Beau just laughs, heading back inside the house without a care in the world. “I said no, sweetheart.”
“What does that mean?” I call after him.
He pauses halfway up the porch stairs. A careful, heated look is aimed at me over his shoulder. “You don’t know what no means?”
“Beau!” I gasp in shock, laughing at his seriousness.
“We’re dating, sweetheart. Call me old fashioned but I don’t fuck on the first date. You can wait.”
I watch, mouth ajar, as he walks steadily into the house, without another look my way. What does he mean? He doesn’t expect…? There’s no way… how long does dating go on in thispart of the country? Because I don’t think I can wait too long to have his hands on me again.
Breathless and panting, I burst through the back door of the house. Calmly standing at the counter, Beau patiently sorts a small pile of mail. He sends a curious look my way, but otherwise doesn’t pay me any attention.
“Beau, you can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious,” Beau says matter-of-factly.
“Beau.”
“Trevor.”
“Not sweetheart anymore?”
Beau turns and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest in contemplation. “I told you what I want. You’re going to stay here in the guest room, we’ll date, and I’ll woo you. We can talk about physical intimacy in a bit.”
My jaw drops. “You’re actually serious? Why? Why does this matter to you?”
“We skipped a lot of the beginning,” Beau explains carefully. “I want to do it all over the right way. Date you, know you, love you, and then I’ll make love to you. Think you can be patient with me, sweetheart?”
I blow a raspberry in frustration, which only makes Beau’s eye twitch, and a smile curl up the edges of his lips. Visibly fighting laughter, Beau winks at me, before returning to his pile of mail. This is going to be a journey that I know will set the tone for our life together.
“Alright.”
“Good,” Beau says, then comes towards me to pull me into his arms. He sways us a little in the kitchen, hands firm on my hips. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. You trust me?”
I kiss him on the corner of the mouth. “With my life.”
“First things first, we’ll get the bedroom set up for you. You brought enough stuff to get you by for a few weeks?”
“About that…” I trail off and rub awkwardly at my neck. “I rode with Jackson and Benji… I just have a duffle bag. But there’s nothing for me left in Georgia. There’s my apartment but it’s mostly empty… I don’t have much.”
Beau just blinks at me for a few agonizing moments. “You don’t have much?”
Time to keep confessing, I guess. “I make decent money with the agency but between paying for school and donating half my income… there’s not much left over. My apartment is small. All I have really is clothing and that was solely for being a boyfriend.”
“What do you mean donating half your income?” Beau asks, eyes scrutinizing in a way that could probably take me apart, piece by piece.
I anxiously fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, unable to hold his gaze. “There’s this fund that accepts donations for my parents' victims. I donate half my income which ends up being about a hundred thousand dollars a year. It’s not much but it’s the most I can do.”
“How much have you donated over the years?”
I swallow loudly. “Probably around half a million.”
“Christ, Trevor.” Beau shakes his head, then aims a miserable look my way. “Do your parents know this?”
“No,” I answer with a bitter laugh, shaking my head firmly. The idea of them knowing is beyond anxiety inducing.
Beau ignores that, seemingly sensing my dropping mood. “Your small car?”
