Treasure Box

Chapter 13

"It's a requirement if you even think about being with Franco."

"Please tell me something I don't know."

She pressed her lips together and squinted thoughtfully. "The next season of X factor is premiering next Thursday."

"Thank you for that piece of information, not what I needed to hear though."

She shrugged, "Then I don't know what to tell you. I'm not going to say you're ready because I honestly don't know but if you want Franco then I say take the chance. You already asked him out anyway. Can you imagine how much Michael would rage if you changed your mind?"

I chuckled, "Actually, I can't." He would be more furious at me then he's ever been. Hell, I would be furious at myself. "Well," I stood up, "I have a date to prepare for. I'll call you later."

"You better," she threatened. I kissed her cheek and walked out the office. I noted that the temperature outside was perfect, sunny, a few clouds and no wind. The weather certainly won't be the thing that ruined our date. I sighed as I remembered that I am.

Franco's POV

"Come on, Mikey, this isn't necessary," I complained while laying across my bed.

"Yes it is," Michael replied in a firm tone that he must have learnt from his grandmother. He certainly didn't learn it from me.

I sighed and waited patiently for him to pick a shirt for me. Apparently I have no sense of style so he needed to pick out my outfit. Which I think is an unfair assumption.

Before I knew it, a checked black and white button up that I hadn't worn in centuries was on my bed. I bolted upright and said with horror, "That shirt?"

Michael nodded and went back to my closet. I whined, "But it's lame."

He placed a plain black t-shirt on the bed, "No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"Louis will like it," he assured me.

I grunted noncommittally, "Maybe but he wouldn't mind if I wore something I liked."

"This is a date, daddy," Michael picked out a pair of dark, fitted jeans and nodded at the outfit with approval. "Okay, here you go. I'll go get in the shower now." He kissed my cheek and pranced into the bathroom. I watched him go scowling because my sense of fashion was blatantly insulted by my own son. It made me even angrier when I saw how nice it looked when I put it on. He came out with a towel wrapped around his chest and giggled happily when he saw me.

"You look so nice," he complimented.

I was going to glare at him for being right but my curiosity took over. "Why do you wear the towel around your chest?"

"Hmm?" he blinked at me. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're a boy so you can wear it," I motioned to my waist, "Lower or even not at all. Unless you don't want to be a boy. That's a thing too actually."

"Oh, no, I want to be a boy," he blushed lightly, "I guess I just picked this up from grandma. Um, turn around."

I guess he didn't exactly understand the significance of being a boy that lives alone with his father. I could have tried to explain but I just chuckled and turned around to let him adjust his towel.

"Okay," he chimed. "So I wear it like this?"

When I turned around, the first thing I saw was light reflecting off his tiny chest. "Jesus, we need to get you a tan. Where's the Hispanic part of you hiding?"

Michael pouted, "Grandma said it's all in my hair."

"You do have my hair," I ruffled his bouncy curls, "And it looks better on you than it did on me."

"Does it really?" he twisted a curl between his fingers, "Is that why your hair is so short?"

I ran a hand over my buzzcut, "Yeah, I never liked how it looked on me. Maybe I'll grow my hair out someday so you can see. Anyway, we better get going before we'll late. Get some clothes on your pale butt." I slapped his tiny bottom, eliciting a high pitched yelp from him.

"Daddy," he whined.

I laughed while strolling out the room into the kitchen. I toasted a couple of poptarts for the two of us. Michael joined me a minute later, wearing the most awe worthy outfit. He was wearing a navy blue vest over a baby blue button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow and a pair of jeans. His curly hair was covered by a light gray beanie.

Could my son get any more adorable?

"You look great, Mikey," I praised.

He beamed with pride and grabbed a poptart out the toaster with a paper towel. "Are you ready for you date?"

I shrugged and grabbed my own, "Ready as I'll ever be."