Serena
Walking through the park in heels and a microdress may not have been my best idea ever, but watching Austin balance ten bags of takeout as we approach the small homeless encampment on the far side doesn't suck.
He's grinning like he could do this all night. I'm sure he probably could. I watched a replay of his last game yesterday. The man has the stamina of a fucking Siberian Husky and the grace of a leopard. He's fascinating to watch.
He's even more fascinating to know. I keep telling myself that I'm not supposed to like him—that this date is simply what he blackmailed me into. But I think we both know that's a lie at this point. I do like him, dammit. Far more than is safe for me.
I should be running in the opposite direction after his little speech in the restaurant. Instead, I'm right here, hisfingers laced with mine as we go to pass out the fancy steak I forced him to buy.
I thought he'd balk about it. He didn't even bat a lash.
"Stick close to me," he murmurs, his voice a velvety purr in the dark. "Anthony has a history of drug abuse and alcohol addiction. He can get aggressive from time to time."
Anthony?What the fuck?
I don't get a chance to ask who Anthony is or how Austin knows anything about him before we reach the tree line and the tents come into view. My heart cracks at the sight of the small group gathered together on tattered lawn chairs in the center.
Encampments like theirs are common, and they never fail to break my heart. Back home, I spent a lot of time collecting donations to pass out. Since moving to DC, I haven't had nearly as much time to volunteer, but I still try to pass out food whenever I can.
If Austin had said no to helping tonight—not to buying the food but to passing it out—there wouldn't have been a second date.
An elderly man is sleeping, an open bottle of Jack in his lap. A guy my age, with long hair and an unkempt beard, plucks at the strings of an old, battered guitar. Three women and another man are whispering back and forth. They all look so fucking tired.
"You working on winning that Grammy yet, Dawson?" Austin asks, grinning at the guy with the guitar.
The whole group turns to look at us.
"Austin!" The guy with the guitar, Dawson, lights up, grinning. "What are you doing out here?"
I blink, surprised. They actually know each other.
"My girl here thought you guys might be hungry." He hoists the bags in his hand, returning Dawson's smile.
"Whatcha bring us?" A brunette in a torn coat asks, her eyes locked on the bags.
"A little of this, a little of that. Come see," Austin offers.
Dawson uses a tattooed knuckle to nudge the old man awake. "C'mon, Anthony. Chow time."
The man blinks awake, taking the bag Austin hands him without looking at anyone. "Thanks," he mumbles, the bottle of Jack still dangling in one hand.
Within seconds, the whole crew gathers, forming a loose circle around us, each of them clutching a bag like it might get up and walk away if they let go.
I hand out the last one to the brunette, who tears into it with the kind of hunger that makes my chest ache. She doesn't even bother with a fork, just uses her fingers, savoring every greasy, bloody bite of the steak.
"Where's Jett tonight?" Austin asks, glancing around the group.
Dawson chews, then swallows. "Cops picked him up yesterday, man. He was yelling about the satellites again."
"Fuck." Austin's expression darkens for a second, sadness in his eyes. "You know where they took him?"
"Took him back to St. E's," Dawson says.
"I'll check in on him," Austin promises. "Make sure they're taking care of him."
I look from him to the group, a weird ache twisting in my chest. He didn't just agree to help tonight. He knows these people. Not just their faces or their names, but them and their stories. Their struggles. He knows them, and he cares in a way the rest of the world forgot to care a long time ago.
I watch him interact with them for a long moment, trying to process this side of him and fit it into place with the infuriating man I know, the one willing to blackmail me into a date. He's still that man—I see it in his eyes—but he's more than that too.
