He wiggled around on his seat, pressing his thighs together. My boy was horrible at hiding his
arousal. I loved that about him. It was a huge turn-on to know simply caring for him was enough to
turn him on. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. But Friday I have to take my car so I can go to work from
class.”
“That’s fine. I don’t want to strip your independence, Sammy, I only want to help you where I
can,” I explained. He struck me as someone who fiercely guarded his self-reliance, and I wanted it
out in the open from the start that I wouldnevertry to take that away from him.
And I knew I’d have to remind myself that he had a life other than what we were doing when I got
too greedy. Until now, it had been easy for me to set up dates ahead of time, play, and go home. With
him, I was already fighting the urge to ask him if he wanted to bring more of his things over here so
we could spend all his free time together. He came to life when he was little, and it was a shame to
think there were times when that wouldn’t be feasible.
“Okay.”
Well, that wasn’t the answer I’d expected. I watched as he went back to the paper he was writing.
Every once in a while, he’d pause, scroll back, scowl and shake his head, then start typing again.
Even though he had the entire internet available to him, he still relied on the papers scattered all over
the table.
I got up and started digging through the cupboards to find something suitable for dinner. I wanted
it to be little-friendly so I wouldn’t pull him out of the happy space he’d found. The closest I had all
the ingredients for was spaghetti, so that would have to do. As I started browning the meat and boiling
water for the pasta, I considered how he’d react if I pulled out his special bowl and silverware. And
little boys liked to get messy, so he’d definitely need a bib.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I shook my head, unaware I’d actually been lookingathim. I’d been lost inside my imagination,
pleased with myself for coming up with a meal that was bound to get him messy once I cut down his
noodles into bite sized pieces. With any luck, we could talk about him sleeping over while we ate,
and then I could take him up for bath time and a story before I tucked him in.
“I was just thinking,” I told him. It wasn’t a lie andthinkingcovered a broad range of topics.
“Why don’t you get yourself to a stopping point so you can clean up, and then you can set the table.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bothered pulling out the placemats my sister-in-law swore I
