"This. Is. So. Gooooood," I moan to Ry, who's sitting at the small round table across from me. He looks amused by my moan-speak.

"Glad you approve."

"You've got to taste this." Reaching out, I raise the strawberry covered in chocolate and peanut butter to his lips. "Seriously. It's like an orgasm in your mouth."

His eyes meet mine, and at that moment, I know he remembers what happened last night. Leaning in, gaze still locked with my own, he murmurs, "I do love an orgasm in my mouth," before wrapping his lips around the tip of the strawberry and taking a bite.

I'm sorry, but did my panties just go poof? Up in smoke? Because the look in his eyes made my hoo-ha feel like it was on fire.

Ummmm, not like that because that would mean something was seriously wrong. Like in the form of the clap or something. And just ewww, right?

But the moment his lips wrap around that strawberry-and he has nicer lips than any guy I've ever known-I feel it. That tingling arousal, down deep. Which makes my mind go where it has no business going.

To the gutter. We all know nothing good can come from going there. Shame. Oh, the shaaaaame.

"My eyes are up here, Mags." Ry's voice makes me aware that I've been, uh, staring at him. More importantly, at his crotch. My eyes fly up to meet his smiling ones, and I feel the rush of heat on my cheeks.

"I was totally zoning out. Sorry." Lame excuse, Maggie. So lame.

"Lost in thoughts about ..." One eyebrow rises in question.

Shoving another peanut butter and chocolate covered strawberry at him, I give him my best squinty-eyed look. "Hush and take a bite."

Fingers encircling my wrist, he holds me captive while wrapping his lips around the strawberry, brushing against the tips of my fingers still holding it. The touch of his lips against my fingers combined with the look in his eyes makes me inhale sharply, recalling the way his mouth felt on my nipples.

Watching me while he chews slowly, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and his eyes flash with amusement. Then he leans back in. "Are you chilly?" His eyes drop to my breasts before rising to meet my eyes, again.

Slapping an arm across my chest, I fix a glare on him. "Yes."

"Mmmhmm." He sits back in his seat, lips stretching into a smug grin.

Pointing my fork at him as I anticipate digging into the chocolate peanut butter cake, I threaten, "Don't even start or I won't share."

"As if you could deny me?" His eyes go wide with mock dismay.

Before I can answer, Stacy interrupts us.

"Are you enjoying everything?" Is it just me or is she standing a little too close to Ry? I mean, really. Any closer and she'd be in his lap, for God's sake. My grip on my fork gets tighter, and I realize that feeling I'm experiencing.

I'm feeling stabby. Literally. Like, in my mind, I imagine her hand reaching over to touch Ry's muscled arm just as my own arm shoots out, the tines of my fork meeting the flesh of her hand.

Whoa. That was pretty graphic. Sheesh. I'm starting to fear that I'll end up on that TV show Snapped.

Maybe I need more sugar, and this weird jealousy thing will subside. Forking a piece of the cake into my mouth, as soon as the flavors hit my tongue, there's absolutely no way I can refrain from moaning.

Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss.

And I make a decision right then and there that Stacy needs to live and needs her hands to continue making these deliciously decadent treats.

Dang it.

Back to the drawing board.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Ry "I'm a heifer. It's confirmed."

Maggie's been groaning as we walk along the sidewalk after spending far too much time in Stacy's shop. She's been trudging along, hand over her stomach.

"You're not a heifer."

"I am. I'm enormous now. I can feel it. My thighs? They just melded together." She begins walking funny, and I roll my eyes.

"Mags"-I grab her hand-"you need to sit for a moment?"

We're walking through the park that faces part of the lakefront on our way back to my parents' house. A vacant bench has a bit of shade from the nearby tree.

"Yessss, please."

Walking over, Maggie immediately slumps onto the bench, hands on her stomach with a groan. "I have a food baby." She pushes out her stomach, rounding it before letting it deflate. "Nearly five months along, by the looks of it."

Rolling my eyes, I sling an arm around her shoulders as we sit, relaxing, with nothing but the sounds of bustling activity surrounding us. Shoppers, tourists, people enjoying the water, out kayaking on the lake. It's a gorgeous day and, luckily, stress-free since we've been away from the house and-more importantly-my father.

"I kind of don't want to go back."

Turning at Maggie's softly spoken words, I take in her profile as her eyes remain on the lakefront before us. Her long hair is pulled back in one of those loopy ponytail things, and she's a bit flushed from the warm weather. She looks happy, sated, and while much of that reason may be the indulging of sweets we just partook in, I'd like to think some of it is because she's here with me. God, I could stare at her forever.

Yeah, that was creepy as shit. But I don't care. When Maggie is happy, it makes me happy.

"Right now is just ... perfect." She turns to me, the gentle breeze tousling some strands of my hair. "You know?"

Reaching out to tuck the stray strands behind her ear, I nod. "I know."

She leans her head against me, and we sit there, gazing out at the lake, not speaking but enjoying each other's presence.

It's just as Maggie said. Right now is perfect. Because I'm with the one I love.

Now if only I can get her to love me back.

I'm walking down the hallway toward the kitchen when I hear my mother and Maggie talking quietly. The hushed tone of Maggie's voice makes me slow, pausing at the edge of the doorway and eavesdropping like a little kid.

"Do you mind if I ask about Ry and his ..." She trails off, and it's evident in her hesitation that she's unsure of how to ask her question. "About Ry and when he decided to come out?"

My entire body jolts in alarm. Like Sylvester the cat in those old cartoons where he gets electrocuted-every hair standing on end, entire body stiff as a board-during one of the many times he's chasing after Tweety Bird, the damn bird outsmarting him yet again. That's me right now. Frozen in horror and panic combined. Because I've been so worried about my father that I didn't take into account the chance that Maggie might ask my mother about my sexuality.

"I'm not sure what you mean, honey." My mother's confusion is clear in her voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just thought you-"

"RYLAND!" My father's booming voice draws my eavesdropping to a screeching halt. Jerking around, I see him not but a few feet away in the entrance to the living room.

Stepping around, now in plain sight of Maggie and my mother in the kitchen, out of the corner of my eye, I notice them exchanging a worried look. Likely because my father looks pissed.

But there's nothing new there. If only I could make a living off that, I'd be a shoo-in for one of the top earners in Forbes magazine. Actually, now that I think of it, if being a world-class dick to your kid were something he could medal in in the Olympics, he'd be undefeated and bring home the gold.

Every. Four. Years.

"Yes." I don't phrase it as a question but as more of a resigned Fuck my life kind of way.

He gives me one of those head-nod gestures, telling me to follow him as he walks into the living room. With each step closer to him, my feet feel like they get heavier, more sluggish with dread. As if I'm trudging through wet cement.

Because the fact that my father wants to speak with me is never a good thing. Never. In fact, it would probably be better if we never spoke and, instead, just exchanged sign language.

Uh, yeah. Maybe not even that. Because the only sign language I see us utilizing would be flipping each other the bird.

Coming to a stop about two feet away from him, I do my best to maintain eye contact. You know, in all the books I've read, before graduating and while working for Eastern Sports, body language and displays of assertiveness and an air of authority are stressed. Yeah, I swear I forget every single damn thing I've learned and utilized over the years in the presence of this man.

Forcing myself to straighten my posture even more, I fold my arms across my chest and look him head-on. He stares at me, and I wait for him to start up with the usual: to badger me about my job and the overall path I've chosen for my life.

He glances past me quickly before his eyes return to rest on me, lowering his voice. "What the hell's the deal with Maggie?"

Brows furrowed, I frown in confusion because I have no clue what he's asking. "What do you mean?"

His expression turns hard. "I mean what the hell are you doing with that girl?"

Still confused, I shake my head. "I'm not doing anything with her."

"Bullshit."

"Whatever." I don't need this shit. Turning away, he stops me in my tracks with his next words.

"She's in love with you."

I can only manage to stare at him dumbfounded. "What?"

"You heard me." He gestures in the direction of the kitchen. "You think I'm stupid because I don't have a fancy piece of paper saying I'm smart, but I know enough that you're up to something."

Throwing up a hand, I protest, "She doesn't think of me as more than a friend!"

Fuck. Just admitting aloud that Maggie doesn't love me in that way cuts deep.

Shaking my head, I feel my blood pressure rise, getting more pissed off at his words. "And you know very well I've never once said or implied you were stupid, Dad. I don't care that you didn't go to college. But you, apparently, have a huge issue with the fact that I did!"

"I just want what's best for you!"

"Well, it's not building shit with my bare hands!" I explode. "It's never been what I wanted to do with my life! But you refuse to see that!" Attempting to calm myself, I inhale deeply. "I loved working with you when I was younger because we actually did things together. That's what I enjoyed, Dad. I didn't actually enjoy the act itself-I enjoyed being with you."

My words appear to deflate him, his shoulders sinking, his entire expression wiped clean. But I'm not finished.

"I'm good at what I do, Dad. And it's sure as hell not sitting in front of a monitor playing damn video games all day. I am the director of my department, and I love what I do; I love the technology I work with each day. I solve problems and refine procedures to make them even better. I use my"-I tap my index finger against my temple-"brain. Every. Single. Day."

Feeling as though I'm running out of steam, I shake my head, glancing away. "All I want is for you to be proud of me. I'm not in jail, not addicted to drugs, and not on the streets. I'm Ry, a good guy-a good son-who has worked hard to make something of himself. Someone you should be proud to call your son."

When he still says nothing, I run a hand wearily over my face. "Never mind," I mutter, turning to head toward the kitchen, in the direction of the two people I know actually like me.

"Wait."

I freeze at his quiet command. Not because he told me to wait but because of the way he just said it. There's something underlying there in his tone. Remorse?

Inwardly, I snort at that, instantly dismissing it. There's no way in hell my father- "Ryland, I'm ..." He trails off, and it's only then that I turn to face him. "I'm sorry."

They always say that it takes a big man-or woman, for that matter-to admit fault. And it's true. My father's a proud man and this? This is huge. Which means I have to look around in fear for lightning to strike.

"Don't be a smartass." He glares at me, knowing what I'm doing, but I see the gleam in his eyes.

Nodding slowly, I'm almost afraid to break the moment. "Thanks."

We stare at one another for a beat, and just when it gets to the point of being uncomfortable, my father tosses his hands up. "Well, don't just stand there making googly eyes at me. Get two beers and join me on the deck so we can talk about which buyout of my business I should accept."

Stunned, it takes me a split second to realize what's going on. My father actually wants to ... talk with me.

Holy shit. Has something happened to my father that's somehow made him soften?

"Don't make me change my mind," he grunts, turning on his heel and heading for the deck.

Nope. Nix that last thought. No fear of this guy softening.

He pauses with his handle on the door leading to the deck. "Don't think I've forgotten about the other thing." There's a beat of silence. "With Maggie." He exits, closing the door behind him.

Blowing out a long breath, it whooshes out. Of course, he wouldn't forget about that little detail. Shit.

This means I'm going to have to come clean to my father. About my lies, which have snowballed. To the point where I don't know how to get out from under any of it.

And about being gay, yet not being gay.

Fuck. I've managed to confuse even myself with that one.

Doesn't mean that I don't have a much lighter step as I approach the kitchen to get the beers. Because something's happened, and I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I might just get something out of this Easter weekend.