Текст книги "Believe"
Автор книги: Erin McCarthy
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He made a sound, like that was hilarious. “Hardly. Most of the time my mother forgot to buy food. I guess I was automatically a member of the club.”
God, that sounded awful, and I felt like my foot was jammed up in my mouth. Pulling into my driveway I parked the car and turned to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
But he shook his head. “No. Hell no. Don’t do that. That’s not why I brought it up. I don’t want or need pity. I’m just telling it like it is.”
Was there pity on my face? I guess there was, because I did feel a profound sympathy for his childhood. It wasn’t fair that some kids got awesome parents and some got shitty ones. But that wasn’t really the same thing as pity. “Injustice makes me feel sad. It’s not personal.”
A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “Cool. This your place? You got any milk? That would be my drink of choice for the night.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, again not really sure. I turned off the car and palmed the keys nervously.
“Well, I’m pretty confident you’re a milk drinker. So am I.”
“Why, because of the kitten? That wasn’t a subliminal message.” Though he was right. I did drink milk. Behind coffee, it was my favorite drink. I wasn’t big on soft drinks. They left me hungry with an aftertaste in my mouth.
He just shrugged. “Because I can sense it. You have chocolate syrup, too, don’t you?”
“Of course. I have strawberry, too. Even milk needs a little variety now and then.” And were we really talking about milk? It seemed so random and innocent.
As we climbed the front porch, I hesitated at the front door. I realized I still didn’t know why Phoenix had been jail and my assumption that it was drug– or alcohol-related was clearly wrong. But if he were a serial rapist or a girlfriend beater, Tyler would have said that. Neither would Riley let him stay in the house with Jessica living there. Pushing my key into the lock, I studied him like his cheekbones, his eyelashes, could reveal the truth about him.
But only his lips could do that, and he wasn’t volunteering, and I couldn’t ask. It seemed too personal.
He flipped his hair out of his eye. “What? Having second thoughts about hanging out with me?”
I shook my head slowly, because I really wasn’t. I was just curious. “Just thinking that life is weird.” Every decision, every choice, altered the course of our lives, and it was sort of mind-blowing if you stopped and really thought about it.
“Life is like waiting in line at the grocery store. You wait, you slowly move forward, you pay the price, then you exit unsatisfied and broke.”
Shoving the door open I frowned, disturbed by his description. “That’s cynical.”
“I’m not cynical. I’m realistic. And hey, if you choose to be patient, content, then it’s all good. You don’t mind the line.”
“I’m not exactly sure what I am, but I don’t think I’m cynical,” I told him as we started up the stairs to the second floor and my apartment.
“Optimism is a luxury not afforded to the poor.”
I so did not agree with that. “That’s not true. Without optimism no one would ever achieve upward mobility. Without the belief that you can have more, you don’t reach for it.”
The corner of his mouth turned up.
“What?” I asked now. I opened the door to the apartment.
Phoenix carelessly shrugged his shoulder. “Nothing other than I appreciate that you have an opinion. Nice place.” He moved into the apartment, hands in his pockets. “So who lives here?”
“Rory, Tyler’s girlfriend, and our friend Kylie.” I tossed my keys on the kitchen table. “Jessica was supposed to, but then her parents cut her off and she decided to live with Riley.”
“So why does she get to be on your ass about wanting to move out when she was the first one to ditch?”
Good question. “I guess she feels like she had a good reason. Her parents wanted her to major in religion and marry a guy from their church and when she said she wasn’t interested and that she was with Riley, they cut off her money. So she’s too broke to stay here. I don’t have any excuse.”
Yanking the fridge handle, I winced at the hypocrisy of that. I did have a good reason, just not one I could share with anyone.
Fortunately, he didn’t call me out on it. “What’s Rory like? I can’t see Tyler digging the same kind of girl as Riley.”
Pulling the milk out, I set it on the counter. “She’s totally different even though she and Jessica are tight. Rory is sweet and very logical. She doesn’t play games and she really loves Tyler. She thinks he’s the bomb-dot-com.”
“Must be nice.”
“Yeah. It must.” I set two plastic tumblers down and said, “You pour. I’ll get the chocolate syrup.”
He tossed the tumblers in the air in an attempt at juggling or fancy bartending. He was actually pretty good at it, managing to have them spinning while he switched them to hand to hand.
“Wow. Impressive.”
“I’m good with my hands.”
If another guy had said that, I would have either rolled my eyes or giggled, depending on my level of interest, assuming he was flirting. But Phoenix didn’t seem to be flirting in any way. He just seemed like he had needed to get out of the house and I was a convenient way to do that. Like he was mildly curious about me, but not much more than that.
He used the chocolate syrup sparingly, tinting the white milk a soft caramel color. “What’s the point in using any at all?” I asked, squeezing hard to create an inch of chocolate sludge at the bottom of my glass.
“Subtle flavor, that’s all. Just taking the milk up a notch, not drowning it out.” Then he raised his glass in the air and waited for me to do the same. “To the Clean Club.”
“Cheers.” We tapped glasses, and I thought that I should feel uncomfortable around him, considering how little I knew him and how different he was from other guys I’d known, but I didn’t.
We sat on the couch, and the space between us felt natural, a foot or two so we weren’t touching, but not an awkward gap of huge proportions where we both hugged the arms. Scrolling through our movie options, we settled on an action movie and we watched, silent, drinking our milk. I drew my feet up under my legs, and he propped one foot on the coffee table and slumped down in the couch.
It was entertaining enough to hold my interest, and when it was over Phoenix said, “That didn’t suck.”
“So generous in your praise.”
“Cynic. Told you.”
I smiled. “That means its time for a romantic comedy.”
“Really? Do I have to?” He gave me a pained look, but I wasn’t buying it. I had seen how long he had lingered on a Julia Roberts movie in the queue when I had let him have the remote to scroll.
“Yes. It’s mandatory. Like taxes and Taco Tuesdays.”
He gave a laugh. “What? How the hell are tacos mandatory?”
“Because my grandmother says so, that’s how, even though they aren’t Puerto Rican.” I smiled back, pleased that I had amused him, and happy that I actually had wanted to crack a joke. I felt almost . . . normal.
“She the boss in your family?”
“Oh yeah. She has always lived with us and she is totally in charge. She’s my dad’s mother, and she was born in Puerto Rico, though she came here when she was four.”
“So you’re half Puerto Rican? What’s your last name?”
“Yes, though it drives my grandmother crazy how totally American my dad is. Basically the only Latino thing about him is his religion and our last name—DeLorenzo. My mom’s family is a mix of European.”
“That’s a cool name. And now I see where you got your dark hair.” He pointed to my head.
“Where did you get your dark hair?” It was as dark as mine.
“My mom and my aunt Dawn both have—well, Dawn had—light brown hair, but my grandmother’s hair was black, so probably from her. I couldn’t tell you about my father since I’ve never met him and I’ve never seen a picture of him. My mom didn’t even give me his last name, nor did she ever tell me what it was. I’m a Sullivan.”
“How did you get the name Phoenix? We’re both named after birds. How random is that?” Reaching forward, I drained the last of my milk, which was warm, and licked some chocolate off the rim.
“I wasn’t named after the bird. My mother just had a thing for River Phoenix, and he died right before I was born.” Phoenix rolled his eyes. “Nothing like being named after a dude who OD’d on heroin and cocaine. Seems right for my mother, though.”
“It’s still a cool name,” I said truthfully. “It makes you unique.”
“Or a freak.”
“There’s that cynical thing again.”
He smiled slowly. “I’m a lost cause.”
“You’ll change your mind after you’ve watched Mamma Mia!” I lifted the remote.
“You’re really going to make me watch this?”
“Yes. ‘Dancing Queen’ will change your life. But first, we need refills.” Taking his glass and mine, I went for more milk, plus chips and salsa.
Then we watched the movie, and I didn’t resist the urge to sing along. I probably never would have done that with a guy before, but now, in grubby shorts and a T-shirt, no makeup, my hair in need of some serious shampoo, what difference did it make? So I sang the crap out of every number while Phoenix steadily munched tortilla chips.
“What did you think?” I asked him when it was over.
“I only wanted to commit suicide three times, so it was a success, I think.” He looked at me from under that lock of hair. “I admit, I was watching you more than the TV. I dig that you dig those songs.”
“Thanks.” I took the comment at face value. “You can pick the next movie.” It was after midnight, but I wasn’t tired. I had slept so much all summer, and I felt awake for the first time in two months.
He picked a drama about a mentally ill couple and it made me cry. Watching them fall in love, two lonely people in a world that didn’t understand them, was sort of the ultimate statement of optimism, and my heart both broke and felt happy for them. I expected Phoenix to make a crack or tease me, the way the usual guys I hung out with would have. But he didn’t. He just said, “I need to think about this one before we discuss.”
“It was sad,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“Yeah, but there was hope. Interesting.” He stared at a chip in his hand before tossing it back down uneaten. “I guess I should call a cab. It’s too late for you to drive me home.”
“It’s only two. I’m not even tired. I can drive you home or you can just crash here on the couch. Since no one else has moved in yet, it won’t matter.” I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want the thoughts, the guilt, to crowd back into my head. With Phoenix around, I could ignore those feelings, my personal recriminations.
“Are you sure?” He had taken off his shoes and was now almost lying on the couch and he looked totally comfortable.
I nodded. “It’s no big deal.”
“Okay, cool.” He laughed. “I don’t really have money for a cab. I was going to walk to the bus stop. Which is stupid, because the bus only runs on the hour at this time of night.”
“So why would you tell me that then?”
“Because I didn’t want to be a jerk and make you drive me back to Riley’s.”
For some reason, that touched me. The guy that old ladies shied away from at the drugstore was worried about inconveniencing me. Me. I hadn’t felt worthy of consideration lately.
“I don’t think you’re a jerk.”
“You don’t, do you?” He seemed puzzled by that. “You don’t seem scared of me either.”
“Should I be?” I eyed him directly, boldly, wanting the truth.
But he just shook his head slowly. “No. I don’t want to hurt you.”
I believed him. I also knew that he couldn’t hurt me any more than I already hurt myself.
So we stayed on the couch together, talking a little, mostly watching TV, for another three hours, until my eyelids were droopy and I finally felt ready for sleep.
“Are you okay here on the couch?” I asked him as I stood up and stretched.
“Is there another option?”
That was a loaded question, and I didn’t know the answer.
Chapter Four
Phoenix
Seeing Robin’s face freeze, I realized I shouldn’t have said it like that. I wasn’t talking about sex, but that was obviously what she heard.
It was easy to read her expressions. She wore them all on her face clearly, and what amazed me about her was everything she said seemed so honest and totally free of bullshit. The other thing I noticed was that she seemed as totally lonely as I was. I couldn’t figure out why.
“I’ll be fine on the couch,” I said. “I’ve slept in worse places, trust me.”
That eased the tension in her shoulders a little, but now the pity was back, which I hated. I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me, for my shitty childhood, or my criminal record.
“I guess so. Let me get you a blanket and a pillow.”
When she eased past me, my hand shot out before I could stop it, and I grabbed hers. “Thanks.” For the pillow. The blanket. For answering my texts. For talking to me. For the milk and the movies. I didn’t say any of those things, but I stared at her, hoping she could read it in my eyes.
“Sure.” She nodded. “It’s not a problem.”
“I got a job tonight,” I said, having no fucking clue why that popped out of my mouth, other than that I clearly wanted to impress her or at least prove I wasn’t a total loser. “I’m going to apprentice at a tattoo parlor I used to work at. Gave the owner a call and he said I can start on Monday.”
Her face softened, and her hand, so small and warm in mine, relaxed, fingers entwining with the callused ones that belonged to me. “That’s awesome,” she said, and I knew she meant it.
I also knew that I shouldn’t have stayed so long.
Because now all I wanted to do was pull her down onto my lap and taste her lips. I wanted to see how her eyes would change then, with passion or with something more.
It was dangerous but oh so fucking tempting.
That she was as chemical free as me was only the beginning of what I found amazing about her.
I hadn’t expected her to have an opinion on much of anything, but she did, and a solid one, too, every time.
I had also counted on the fact that she was a suburban college girl and I would be intimidating to her, the dude just out of jail, so it would be easy to stay disconnected. But she hadn’t been nervous, and she hadn’t been bothered by my sitting next to her. She hadn’t glanced at the clock on her phone or worried that I was going to attack her in a fit of lust or rage or both. She didn’t even ask why I was in jail in the first place.
But she wasn’t flirting either. Or just flat out going after me, the way Angel had. I had ended up dating Angel because she had decided we were going to date, and I appreciated the effort. Of course, the lesson with a girl like that was the loyalty was short-lived.
Somehow, I didn’t think Robin would be that kind of girl. The sad girl was always a loyal one. It’s why she was sad.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I said, because I was. Not only did a job mean money so I could pay my cousins back for helping me out and feeding and clothing me, but I was going to be able to draw and play around with tattooing any customers in the shop who would let me do it for free. I had worked there for just a few weeks before I’d gotten arrested, so I was seriously glad Bob, the owner, had been willing to rehire me. But why the fuck did Robin want to hear about it at five in the morning?
I let go of her hand. “Good night.” Look, don’t touch. I couldn’t afford to buy this model. I had to remember that.
“Good night, Phoenix.” For a second, she looked like she was going to say something else, but then she just went down the hall.
A minute later she reappeared with a blanket and a pillow. I stripped off my shirt and punched the pillow. She hovered in front of me for a second, then she gestured to my tattoo on my chest.
“It’s tragically beautiful,” she said, eyes on it, not my face.
Like her.
I didn’t say anything, just watching her, feeling a warning clanging loud and clear in my skull. If I had any fucking sense I would walk back to my cousins’ house, because a dark room and a girl who looked this vulnerable and pretty was dangerous.
Then she seemed to realize she was staring, because she spun on her heel and walked away, turning off the light on her way, leaving me alone in the dark. Lounging on the couch, I pulled my phone out and scrolled through it checking news headlines, the weather, social media, anything to attempt to distract my thoughts from Robin. I was too keyed up to sleep. Jail hadn’t been great for getting a solid eight hours I had felt like I had slept with one eye open most of the time, given that my cellmate was a crazy motherfucker with wide eyes and a twitch. So when I got to my cousins I had crashed for almost forty-eight hours.
But now I couldn’t. I was wide awake.
The cell phone was Riley’s old smartphone that he had dropped at a construction site, shattering the screen. It worked still, so I had borrowed a hundred bucks from him and reactivated my account. I was in like three hundred bucks easy to Tyler and Riley, and I owed them big time. Going through my contacts list, I deleted Angel. I didn’t want to hear from her ever again. Then I deleted another five people who hadn’t bothered to text or ask how I was the whole time I was away. If they didn’t give a shit, why should I?
It left my list pathetically small. But it was hard to make friends I could trust. We had moved every year or so most of my childhood, and I changed schools constantly depending on which block of the neighborhood our new apartment was in. My sophomore year in high school I didn’t even start until November because my mom kept forgetting to get my vaccines updated and the school wouldn’t admit me. I’d had a group of guys I’d hung out with until the last year or so, but with us all being out of school, some working, some not, and me spending time with Angel, we sort of lost touch. More of my contacts were girls than guys. Girls who wanted to be the one who got some sort of emotional reaction from me.
I was a challenge.
It was unintentional. I had a tight rein on my emotions. I had to.
I did have a text from Tyler. U ok, man?
I wasn’t used to having anyone notice I wasn’t there, that I hadn’t come home.
Yeah, thanks.
There was no way I was going to tell him where I was. Tyler had come home from dropping off Robin and had hinted that I was to stay the hell away from her. He would be pissed if he found out I had been texting and making plans with her while I was listening to his lecture. I wasn’t offended by his warning. He was right—I shouldn’t be talking to her.
But I couldn’t help it. Nor could I help standing up and going down the hall to see if her bedroom door was open.
Moving silently, I picked my way carefully through the dark, knowing if she woke up and saw me watching her in the dark she was going to think I was a fucking creeper. Maybe I was. Did creepers know they were creepers? I felt normal enough, but hell, maybe I wasn’t. If abnormal is your normal, you feel normal, right?
Her door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open a little further so I could see her bed. There was a stream of moonlight coming from her window. She hadn’t closed her blinds. The light illuminated her curled up on her bed, on her side, her comforter wedged between her legs so that I could see the long shape of her calves and her thighs. She had changed into a tank top, and her hair spilled in dark layers across her white sheets.
Maybe part of me wanted her to wake up. Maybe I wanted to see fear in her eyes. Not because I wanted her to be afraid but because when someone is scared of you, you’re no longer vulnerable. They don’t have any power over you.
“What is it?” she whispered suddenly, surprising me.
She didn’t look awake. Even now, her eyes were still closed, and I wasn’t sure how she had known I was there. She definitely didn’t look afraid, and she clearly trusted me enough to keep her eyes closed.
Naive, that’s what she was.
It made me angry with her. What if I was there to hurt her? She’d be in serious trouble before she could even think to fight back. She needed to be smarter. Tomorrow I needed to talk to her about that.
“I can’t sleep,” I told her. “Sorry. I was just looking for company.” That was only half of the truth.
“Me either.”
“You look asleep.”
Her eyes finally opened, and her soft lips parted. “Am I talking in my sleep? Or dreaming then?”
I shook my head slowly. “No. I don’t think I would be the man of your dreams.” Then without waiting for permission or an invitation, I ignored the intent behind my words and went over to her bed.
She drew in her breath, startled, when I lay down next to her. How could I explain to her that I didn’t want to be alone? I couldn’t. So I just lay on my back and stilled my body so I wouldn’t scare her. “Do you mind?” I finally asked.
“No,” she whispered.
“Night.”
“Lift your head,” she said.
“What?” I turned and saw she had one of her pillows and she was offering it to me. I lifted my head and she tucked it behind me.
I looked away. God, this was so bad. Things were stirring in me, things that shouldn’t be.
Resolutely, I closed my eyes and counted backwards from one hundred. I got somewhere around fifteen when I lost consciousness.
Dreaming about Iggy, my mother’s latest piece-of-shit boyfriend, the knife in his hand when he threatened her, I felt the anxiety crawling up my spine, my fists clenching. When a hand touched my shoulder, I jerked awake and instinctively sat up, hand going out to grab the throat of my cellmate in warning to stay the fuck away from me.
Except I wasn’t in jail.
I was in Robin’s bed, and I was only inches from her throat with my outstretched hand. I dropped it quickly at the look of stunned horror on her face. “Sorry, sorry. Jesus, I’m sorry. I was dreaming. I thought I was still in jail.”
Her expression smoothed out. She was standing next to the bed, hair tumbling forward as she leaned over me.
“No, no, I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m sorry. I was just awake and going to make coffee and your phone keeps buzzing. I wasn’t being nosy, but when your screen lit up I could see that Tyler has texted you like four times.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Sorry.”
I shook my head, swallowing hard and tossing my hair out of eyes. I still felt groggy. “No, it’s cool. Thanks. I hope I didn’t scare you.” I knew I had, though. She had curled back up inside herself, and when I moved to push the sheet back, she flinched.
My thought had been that it would be easier if she was afraid of me, but it wasn’t. I despised it.
“No, it’s fine. Do you want coffee?”
“Sure. Thanks.” I searched her face. For what, I wasn’t sure. “You hungry? I could make you breakfast.”
“You cook?” Her arms dropped. “Really?”
I gave her a half smile, pleased that she seemed to have forgotten her fear. “It was either that or starve, so yes, I can cook. Sort of. I’m no Iron Chef, but whatever.”
“Oh. Cool. That would be great. I’ll start the coffee.”
Swinging my legs out of bed, I reached for my phone as she went down the hall. There were four texts from Tyler. He seemed to think I was in trouble since I hadn’t come back to the house. I appreciated the concern, but I wasn’t going back until Robin was sick of me. This might be my only chance to hang out with her.
It’s fine, bro. I’m with a girl.
He just didn’t need to know which girl.
She was in the kitchen, and now that she was wearing a tank top and tiny stretchy shorts, I could see her body much better than when she had been swimming in that T-shirt and denim shorts. It was enough to get my blood pumping without coffee. She didn’t seem to realize how hot she was though, just giving me a shy smile as she reached for two mugs, the tank riding up to expose her smooth skin.
Fuck.
I went into her fridge to see if there was any food in there at all I could do something with and to get a blast of cold air. Plus hide my hard-on.
“Do you ever eat?” I asked her, eyeing the pathetic selection in her fridge. It was mostly filled with condiments and string cheese. There were eggs, though, and a loaf of bread that when I squeezed it, felt a little stale.
“Of course I eat. I just don’t cook. I eat simple stuff.”
“Do you have syrup?”
“Yes. For my frozen waffles.”
“Those taste like cardboard,” I told her, pulling out the eggs and bread. “I’ll make you some French toast then.”
“Really?” She looked dubious.
“Sure, why not?”
As I cracked eggs into a bowl I found in the cupboard, she poured out the coffee. “Do you want cream and sugar?”
“No. Just black.”
“So do you have to do anything today?” she asked.
“No. I can find a ride home, don’t worry about it.” Even if I was making her breakfast, I had probably outstayed my welcome.
“I was just thinking that if you’re not busy, maybe we could go to Eden Park. There’s a free concert there, and I was going to go and sketch.”
My hand stilled as I was about to dip a slice of bread in the egg. “I don’t have any plans, no,” I said, my throat suddenly tight. “That sounds cool.”
She shifted a coffee mug toward me on the counter, and when I looked up at her, she was smiling. “I have an extra sketchbook if you want to borrow it.”
Oh damn, I was in trouble. If I had any sense at all, I would get the hell out of there and never come back. But a cactus isn’t going to tell a rainstorm to go fuck itself. I had never had anyone offer me this sort of innocent friendship. I wanted it like the greedy motherfucker that I was.
“Cool. Thanks.” Then I took a huge sip of my coffee, knowing I was going to scald the shit out of the roof of my mouth. I wanted to. I wanted the pain to ground me. “Shit,” I cursed, when the liquid burned tender flesh.
“Are you okay?” She looked alarmed. “Do you want some ice?”
“I’m fine.” Which wasn’t true at all. Focusing on scraping my tongue over the raw spot, I finished making the French toast, flipping it from one side to the other as it cooked, then dropping to the kitchen floor to do some sit-ups to burn off the anxiety I was feeling.
“What are you doing?” She gaped at me.
“Just some crunches.” I liked to sweat, to work out. It made me feel above my body. I pushed hard, knowing she probably thought I was a complete tool, but figuring this was the reality of it. I shouldn’t hide the fact that I was not a well-adjusted, middle-class college student like the guys she probably usually hung out.
But for some reason, she just bent over and touched my knees. “You’re moving too much. My high school track coach would make you redo all of those.”
“You were on the track team?” I asked, slowing down my crunches and sucking in some air. She was right. It was harder when you couldn’t move your legs at all.
“Yep. Distance runner.” Her hands were firm on my skin, showing the strength I didn’t expect her to have given she looked so fragile.
But as I bent up, my abs burning, I spotted using her lips, those perfect plump, cherry lips that made me want to suck on them. She was smiling, and she didn’t look vulnerable. She just looked beautiful.
“Think you can do a hundred?” she asked, the challenge in her voice unmistakable.
I would do it or die trying. “No problem.”
“Let me turn the burner off.” With one hand she reached back and turned the knob. “Okay. Go. One. Two.”
“I already did at least fifteen,” I protested.
She readily agreed. “You’re right. Okay, sixteen, seventeen.”
But somehow that meant I had a point to prove. When she reached a hundred, I was in pain and out of breath, but I pushed on to a hundred and fifteen to make up for the ones I copped an attitude about.
When I came to a stop, laying down on the cool floor, breathing hard, she eased her grip on my knees. “Wow, that was awesome. Good job.”
“Thanks.” I peeled myself off the floor, knowing I was going to be wincing every time I moved for the next two days. But at least I had proved I was badass. Mental eye roll.
Robin transferred the French toast to plates and put them on the table. I carried our coffee mugs behind her. The kitchen was huge, with one wall sporting a cutout that overlooked the stairs. Robin’s bedroom was on the third floor with the living room and a bathroom, but the kitchen and two larger bedrooms were on the second floor with another bathroom. Robin’s room was tiny, and it seemed to me that she had a lot of privacy even if the living room was down the hall from her, because how often would her roommates go out of their way to come upstairs? They would probably end up spending half their time hanging out in the kitchen.
The fact that she didn’t want to stay seemed to be a mystery to everyone and I was curious about it, but I wasn’t going to pry. She was respecting my privacy and not asking ten thousand questions about my record.. I could give her the same space.
“This tastes amazing,” she said enthusiastically as she took several bites. She ate quickly, but then seemed to fill up super fast. She was only halfway through one piece when she set her fork down and put her hand on her stomach.
“You done?” I asked her, raising my eyebrow.
She nodded. “I can’t eat too much at once, it gives me a stomachache.”
I had two pieces already, but I reached out and stabbed the remains of her piece. “I’m not letting that go to waste.”
She laughed. “Such a guy.”
“Last time I checked, yep.”
Robin’s nose scrunched up. “I’m going to take a shower if you don’t mind.”
“Nope.”
As she went upstairs I shoveled food and coffee into my mouth and tried not to think about her naked.
That worked for about five seconds then the hard-on was back with a vengeance. Five months was a long time to go without sex, and unlike some dudes, I wasn’t up for jacking off in my cell. Then the memory of prison brought a hot, metallic taste to my mouth, and I immediately lost my arousal.
A girl like Robin didn’t deserve to be tainted by me.
Which made me selfish.
But even knowing that, I still just stubbornly sat there and ate French toast.
Everyone was entitled to some fucking French toast now and then, weren’t they?
I thought so.
