Get What You Need (27 page)

Greg cupped a hand around the back of Marsh’s neck. “I can’t believe you came.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Marsh swore, and it wasn’t quite a lie. If he’d gotten it through his skull earlier that it was even an option, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He would’ve been here, come hell or high water.

Greg drew back just a little, and there was something frowning to his mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t invite you. I didn’t think—”

“It’s fine.”

“But I’m glad.” And Greg’s hands were still on Marsh’s neck and waist. This didn’t look friendly. This looked so obvious, only Greg didn’t seem to care. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Marsh said, his throat thick.

Greg’s eyes were searching, his one eyebrow lifting. Marsh held his breath as Greg moved to take Marsh’s hand in his, and it felt like electricity. Like something he thought he’d never have.

“Is this all right?” Greg asked. He tightened his grip on Marsh’s palm to clarify, and wow, that was
so
all right.

“Yeah,” Marsh managed.

Greg twisted away, letting air between their bodies, but as he did, he put his lips beside Marsh’s ear. “I know this is way too early, but do me a favor?”

What? “Um…”

The rest of the room crept back in, and suddenly, there Marsh was, holding Greg’s hand in the middle of a lecture hall, with Greg’s coworkers and all these professors and, right, Greg’s parents. All at once, Marsh’s throat got unbearably tight.

Greg smiled, huge and wide as he turned to the woman in pink and the man who had his nose and his chin. Voice tremulous, he said, “Mom, Dad. I want you to meet someone.” He squeezed Marsh’s hand. “Marsh. This is my mom and dad.”

Chapter Nineteen

It didn’t make any kind of sense. Greg had left the podium over an hour ago, had managed to sit still through three more presentations, but his heart was thrumming, and he felt like he could take on the world. He
was
taking on the world, holding on to Marsh for all he was worth, and these were liberties he wasn’t sure he was allowed, but fuck it. Fuck it all.

For a long moment, even with the buzz of conversation in the room, everything seemed to stop, the space around them going quiet as Marsh’s jaw dropped and Greg’s mother blinked. And maybe Greg had really stepped in it now, but he squared his shoulders and kept that smile firmly planted. Everybody stared at everybody else, and Greg darted his eyes from one of them to the other to the next. Greg’s dad coughed.

And then everything was moving again. Greg’s mom snapped out of it first, shaking off the stillness as the widest grin stole across her face. “Marsh,” she said, and her gaze went to Greg. “
The
Marsh.”

“Yes, Mom.” Greg kept his eye roll to himself.

“Um.” Marsh fidgeted, acting nervous in a way Greg had rarely seen on him. But he kept his hold on Greg as he shifted forward, extending his free hand. “Hi. Yeah. Marsh. Marshall. Sulkowski. Nice to meet you.”

“And nice to meet you, too.” Mom took his hand in both of hers and pumped it up and down. Her gaze kept darting between Marsh’s face and Greg’s. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“You have?” Marsh asked, brow furrowed, like that was really so surprising to hear.

Greg cleared his throat. “Just a little. Here and there.”

“More than we hear about anyone else, these days,” his dad interrupted, slinging an arm around his mom and holding out his own hand.

Greg’s mom finally released her grip, and Marsh reached forward to shake with Greg’s dad. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“And the young lady?” Greg’s mom asked.

Oh. Right. Greg twisted to see Yulia standing right behind them. With a grin, Marsh gestured for Yulia to come on over. “This is my best friend, Yulia. She’s here keeping me company.”

Greg lost track of the conversation for a second as he stood there, holding Marsh’s hand and feeling like an ass all over again for having been so jealous of her. She glanced down at where Greg’s and Marsh’s fingers were entwined and shot Marsh a smug smile before stepping forward. Greg’s mom reeled her in, and then there was a whole other round of introductions that Greg kind of glazed over for.

“Honey?”

Greg snapped to attention at his mother’s voice. “Huh?”

“Marsh has to come to dinner with us, right? Tell him.”

“Um.” Swallowing hard, Greg turned to Marsh. The expression on his face was vaguely shell-shocked. That tended to happen to people when Greg’s mom bulldozed them like this, but it made all of Greg’s misgivings reassert themselves with a vengeance. It was too soon for Marsh and his parents to even be meeting, much less for Marsh to have to sit through the inquisition Mom would put him through if he agreed to this. “You don’t have to—”

And Marsh’s face fell.

Greg started backtracking immediately. “I mean, I’d love it if you did. But if you have plans, or if you don’t want to or—”

“I have class in—” Marsh broke off, glancing at the clock, and he swore, then turned bright red. “Sorry,” he said toward Greg’s parents. “I mean, um, I have to run. To class. Now. Five minutes ago, really. But I’m done by six.”

“Perfect,” Greg’s mom said. “Our reservations are at seven.”

Her smile was entirely too eager, and Marsh had no idea what he was getting himself into. Greg kind of wanted to warn him, but this felt too good. Meeting the parents was serious. Agreeing to go to dinner with them was even more so.

And maybe this conversation they were going to have tonight would go the way Greg wanted it to after all.

Marsh looked to Greg, and Greg nodded. “Sure. I’d love to come.” His voice was tight, but Greg beamed anyway.

“And Yulia?”

All heads turned to her, but she held up a hand. “Thanks, but I have plans. Plus, fifth wheel and all.”

“Any friend of Greg’s is a friend of ours,” his mom insisted.

“Really, thank you, but I can’t.”

“Fair enough,” Dad jumped in. “I’ll call and add one to the reservation.”

“We can pick you up?” Greg rubbed his thumb over Marsh’s knuckles. “Your last class is over near Whitney Hall?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Sounds great.”

“So I should…” Marsh started to pull away, and Greg should let him, but he held fast for a second.

“Thanks again, for coming.”

“Of course.” Marsh flicked his gaze to the side and then back, and he leaned in closer, eyes searching all the while.

And they were in the middle of a lecture hall, standing in front of his parents, with his scientific idols watching on. Greg should have stopped him, but he couldn’t. Not now. He accepted the kiss when it came, fleeting and chaste and the most public affection they’d shown each other, ever. “Later,” Greg murmured against Marsh’s lips.

“Yeah.” Marsh smiled. This time, when he pulled away, Greg let him. He stood there, grinning like an idiot as Marsh bounded up the stairs, definitely not looking at the way his ass flexed in those slacks as he ran.

“Anyway,” Greg’s mom said pointedly.

Right. Greg coughed into his hand and dropped his gaze. “Um, I need to do a little bit of cleanup here. There’s a coffee shop downstairs, if you don’t mind killing a half hour or so?”

“Sounds perfect. Call us when you’re done.”

“Will do.”

Greg’s mom leaned in for one last peck on the cheek, grasping Greg’s arm before she pulled away. “You did so well, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Right.” His dad shuffled awkwardly. “Shall we?”

They took off, leaving Greg one of the last in the room. He nodded at Chu who was standing near the podium, talking to a couple of the visiting professors from another university. Chu gave a quick thumbs-up, and Greg had to stop himself from checking over his shoulder to see if Chu wasn’t giving his approval to someone standing behind him. But no, the gesture was meant for him. It was the most validation he’d gotten from his advisor since he’d passed his qualifying exams.

If he’d had a better day in recent memory, he couldn’t remember it.

So he was all the more shocked when he turned around to find Yulia standing behind him.

“Jesus Christ—” he started.

She silenced him with a single finger raised, stepping into his space. Leveling him with a stare that could have stripped paint off a wall, she said, simply, “He thinks you’re using him.”

“What?”

She raised one eyebrow. “This is your only warning.”

“My—”

“Prove him wrong.”

With that, she pivoted on her heel and strode away, taking with her any footing Greg had thought he’d gained.

Greg still felt a step behind a few hours later, sitting next to Marsh in a fancy restaurant. Across from his parents. He kept sneaking little glances at Marsh, trying to read his expression. A few days ago, Greg had scarcely dared to imagine there was anything between them but sex and the occasional bit of takeout, and now they were doing this.

He wished he’d thought to do it earlier—to take Marsh someplace nice as just the two of them. Kiss him in front of the world, call him his boyfriend. Prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t
using
him.

Because that was still too much to even start to get his head around.

“So, Marsh,” Greg’s mom said, once their orders had been placed and the menus cleared away.

“Yes, ma’am.” Marsh snapped to attention, focusing on her.

It wasn’t something Greg would have necessarily anticipated, the kind of instinctive politeness that seemed to kick in every time one of Greg’s parents addressed Marsh. He was usually so casual around the house and around Greg, but the
ma’am
s and
sir
s poured out of him so readily.

A lick of suspicion tickled in the back of Greg’s mind. Someone had taught Marsh to act like that.

Something to think about more later. For now, Greg’s mom had that gleam in her eye, and that took precedence.

“Be nice, Mom,” Greg warned.

She gave him a scolding glance. “When am I ever not nice?”

“When you’re talking to one of my boyfriends,” he grumbled, not bothering to mince words. Marsh was here, after all. He’d agreed to this, and his hand was on Greg’s knee beneath the table.

The whole thing made Greg pause, heart stuttering in a good way. It had been a long, long while since Greg had even had this much. Even longer since his folks had gotten the chance to quiz someone.

His mom waved away his concerns with a flick of her wrist. “Ignore my son. I’m very nice. Now tell us all about yourself.”

“Um.” Marsh visibly squirmed, and his fingers flexed against Greg’s thigh. “Not sure what there is to tell.”

“Well, you live with Greg.”

“Yeah. Er, well, not like that. Not that I wouldn’t, but…” Wow, Marsh was nervous. Too nervous. Greg put his hand over Marsh’s and squeezed him tight.

“He was our last-minute addition to the house,” Greg explained, because his parents were well aware of that whole mess.

Marsh nodded. “Right. I, uh, was supposed to rent a place with a couple of the guys from the team, but I couldn’t afford it after—after some stuff that happened, this summer. These guys were looking for a housemate, and the price was right.”

“Our boy’s always been very frugal,” Greg’s dad said, and there was pride there.

And Greg had heard that lecture often enough, about the difference between being frugal and being cheap. London men knew value when they saw it. They didn’t need to spend very much to be comfortable—forget that they didn’t have much to begin with. But when it came to things that mattered, they did it right. They saved and they budgeted.

They spent what they’d saved on visits out to see their son, and nice dinners when something happened worth celebrating.

But Greg’s mom picked up on other things. “Team?”

“Yeah,” Marsh said. “Baseball.”

“Ooh, an athlete.” Mom’s eyes went wide, and she put a hand over Greg’s dad’s.

Greg wanted to roll his eyes. “Dad played football back in high school.”

“Oh. Um. I mean, it’s not a big deal.”

“Sure it is.” Greg furrowed his brow. It was huge. “Greg said something about you having a scholarship, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean a lot.”

Greg’s dad interjected, “Not sure how we would’ve gotten Greg through undergrad if he hadn’t pulled in some scholarships.”

“Yeah,” Marsh said, “but those were because he’s so smart.”

“We all have our talents,” Greg’s mom said.

Marsh shrugged and looked to the side. Greg didn’t like the way his mouth turned down.

“Anyway.” Greg slid his fingers between Marsh’s, “Marsh is really good.”

Marsh cocked his head, looking at Greg funny. “You ever seen me play?”

“Once or twice, last year. But you’re the starting shortstop. You have to be good.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do.” Greg gave one more squeeze before letting Marsh’s hand go, shifting to rest his forearm on the table, fidgeting with one of the forks in front of him.