“Yes, but that’s not all.” He stopped what he was doing and looked me in the eye, fighting to be strong, not wanting to look weak, and I respected the hell out of him for it. “When I was fourteen—it was right after my mom died. I was angry at the world. I tried to steal a candy bar at the grocery store. You were there. You bought it for me…and lunch, and I ran away from you.”
My stomach nearly dropped out. That I remembered more clearly. I didn’t know what it had been about that child that made me do it. It wasn’t every day I helped thieves, but something about him had reminded me of myself at his age—alone, angry.
“I remembered the name Dr. Kingsley from your name tag at the hospital, and you saved my mom that night, so I remembered your face. After the second incident, I looked you up.” His cheeks tinged pink.
What were the odds that I would meet this same boy three times? “Did you see me again? Other than at the restaurant the other night? Have you been following me?”
“What? No, oh God. I’m not a stalker!”
Maybe I shouldn’t have believed him, but I did. “I’m sorry about your mom.” The words made my chest tighten, brought back memories I tried to forget. There was nothing like losing a mother. I knew because I had lost my own and she had been my world—she and my little sisters.
“Thank you. She was…she was the best.”
I nodded, knowing we both wanted to be off this conversation as quickly as possible. “And Ian? A boyfriend?”
“No!” he rushed out.
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” I told him, figuring he didn’t remember our conversation at the bus stop. “I am.”
He grinned at my admission. This boy was definitely trouble.
“I’m not uncomfortable with being gay. That’s like one of the only things I’m not screwed up about. I don’t give a shit that I like men. You really do too?”
There was hope in his voice that I needed to squash. He was a kid, for God’s sake. “That’s irrelevant here.”
Oh, he didn’t like that answer. Finley rolled his eyes, and again, my hand itched, wishing I could spank him.
“Whatever. And no, Ian isn’t my boyfriend. We wouldn’t be compatible that way, if you know what I mean. We tried when we were younger…but yeah, we’re better as friends. Plus, he’s kind of seeing someone, this guy at his job. And he’s totally not my type. We were in a foster home together. We ran away together, and we’ve been best friends since. He’s my roommate.”
“Other family?”
“Grandparents. They didn’t want me when my mom died.”
I gritted my teeth. What in the hell was wrong with people?
The dryer buzzed, and Finley turned toward it, automatically going over, opening it, and folding the clothes. “Is it okay if I put them in the basket?”
“You don’t have to fold my laundry.”
“I want to,” he replied, again with the red in his cheeks. He was a delight, which I knew wasn’t what I was supposed to be thinking.
“Okay.” Maybe I should have said no, but I liked seeing him fold my things, and I liked giving him what he needed, and it was obvious he did—need it.
Finley went from the clothes back to the stove to finish cooking. “I figured spaghetti would be easy for you to reheat if you weren’t hungry. I made enough that you can have leftovers or…if you like, have a boyfriend or a husband or whatever.”
I nodded, not falling into the trap of answering that question.
“Did you lose your job?” I asked, with all the care I could. Finley tensed up…closed his eyes and turned away. It was all the answer I needed.
“I’ll find another one.”
“I know,” I soothed. “There are a lot of restaurants in the city looking for help.”
“In case you didn’t notice, I’m a shit waiter. I don’t know why because I’m decent in the kitchen and I like serving—I mean…” He shook his head. I knew exactly what he meant. One look was all it took to see the submissive in him, and if I hadn’t, how he’d done my laundry, dishes, and cooked for me would have told me of his need to serve.
“Do you have anyone…you do that for?” It was a completely selfish question. Not that I planned to do anything about it, and I told myself it was because I wanted to make sure he was okay. There were a lot of assholes in the world who would take advantage of someone like him.
“I…”
“No lying. You can trust me, Finley, and if you don’t feel comfortable telling me, say that. Don’t lie to me.”
He nodded, gave me his back, which wouldn’t do if he were mine, and began straining the pasta. “I don’t… I’ve never…but I want to. Do you think that’s weird?”
This precious boy would be the ruin of me. I knew it in that moment. I’d made how many absurd decisions where he was concerned? He was so damn innocent, but somehow worldly too. He knew how things worked and followed his instincts instead of running. And he was still alone…and still angry…and in many ways, I was too. Especially the alone part. “No, it’s not weird. Maybe some people think it is, and maybe society wants us to believe it is, but it’s not. Really, what’s more beautiful than what you want? To care and be cared for. To give your service and devotion to someone who deserves it. But they must deserve it.”
He paused, and I waited. A moment later, he turned to me. “Is that… Do you…”
“What I do isn’t important,” I replied, and he flinched as though I’d hit him. Part of me wanted to take the words back. To go to him and comfort him and give him those things he needed. He was legal, after all. But I knew I wouldn’t. I couldn’t be who he deserved.
“The food is ready. May I make your plate?” Finley asked, and my body went tight. Those words did things to me they shouldn’t—not with him.
“Yes,” I answered, even though I should have said no.
He fixed a plate for me and brought it over, but none for himself. “Do you feel like you can eat?” I asked.
“I’m not sure about the sauce.”
“Do the pasta with butter and a little bit of salt. We both need ice water. Then join me at the table.”
“Yes, Sir,” he replied with a smile, and I bit back a groan.
“I’m not your Sir.” Another flinch, but it was important he knew that.
Still, Finley did as I said, and a few minutes later we were at the table together, eating. I wasn’t hungry but knew it would hurt him if I didn’t eat, so I did for him.
“What is it you want, Finley?” I asked him when we were finished.
“Like, in life, or what?” He sounded so damn young.
“Yes,” I replied. “Or however you want to answer. If you want it, that’s what I mean.”
He nodded, took a drink, then said, “This. Like…what we did today? I want that. I don’t care about my diploma or college or anything like that. I want this…to like, take care of someone? I watch these videos…”
Porn. Of course it would come back to porn.
“…and I see these relationships where like, one of the guys is the other guy’s boy? And he just like, takes care of him. Of his home and you know…whatever his needs are. He fulfills those, and it gives him something too. I would get something out of that, I think. Something I couldn’t feel anywhere else. It would make me feel complete, or whatever? I don’t know how I know it, but I feel it right here.” He touched his chest. “Deep down. It’s something I know, so don’t tell me it’s stupid or that I’m too young, because I know what I feel, I know who I am.”