“I’m out of cash.” He shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie, and I didn’t like that answer. I hoped the people who ran the shelter were at least feeding him one meal a day, but I wasn’t certain how all that stuff worked. I’d never bothered to learn about most of the resources the city had for the homeless because it generally wasn’t my problem. An unhappy sensation twisted in my chest. I didn’t want Ari to become unhealthy—he was far too interesting.
“Follow me.”
He stayed right on my heels as I took him through what had originally been listed as a dining room, but I’d turned it into a home gym because I rarely had anyone over, and the people who did visit were cops and couldn’t care less about decor. He stared around at the weights and equipment as we moved into the kitchen. I kept things spotless because I hated a mess, and by the way he nodded at my clutter-free counters, I thought he approved. I opened the stainless-steel fridge and eyed up the stacks of plastic containers that were four deep and three tall on the top two shelves. The bottom shelf held my favorite brand of beer—Pilsner Urquell. I’d switched away from cheaper brands over the years and found the men on the force respected something pricier—even if they made fun of it. Other people were confusing, and I liked that Ari didn’t talk a lot for no reason or make things more complex than they needed to be.
I grabbed a container full of chicken and one that was a salad, then handed them both to him.
“Thank you,” he said, voice flat. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, if anything.
I snatched the Italian dressing out of the fridge and set it on the small table, then grabbed a fork for him and did the same. He studied the boxes before he opened them and dumped the cubed chicken onto the salad.
Ari glanced at the fridge. “What’s going on there?”
“Did you see inside?” I asked, anxiety crawling through me. I knew most people didn’t live the way I did, but he wasn’t the same as everyone else. He wouldn’t ask why I didn’t havenormalthings like ketchup and mustard and mayo and—I shuddered—ranch dressing.
“Yeah.” But he didn’t exclaimhow odd, or any of the other reactions I’d gotten over the years, just opened the Italian dressing and drenched his salad.
“Do you want to know why I do that?” I asked, leaning against the counter. I tugged on the hem of my black T-shirt to smooth out a wrinkle.
He nodded without glancing up at me, and I studied the line of his jaw and appreciated his masculine beauty. It was easy to see how he used his appearance to reel people in.
“If I don’t have a strict diet set up, I eat pure junk. I want it, and I frequently deny my impulses. I indulge once a week.”
Ari nodded as if that made total sense, and plenty of people had food issues and might understand, but I suspected my problem went beyond what the average person dealt with.
He cleared his throat. “I eat a lot of junk food, but it’s more necessity than choice.” He stuffed a forkful of salad into his mouth and smiled while he chewed.
“I bet.”
He swallowed and glanced at me. “Food’s not my thing. I don’t care what I eat as long as I’m not hungry anymore.”
“What is your thing?”
He tilted his head, but a small, genuine smirk spread across his face. “You’ve seen.”
Excitement raced around in my belly. This was fun and felt kind of dangerous. I let myself stare at Ari while he ate because I wanted to do it, and I doubted he would get uncomfortable with me looking the way someone else would. He didn’t say anything, simply devoured his food and stared right back. It was odd but nice. I’d never had this type of peaceful moment with anyone.
“I caught you.”
Ari licked his fork and set it in the empty salad container. My cock took hopeful notice of his flexible pink tongue, but I ignored it. “You did. Now what will you do with me?” He raised an eyebrow.
I actually laughed and couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that when I wasn’t performing for people. “Are you worried about what I might do?”
He slid the container out of his way and rested his elbows on the table. “Worried isn’t the right word.” There was some unexpected warmth in his tone that had me sucking in a deep breath.
“Do you think I might arrest you, now that I know what you are?”
He shook his head, and a thoughtfulness passed across his expression that made his dark eyes even more attractive. “If you wanted me out of the picture, I doubt you would try to use the law to get rid of me. There are so many more appealing options.”
The words, said in his cool tone, did something pleasant to me, and all at once I was aware of my cock plumping in my pants. I let out a breath and shifted my stance to try to get more comfortable. I’d never been able to truly speak what was on my mind, had been filtering my language to be appropriate almost my entire life. I walked over to him, then circled the table while he watched me until I stopped behind him. We played a game of chicken for a moment, until he finally broke and turned just enough to keep me in sight.
“Are you worried I’ll kill you?” I ran my fingers through his hair. Despite the fact that he was homeless, the strands were clean and soft.
“I wouldn’t say the idea stresses me. I would fight back. It would be... interesting.”
“Good. I don’t want to hurt you.” I pulled out a chair but hesitated to sit, since he was finished with his food. I didn’t want this to end, but I was so busy studying him that I couldn’t conjure up ideas of what normal people usually did when they wanted to keep talking to someone. I must’ve waited too long because he got up and took his empties to the sink, along with the silverware.
“Do you want to see something I’ve never shown anyone else?” I felt like a kid with a brand-new friend, one who wouldn’t think I was weird or said the wrong things, and it was excruciating to wait for his answer. I held my breath.
