned, knitting his eyebrows together. Shit.

"Mhm," you nodded, reaching for what must have been your fourth roll in the last half hour. You were a stress eater, and it was showing.

"Isn't that, um," your mother piped up, resting her chin on her fist over the table, "isn't that a little weird, sweetie?"

"S'been fine," you mumbled, painfully swallowing a gigantic bite of bread. "If we're just friends, what's it matter?"

"Hm," your parents nodded in unison. God, they were square. This was why you moved out in the first place.

Your mind drifted to Shawn as they pondered their new discovery, a bit of an uncomfortable silence filling the room and washing over the three of you. You pushed your thoughts to the back of your mind, but it was a little troublesome when you could feel the lace of the thong he bought you digging into your ass. He made you promise to wear your new set tonight. To dinner. With your parents.

"Isn't that a little, I dunno, icky?" you had asked him as you procrastinated getting ready earlier in the day. He was sitting on a chair in a hotel somewhere in New York, and you could practically hear the devilish smirk plastered on his face over the phone.

"Doesn't have to be," he had spoken, "they're just under your clothes. It's not like they know."

"But I know," you sighed, wandering into his bedroom. You'd been sleeping there a lot. "And I'll be with my parents."

"Gotta keep you thinkin' of me somehow," he had quipped, causing your stomach to twirl and your heart to beat a little harder. "Come on. For me."

"I don't know, Shawn," you said nervously with a hint of a grin, collapsing on his bed. "Seems pretty freaking weird."

"I think you should do it," he spoke conclusively, "it'll get you feeling all bad and stuff, and then you'll get home all sexually frustrated, and then you can ca-," he cut himself off with a seemingly better idea, "no, you can FaceTime me. That's it. That's the plan."

"Maybe," you bit your lip, "I'll let you know."

You came back to reality, realizing your mom had been speaking to you the entire time.

"What?" you asked with a shake of your head, uncomfortably shifting yet again. This sucked.

"I asked if he's nice," she widened her eyes, clearly wondering what on earth was going on with you. It's the good-dick-glow, ma, you thought to yourself. Christ.

"Of course he's nice," you smiled, slipping your shaky hands under your thighs. "I wouldn't agree to live with someone who isn't nice. You know that," you reassured, praying they would just fucking drop it. They didn't.

"When can we meet him?" your dad asked, squaring his shoulders. God.

"Never," you grinned, standing from your seat, "If my roommate were a girl, you wouldn't be asking these questions!" you teased, even though you meant every word you were saying. This presented the perfect opportunity to slip away to the washroom.

Shutting the door and leaning against it, you took a deep breath. Alone-time was much needed right now, but of course, that didn't mean you weren't reaching for your phone to text Shawn. Because you totally were.