I can't meet his eyes as I hand him the sandwich.
"The rooms? The backyard?"
"I'm sorry," I start, eager to fix my mistake. "I figured you're going to be here for a while because of your cast, and I'm not using those rooms, so it's not like I care if they want to paint the walls or buy new bedding...."
I'm rambling, but he covers my knee with his hand. "I can't exactly take care of them in this state..." he says, motioning down his leg.
"But, I can."
"You'd do that?"
"What? Feed and hang out with two of the coolest kids I've ever met?" I shrug. "It's not like it's hard." I mean, I'm sure it's more challenging than I'm given him credit for, but we'll manage. I'm in this now - for good - which means showing up for his little people, too. We'll figure it out.
His hand fists the front of my shirt, dragging me towards him. I barely register and toss my plate onto the coffee table before I'm dragged up his body. I carefully lean on his good leg as he drags my mouth to his. The kiss starts out needy and passionate,but dissolves into soft licks and sweet moans. We make out for what could be minutes or hours, I don't really know and I don't really care. I'm hard, but this moment feels more like a reconnection - an understanding between two men.
It feels like home.
Chapter twenty-four
Gareth
After we made out like teenagers, Trey kissed me on the forehead and tucked me in for the night. The couch isn't the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but I manage to get a few hours of sleep. I don't know if it's the couch or the hundreds of questions I have that keep me up all night.
Why didn't he take things farther? Is he seriously going to take care of my kids when they come for my time? Does he know what he's getting himself into? Is he reallyreallychoosing me? The alcoholic single dad?
Me being in the closet was a deal breaker for him before, but did that change?
The next morning, Trey brings me a cup of coffee and a kiss before heading into the kitchen to make breakfast. I feel terrible that I can't help and that he's forced to wait on me, but I'd do the same for him in a heartbeat, if it was him in this cast.
"Thank you," I say as I take the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, but my stomach is in knots with unanswered questions.
So, I blurt out the first one I can think of before I chicken out. "Are you still working?"
I don't know his financial situation, if he can afford to quit or not, or if he's even willing to. All I do know is that it would kill me to watch him walk out of that door, knowing he was going to be intimate with someone else. I'm not sure I could handle that. No. I know I wouldn't be able to.
He settles into the chair next to the couch, his own plate of eggs and bacon in his lap, but the look he's giving me gives nothing away.
But when he answers that, yes, he is still working, my stomach hollows out. Blood rushes through my ears, giving me a buzzing sensation in my head. It's so loud, I almost don't hear the rest.
"I've kept my photography clients, but cancelled my escort ones. It didn't seem fair to you to ask you to be loyal while not giving you the same in return."
"Wait. What?"
His lips tip up in a lopsided grin. "My boyfriend's a little possessive, if you don't remember."
I understand all of the words coming out of his mouth but it's as if my brain won't process them. I knew he was a photographer, but I had no idea he did it professionally.
"Speaking of..." he says, setting the plate down on the coffee table and walking into the home office I caught a glimpse of earlier. When he returns, he gently lifts me by my shoulders so he can slide onto the couch behind me, placing a laptop on my lap and wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
What I see on the screen takes my breath away.
It's me.
It's me at my apartment. He's done something to the exposure to make it dark and moody and sexy, and the angle has the lighting caressing every muscle and divot on my body. It's sexy and moody as hell.
"Wow."
He flips to a few more, all of me, in different positions, all masterfully edited. Somehow, he's made me look like a model. Maybe not one of those skinny, effeminate models, but like a classical work of art.