by Aly Martinez
Evan was the hard-ass disciplinarian the boys so desperately needed. Meanwhile, I was, much to Evan’s dismay, a little more lax and nurturing. I just didn’t have it in me to punish them—and they knew it.
“Henry, he can’t beat up other kids. You can’t condone this,” Evan whisper-yelled.
“His not being in trouble doesn’t mean I condone it,” I whispered back.
He pursed his lips and glared at me.
The squeak of sneakers against the tile came from around the corner where Shawn remained hidden, but it was Dom who appeared. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked, handing me yet another school supply list.
What in the ever-loving hell these schools did with five million pencils and folders, I’d never understand.
“He got in a fight,” I replied, passing the list to Evan.
Dom’s eyes went huge, and his mouth formed a hard line. “Good. I hope he kicked both of their as—” His eyes jumped to Evan, who was leveling him with a scary—but kind of hot—scowl. “Er…butts,” he finished.
“What do you know about this? Your brother won’t tell me anything,” Evan asked.
Dom sighed and glanced back at his brother, who was once again peeking around the corner at us. “Some kid at school was picking on him yesterday because you guys are gay.”
“Oh, shit,” Evan mumbled under his breath.
I twisted my lips and pressed a hand to my chest. “Well, technically, I’m gay.” I flicked a thumb in Evan’s direction. “Dad here is—”
Evan’s hand flew out and covered my mouth. “You’re not in trouble,” he called to Shawn. Then he looked back at Dom. “Take your brother and get ready for bed. We’ll talk about this later.”
Dom smiled mischievously and backed away.
While I usually adored quiet time with Evan, the lasers he was shooting at me had me contemplating asking the boys to stay.
“What?” I finally asked when the heat—and not the good kind—became too much.
“You cannot tell our kids that I’m bisexual.”
I spun my chair to face him and leaned forward, resting my hands on his thighs. “It’s true though. Just because you abandoned the opposite sex doesn’t change anything.”
He shook his head and placed his hands on mine to stop them from sliding any higher. “Shawn blacked the kid’s eye. And, if you’d seen him, you’d see his lip was split wide open.”
My breath hitched and my stomach rolled. “He’s in second grade! Don’t they still pull hair?”
“No. They don’t,” he said frankly. “This is serious, Henry.”
Suddenly, I was starting to agree. “So, what do we do? Do they make a book for this? I’m willing to read some non-erotica if I need to.”
He frowned, but the side of his mouth twitched. At least he still found me humorous.
He lifted my hand and gave it a tug until our rolling chairs collided; our mouths quickly followed. When we came up for air, he tipped his forehead to mind and said, “We need to call the school and let them know what happened. I won’t stand for him being bullied by some little shit who’s probably learning this crap from his homophobic parents.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise, and I chewed on the inside of my cheek to stifle a laugh. “Did you just call a kid a little shit?”
“He put his hands on my son!” he defended.
I patted his leg. “All right. Calm down there, papa bear. We’ll hit up the principal first thing in the morning.”
“Good, but in the meantime, we need to get in there and teach them that you can’t cure ignorance with violence. They need to understand that love is love. Between a man and a woman, a man and a man, or a woman and a woman. And, babe, I know you consider yourself gay, but you know how I feel about labels. I sure as hell don’t want the boys growing up thinking it’s okay to cast them on others. This is our opportunity to teach them tolerance and acceptance.”
Yeah. I’d lucked out big time with Evan.
I smiled. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
He nodded, punctuating it with a kiss. “So you’ve mentioned.”
“Sooo…” I drawled. “Just so we’re clear, after we give the boys this talk and they go to sleep, we can still be gay in bed, right?”
He glared.
“It’s a valid question! This sexy, protective side of you is doing some seriously dirty things to me.”
Maintaining his stoic expression, he released me and stood from his chair.
I ogled his ass as he walked away.
Just before he rounded the corner, he paused and looked over his shoulder, his eyes filled with heat—the good kind. “If you hurry up and get your ass in the house and take my back on this, I’ll do some seriously dirty things to you tonight.”
I smiled impossibly wide and made a show of scrambling from my chair.
He laughed with wild abandon as I jogged in his direction. When I got close enough, he tossed his arm around my shoulders and kissed my temple.
“I love you.”
Smiling, I shoved my hand in his back pocket and gratuitously groped his ass. “I love you too.”
The End
Sam and Levee's story.
The Fall Up
Available Now
Other Books by Aly Martinez
The Fall Up
The Wrecked and Ruined Series
Changing Course
Stolen Course
Broken Course
Among the Echoes
On the Ropes
Fighting Silence
Fighting Shadows
Fighting Solitude
Savor Me
Over the last eleven books, we have learned it takes a village for me to press publish. I feel like I’ve thanked the same people over and over again, and it’s because I have. I’m one of the lucky few who has kept the same betas since I started writing. I’ve said thank you in a million different ways, but they deserve a million more. None of this would be possible without my team.
The brilliant betas: Ashley, Bianca, Bianca, Natasha, Megan, Amie, Miranda, Lakrysa, Mara, and Tracey.
The M/M experts: Abbey, Allison, and Taryn.
The proofreaders: Stacy, MJ, and Gina.
The editors: Erin Noelle and Mickey Reed.
The formatter: Stacey Blake.
The bloggers: All of you.
The readers: Yes, that means you.
See? That’s a lot of people. And there are so many more it would take me another book just to thank them all.
So, in closing, I’d like to say thank you to the whole freaking village who make this career possible. I love you all!
Born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, Aly Martinez is a stay-at-home mom to four crazy kids under the age of five, including a set of twins. Currently living in South Carolina, she passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine at her side.
After some encouragement from her friends, Aly decided to add “Author” to her ever-growing list of job titles. So grab a glass of Chardonnay, or a bottle if you’re hanging out with Aly, and join her aboard the crazy train she calls life.
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