Kissing the Frenemy's Son

Summary

During the dinner party, my mom and her "frenemy" were trading passive-aggressive barbs at the table.

Meanwhile, in the coat closet, her son and I were locked in a different kind of battle.

He was breathless, pinned against the wall by my kiss, begging for mercy:

"Stop... my mom is going to catch us..."

"God, you guys are so high-maintenance." I took off my flannel shirt and tied it around his waist.

"There. That hides it."