“Happy Birthday, and be safe,” he read aloud. His face softened as he returned his eyes to me. “Thank you. I’ll try to be, but I know what’s better than being safe.”
I had every opportunity to excuse myself and head back into the kitchen. It was Phillip’s turn to work the cash register, but he’d tricked me into coming out to see Ashton. I stood rooted to the spot, though, held there by curiosity.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
He plucked something out of his pants pocket and placed it on the counter at my hand. “You can come to my birthday party and be my da-chaperone,” he said, his voice low and breathy. “You know, keep me out of trouble unless it’s the kind that involves us both.”
“Keep dreaming, kid,” I said, ignoring the card.
He pouted. “Well, that’s not nice. I thought Daddies kept their word to their boys. You did tell me a month ago that on my next birthday, I should hit you up.”
While he was right, I’d never counted on him still being around for his next birthday. I thought he’d have given up long before now.
“But you’re forgetting something. You’re not my boy, and I’m not your Daddy.”
Ashton leaned forward and whispered, “I don’t know what you’re afraid of, Mr. Callum, but I promise I can be a really good boy. I just need the right Daddy to make being good worthwhile. I wish that were you, but I can’t force you. Whatever you don’t accept, I’m sure another man somewhere out there will appreciate.”
He stepped away from the counter, and I fought with myself not to go after him. I clutched the edge of the counter and just stared after that slender back and that perky ass of his in those ridiculous tweed pants with the cuffs rolled up his ankle, showing off a gold anklet.
If only I had the right to ruin him for any other man. I’d have liked to hear him promise not to give what was mine to anybody else unless I authorized it. I’d have liked to mark his asshole with my cock, to trail kisses down the curvature of his spine, to caress the—
“So, how did it go?”
I startled out of my thoughts at Phillip’s presence behind me. I swept the card Ashton had left behind off the counter and pocketed it as I turned.
If Phillip knew Ashton had asked me to his birthday party, he’d try to convince me to go, but if I went, I might as well tattoo his name over my heart, which was never going to happen.
“How do you think?” I mumbled, striding back to the doors leading into the kitchen. “Stop pushing that kid on me, Phillip. You know as much as I do that it’ll never happen.”
And I’d never attend some stupid twenty-first birthday rite-of-passage party. I imagined all the rich, spoiled friends of his being at the party. Definitely not my crowd to hang out with.
I dug the card out of my pocket and perused the shiny, expensive black material that made the invitation. When I read where his birthday party was taking place, I swore and stuffed the card back into my pocket.
I’d tried the clubbing scene before, but I’d learned soon after that it wasn’t the kind of life for me. I craved normalcy, not chaos, and that was all I’d get just from thinking about Ashton.
Chapter Two
Ashton
“Oh, dear!”
I rolled my eyes at the dramatic cry of alarm. Ava was one of the servants who’d been employed by my family long before I was even born. Upon hearing the knock on my bedroom door, I’d absentmindedly called for the person to enter, but at Ava’s horrified look as she took in my birthday party outfit, I shouldn’t have let her come in.
“Well, don’t have a heart attack, Ava.” I snatched my black sequined jacket off the bed and shrugged it on to make me appear half-decent.
“Me?” she squawked, clutching the rosary beads she always wore around her neck. “What about your poor dear mother? Master Ashton, she will not approve!”
“Come on, Ava, it’s my birthday.” I stalked over to my bed and plucked my credit card from my wallet. My shorts were so tight there was no place to put it. On second thought, I removed the condom as well and wedged it in with the slim card. A boy couldn’t be too careful.
“It will be the birthday you killed your mother,” she protested, hands fingering the rosary beads.
“Mother’s tougher than she looks,” I retorted. “I assume she sent her birthday wishes through you?”
“She asks that you meet her in the drawing room before you go out.” She dubiously eyed my outfit once more. “You might want to reconsider a change of clothing before you do so.”
“Thank you for the concern, Ava.” I gave her a hug and a kiss on her forehead. “I know you mean well, but I simply don’t have the time to change. I’m already late for my own party.”
Damn my indecisive ass. I’d wanted to get to the club on time so I could watch the entrance from one of the higher levels. I wanted to spot Callum when he came to my party. At least I hoped he would. The possibility had me going through my clothes too many times, discarding one outfit for another as I tried to pick out something flattering.
“You’re a good boy at heart, Master Ashton.” Ava patted my shoulder. “If only you didn’t try to pretend otherwise.”
Shaking my head, I walked past her to the stairs. Ava still saw the innocent little boy I’d been and not the curious, sexually explorative man I’d become. It no longer interested me to enlighten her or my mother.
I hurried down the grand winding staircase, but I lost some of my cool on the landing. My mother wasn’t necessarily a terrifying woman, but I hated the way she made me feel like a disappointment after every conversation I had with her. I’d been hoping to head out before she even realized I was gone.
“You summoned me, Mother?” I asked, striding into the drawing room with mock confidence. If I showed her the slightest crack in my veneer, she’d use it to her advantage.
At my entrance, Julia Keyes rose to her feet, her reading glasses perched on her nose. She was a petite woman at five feet two inches. I’d managed to reach five eight before I stopped growing, and while I’d never beef up like other guys, hitting the gym kept my pecs decent. Over the years, I’d come to the realization that men who were into me appreciated my build. I was fun-sizeish without being too delicate for some rough sex the way I liked it.
Mother brushed at her flawless blonde hair, which she always wore in a lob, her intelligent blue eyes roaming my outfit. I braced myself for the disapproval she always voiced, prepared to feed her noncommittal responses after which she usually gave up when she realized I wasn’t really processing her words.
“Going out?” She stared at my stockings beneath my short shorts.
“It’s my birthday, Mother.” She’d likely forgotten, given she hadn’t once wished me a Happy Birthday today. I tried not to be hurt, but it stung nonetheless. “My friends and I have plans.”
“Plans that include you dressing up like a hooker? And not even an expensive one at that,” she fired at me.
I groaned, closing my hands into fists. “I’m old enough to choose what I want to wear and whenever I want to wear it, Mother. I’m not looking for your approval.” Not anymore.