He pushes my arm, playfulness returning to his demeanor. “Do you even know how to cry?”
“I cry every time Bambi’s mom dies,” I deadpan.
His cackle-giggle is the best sound in the world; I love the idea of being able to make him laugh like that. I put my arm around his shoulder again and pull him into my side, laughing until I think about the reality of his situation, and then my stomach clenches all over again. “Holy shit, so when you got back…”
“I was pretty much immediately homeless and jobless, and just didn’t realize all of that makes it nearly impossible to get a job.”
“Doesn’t the GI Bill offer housing assistance?”
“Sure. Which I’d turned down because—”
Oh, duh. “You already had a place to stay. Couldn’t you request it after you realized what had happened?”
“I did, but the waitlists are long, so I started sleeping on friends’ couches and the occasional night in my car. I kept thinking,I’ve got this. I’ve got this.But I eventually had to sell my car, at some point I couldn’t even afford the minutes for my phone, and I was starting to feel like I’d overstayed my welcome at my friends’ house, so I started supplementing with overnights at ARCH, when I could get in.”
“It’s overcrowded a lot, though,” I say out loud, thinking of his face when he’d been turned away. Fuck, he faced that every single day.
“Yeah, and you have to wait in line practically all afternoon just to get in.”
“That’s why you liked the early shift.” He dips his head. “How are you supposed to find work or go to school?”
His smile is sad.
“Ah.” The logistics of poverty are fucking brutal. “So, when you went to the job fair?”
“I slept over by the library with a bunch of other job fair folks.”
“And when you came in for the interview?”
“I’d considered sleeping behind your dumpster, but a buddy of mine was holding my place in line at ARCH, so I went back.”
“Hmm. If you’d stayed behind the dumpster, you wouldn’t have been late on your first day of work.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Sorry, hoss. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
“Not funny.”
“You’re the one who made the joke.”
I tap my chest. “Regrets.”
“No, no regrets.” Elijah pulls me on top of him, and I am so grateful, no matter how undeserving, for the warmth and kindness of this amazing man.
Our kisses deepen, as does the sweetness. I’d gotten so use to transactional fixes that, for a moment, I’d forgotten how nice it is to make love to someone, and to know that they’re working as hard as they can to show you how much they care for you. I worship his body with my mouth and my tongue, and with each kiss I make a promise to protect him, to take care of him. Elijah’s moans underneath me tell me I am doing the right thing.
I stroke his gorgeous body, tracing his tattoos with my fingers and tongue. “One of these days, I want to feel you without anything between us.”
His chest flushes and he turns his head to the side. “Me too. Maybe we can go to the clinic together next week.”
My hands trace the flush and feel the heat under his skin. “It’s a date.”
Elijah smiles and tickles my sides as I kiss him into the mattress. I’m turned on but want to stay in this intimate space for a bit longer, and his hands drifting down my back, grabbing my ass, feel like heaven. He releases his grip and starts a slow, sensual swirling of his fingers over my ass, the skin prickling with each soft sweep. He tickles over the furrow, and I instinctively arch against the touch, wanting, needing more.
His fingers pause, and I move my kisses from his mouth to his neck to avoid the curious eyes that I’m sure will follow.
“Uh,no. You’re going to tell me whatthatwas about.”
Shit.
