Finding Home (8 page)

He knocked it back in a few long swallows.

Her gaze fixed on his bobbing Adam’s apple. Try as she might, she felt her attention drawn to his body again and again. And somehow she doubted he’d fail to notice her glances. This was a kid whose whole existence depended on reading people’s non-verbal cues right. He could tell if someone looked at him. It was up to her to keep her eyes under control.

When he lowered the bottle, his eyes met hers, locked and held for a long moment. The air in the kitchen was charged with palpable tension.

Megan broke, looking away first. “Can I ask you something?” she said, hoping to break the awkward silence that had settled as they waited for the food to cook.

“Sure.” He set the empty bottle on the table.
“What’s your real name?”

He was silent for a moment, absent-mindedly tonguing his injured lip, while Megan focused her gaze elsewhere. She was poking at his privacy again, but couldn’t call him Mouth anymore. Mouth was his street name, his hustler name. It was a name designed to evoke blowjobs given in dark alleys or the front seat of cars, his lips stretched around another man’s dick. It reeked of sex, and just didn’t belong in her kitchen.

“It feels wrong to keep calling you Mouth here,” she added when she realized he wasn’t about to answer.

He nodded. “Fair enough. I guess I owe you anyhow. I’m Sean.”

Sean
. It sounded so different, like he was this whole new person she’d just been introduced to. It was such a wholesome name. She smiled. “Thanks, Sean.”

ZY

They ate at the dinette table in her kitchen, and it was nothing like the first time she’d seen him eat. He was no longer careless and open about his appetite. Here, he took smaller bites and his movements seemed cautious and controlled. He sipped his milk instead of gulping and refrained from making origami with his napkin as he had in the restaurant. He seemed withdrawn and wary.

Megan realized he was probably as nervous as she was. She remembered what he’d said earlier, about owing her.

“Listen.” As he was finishing his second helping, she broke the strained silence that had fallen between them. She hesitated, wanting to make sure she said this correctly. “I want you to know that whatever happened on the street, you’re safe here. And aside from basically not trashing my place, I don’t expect anything from you.”

He looked up from his plate, his eyes scanning hers as if trying to read them.

“You don’t want payment for this?”

Megan’s heart broke at his incredulous tone. She shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything, Sean.”

“Yeah? Because it really wouldn’t bother me, you know.” He gave her a suggestive once-over that made her stomach flip. The blood rose up her neck. Jesus, he’d just offered to fuck her or go down on her or something in exchange for a meal and bed for a night. And his hooded gaze on her body… She raised her hands in denial.

“God, no, Sean! I’m not…this isn’t…I’m not like that…” As she stammered, anger replaced shock. How dare he think that of her after all the time they’d spent together? How dare he compare her to the men who used him?

“You have no right to accuse me of that,” she said. Rising quickly, she walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. She trembled and tears threatened to take over. The cool air from the appliance washed over her hot cheeks, and she stood there a moment staring at a gallon of milk, a Chinese takeout box and a nasty looking slice of cake she’d forgotten to cover.

She tried to compose herself, but ended up grabbing the milk and spinning around to continue railing at him. “Seriously. After all these weeks, after all the talking… I thought—I thought you respected me. I

thought you knew I wouldn’t do that kind of shit. Who do you think I am?“

She was almost shouting now, but Sean hadn’t moved. His expression was blank.

“I’ve seen how you look at me.” His low voice hit Megan in the pit of her stomach. God, nothing slipped past him.

She walked over to the table and set the milk down, rested her hands on the table, took a deep breath and forced herself to look him in the eye. “That’s got nothing to do with it, Sean. Nothing. I would never expect anything from you. Damn it, you’re seventeen. You’re younger than my little brother. You’ve told me how shitty your life is. How could you think I’d ever take advantage of you?” She maintained her stance, leaning on her hands and looking down at him, trying to put their roles in proper perspective.

He shrugged, regarding her from under his eyebrows without lifting his head. He’d been gripping his fork like it was a weapon and now he set it carefully down beside his plate. “Yeah, well, that’s the way it is when you work the streets. You wouldn’t be the first person wanting to rescue me for their own reasons.” His eyes were flat, his voice even, as he retreated into the emotionless shell he favored when he felt vulnerable.

It hadn’t even occurred to her he might have had similar experiences in the past.

“You’ve done this before?” she said, dropping back into her seat.

He cocked his head sideways and gave a little shrug of assent.“More than once?”

“Listen, Megan,” he said slowly, “I’ve been on my own for a year and a half? You don’t think I’ve ever wanted to believe someone was just being nice to me?”

“You seem so unwilling to trust anyone. Why would you—?”

“Yeah, well, I learned my lesson,” he cut in abruptly. “And I was lucky. I never got caught up in any real shit. But no, I don’t trust anyone who says they don’t want a piece of me. It’s just not true. It never is.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her from his one good eye. The blackened one gave him a dangerous look, and he lounged back in his chair with sprawled legs, sending a sexual message. He was definitely giving her attitude. He might be better-mannered and more respectful to her on her turf, but he still had a feral intensity she found hard to ignore. His smoldering gaze challenged her to deny her attraction to him.

“Sean…” Megan swallowed hard. Her body hummed like a plucked guitar string at the heat in his eyes, her nipples tightened and her sex pulsed in time with her heartbeats. When every reaction to him blazed across her face, how could she pretend there wasn’t an element of truth in what he said? The difference was, while she might be sexually attracted, she wouldn’t act on it or demand anything of him as others had done.

“I’m a fucking whore,” he continued. “The people I meet either want to fuck me or fuck me over. End of fucking story.”

“So, if that’s really what you thought, then why did you come with me?”

“Because I can handle this. And with you—well, it wouldn’t be a chore, you know?” His half-lidded eyes and predatory smile left Megan feeling like prey.

She bit her lip—part of her reacting unthinkingly to what he said with a fresh wave of arousal, and the rest of her brain utterly appalled at the thought and at Sean’s matter-of-fact approach. He really had no illusions about anything.

She rubbed her hands over her face. “Look, you might find this hard to believe, but I swear it was never my intention to even suggest I want anything from you. I really don’t. Talking to you over the past few weeks—it’s made me aware of the life you lead, it’s certainly opened my eyes in many respects, but it hasn’t made me want to have sex with you.”

“So why did you want me to come with you?” He sounded skeptical, but he’d uncrossed his arms and resumed a less defensive, less sexual posture. One hand returned to his lap, the other toyed with his fork on the table.

“Because I was worried about you. I
am
worried about you. You drop out of sight for a few days and come back looking like hell. What happened to you, anyhow?”

“You’re worried about a fucking hustler so you invite him into your home? You don’t know me for shit. I could beat you up and steal all your stuff. You think you can trust me because we talked a couple of times?”

Megan ignored the little shiver of apprehension crawling up her spine at his words—no, she knew he wouldn’t do that—and plowed on. “Look, I took a gamble. But no, I don’t think you’d beat me up and steal my stuff, and no, I haven’t brought you home to sleep with you. If you don’t believe it, fine. Leave. But if you stay, just deal with it, have some faith in me and stop being such an ass.”

She took a deep breath. Her cheeks were flushed, showing her emotions as always. It would be nice to have Sean’s amazing self-possession. Then Megan remembered why he was so good at hiding everything and didn’t envy him anymore.

“Okay,” he said, sounding almost defeated, as if it cost him to drop the aggression and the attitude. But he seemed to relax, too, just a tiny bit. Perhaps he’d been hoping for this all along, and had only confronted her to allay his own fears.

Her own anger had gone away completely, leaving her feeling a little foolish at having reacted so violently to his offer of sex. He’d really hit a raw nerve, making her ashamed of wanting him and even more ashamed he’d noticed.

“So, what did happen to you?” she asked again.

Sean looked away. “Some kids beat me up. But that’s nothing. I was stupid and careless and I paid for it.” More than angry and bitter, he sounded desolate.

“What do you mean?”

His bruised jaw clenched. “I was tailed by some kids I got into trouble with. They trashed my place and got my cash then beat the shit out of me just for the hell of it.”

Megan blinked. His money? That meant months of sucking off strangers because it was his ticket to a better life, his way out, wasted. Months of hell. She had no idea how much money Sean was talking about, but it had to be quite a lot, because his daily expenses weren’t much. “They got your money?” The beating did pale in comparison.

He nodded, his mouth tight.

She wanted to hug him, but knew it was out of the question. Without thinking, she extended her hand across the table toward his, then stopped herself. He was bound to misread that gesture, too. She fumbled and grabbed a paper napkin instead.

“What are you going to do?” She twisted the napkin in her hands. “Try to earn it again, I guess.” But his voice sounded hollow, his confidence drained. She could imagine how depressing it was to think he was back to square one, with a never-ending stream of tricks to turn before he recovered his lost cash.

“Don’t think about it tonight, okay? Try to get some rest and heal. Honestly, you can stay here a few days while you think about what you want to do next.” She kept her gaze fixed on him, searching for any negative reaction to her offer and was relieved to see none. “In the meantime, is it okay if I wash your clothes?”

“They’re pretty dirty. I can do it.”
“Why don’t you finish the lasagna? Let me do this much for you. Unless you’d rather I didn’t go through your stuff. Do you want to deal with the duffel bag later?”

He was about to say something, but simply nodded assent.

ZY

When she picked up his jeans from the floor outside the bathroom where he’d carefully folded them together with his stained T-shirt, she realized his personal belongings were still in the pockets. She pulled out his wallet gingerly and exerted all her willpower to stop herself looking inside for additional information. Placing it on the bathroom counter, she went through the other pockets quickly and fished a handful of condoms from his back pockets. Her heart sank. This irrefutable proof of his daily occupation made her want to cry—again.

As Megan put the clothes into the laundry basket, she looked through the doorway at him. He was eating his way through his third plateful, head bent down, shoveling the food into his mouth like a guy who never quite ate enough. He looked young, with his damaged face, unkempt, damp hair and bare feet.

There was no way she’d let him go back to the street, certainly not as long as he was that badly messed up and even when he healed. As she carried the washing down to the building’s communal laundry room, she decided if she didn’t want him slipping back into his hustling existence, she must find a way to convince him to stay with her.

ZY

After giving Sean pain medication and seeing him bedded down on the couch, Megan retreated to her own room.

While dressing for sleep in a T-shirt and shorts, she thought about her motivations for helping Sean. Was she conning herself into believing she was being selfless and helpful, when in fact she wanted more? There was no doubt she was powerfully attracted to him. Having him at close quarters in her house had made that clear to her—and evidently to him. But she was an adult, a mature, responsible adult who would not—could not—allow herself to act upon these thoughts.

It took her a long time to fall asleep, her ear unconsciously straining for any sound coming from the living room, her mind and body restless as she tossed and turned under the sheets. When she finally did fall asleep, it was to a jumble of disturbing dreams, none of which she remembered when she woke, but which left her feeling anxious and skittish.

In the early morning, she tiptoed to the bathroom, not wanting to wake Sean. She checked in on him and the sight of him, sprawled on her couch, sheets everywhere, made her mouth go dry. His T-shirt had ridden up, exposing his chest and stomach. His whole torso was a mass of purple and yellow bruises, colors blossoming under the skin in a garish pattern, which had to signify serious pain. He was remarkably fit and well-muscled for a guy who lived on the streets, with a clearly defined six-pack visible even under the bruising. She mentally kicked herself for that observation and forced herself to look away.

Would she be able to get him to agree to go to a doctor? Probably not, since he clearly hadn’t wanted her to see the extent of his injuries. She didn’t want to push and risk alienating him.

Megan took a quick shower and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. Sean padded softly to the bathroom and when he came out she called, “Morning. There’s fresh coffee if you’d like some. What would you like to eat?”

He leaned against the kitchen doorframe, looking groggy, his black eye slightly less swollen than it had been the previous day, but his face still a mess. “What have you got?” he asked, his voice raspy, and it was unclear whether he was doing the James Dean routine accidentally or on purpose, or whether he even knew about it.