He leans his head into the back of the chair and roars. I just thought Miss Jez was loud. His teeth look exceptionally white against his olive skin. He physically lights a room. It’s fascinating.
When he finally catches his breath, he sputters, “I’ve been holding back for you, trust me.”
My heart quickens and I cross my legs. He makes me feel things I don’t recognize.
“And I can assure you, I am not pure!” And then he dies laughing again, but tries to contain it when he notices I’m not laughing with him. “But the lack of ego—that’s a huge compliment. It’s also completely untrue, but it would be nice to think that’s what comes across.” He gives me a gentle smile that turns into more of a grimace. “I’ve got plenty of skeletons.”
“Don’t we all. I’m not used to men towering over me. What are you—six foot five, six foot six?”
“Six-six, I think?”
“Are you a gym rat—do you lift weights for hours every day?” I smirk.
He tries to wipe off his smile with his hand but it doesn’t go away. “You ask more questions than I do.”
It’s weirding me out, too, but I can’t seem to stop.
“Uh, no, I don’t lift weights for hours every day, but I try to do some kind of exercise—whether it’s catching a game with the guys or lifting for a while.” He tilts his head toward me. “What about you?”
“How did you get that scar on the back of your neck?” I whisper.
His smile falters, but he doesn’t hesitate. “My dad liked to hit with hard objects.”
“I’m sorry.” I bite the inside of my mouth and go for it. “What about the one on your forehead?”
“Aw, you noticed that one too? I was hoping my striking good looks would cancel that one out.” His eyes are especially bright when he teases.
“Ahhh, there’s the ego.” I laugh.
“Can’t have you thinking I’m perfect,” he says.
You’re the closest thing to perfect I’ve ever seen. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say it, but, fortunately, I don’t. I’ve allowed myself to get too comfortable. Something has changed for me about him, and I know it isn’t smart. I’m alarmed with how quickly I’ve let my guard down.
“Am I sleeping with you tonight?” I ask.
He looks like I’ve slapped him. A measure of shame fills me, but I don’t let it penetrate. This is how I survive. It will help categorize him with every other man if we have sex.
“Lili…” He sounds wary.
“Aren’t you tired of the couch by now? It’s no secret I sell my body. I never offer it for free, but with you, since I like what I see, and you’ve been so good to me, I’m willing to make an exception.” I lick my lips and he watches my every move. “It’s the only way I can properly thank you.” I walk to his chair and kneel in front of him. He doesn’t breathe. My hands trail his legs and up to his zipper, brushing over him. I lift an eyebrow. His eyes close. “It doesn’t take much to make you happy.”
I’ve barely unzipped anything when he shakes my hands off and stalks to the kitchen. He runs his hands through his hair and puts both hands on the ceiling.
I stand, stunned.
He turns to the refrigerator, grabbing a bottled water. “Would you like one?” he asks, holding it up.
Ever the gentleman.
When I don’t answer, he opens the bottle and guzzles it. All of it. He crumples the bottle and tosses it in the garbage.
He walks over and grabs my hand. My stomach falls in double-time, excited and terrified. He leads me to his bedroom and carefully places me on the bed. Then he walks to the door.
“You’re still taking the bed. I’m still on the pull-out couch. All good in our own beds. I’ll be up early in the morning, and we can talk about this then. Night.”
He shuts the door before I can say a word.
I fall back on the bed and tears trail back into my hair. I’ve messed everything up, but it was just too scary to keep going the way it was. It felt too sweet. Too close to something I could covet if I let myself. I got a glimpse of what being normal feels like, and had to force it back to what I’m comfortable with. Back to pretending. I’ll make sure it stays that way.
Chapter Seven
LILITH
Sometimes it takes stepping through a door to realize it was only the first of many.
The nightmares come that night. After waking up in a cold sweat twice, I quietly walk to the kitchen to get a drink. Soti’s head lifts when he hears me.
“Sorry to wake you. Just getting a drink of water,” I tell him.
“You okay? I’ve heard you from here, talking in your sleep.” His voice is raspy.
“Bad dreams, no big deal.”
“Come here,” he leans up on one elbow, “tell me about them.”
I get water for both of us and walk over. I sit down on the mattress, feeling the heat of his chest on my leg. He looks up at me and my heart drops into my lap. He’s devastating with his sleepy eyes and wild hair.
“Just the st-standard,” I stutter. “Being chased.”
“I hate those,” he says. “Or when I dream I’m falling.”
“Yeah…”
“Do you ever try to change your dreams?” he asks. “Or envision things you want to dream?”
“I usually can’t remember dreams at all,” I admit. “And I don’t like to get my hopes up, so … to hope for things I have no control over … no. Do you?”
“All the time.”
“And does it work?”
“Sometimes,” he whispers. “Not enough, though.” He takes my hand and his fingers link through mine.
I wonder if he can smell my fear.
“You’re safe, Lili. Lie down. We’ll sleep. That’s all. I hate bad dreams,” he adds.
I gingerly stretch out beside him, careful not to touch him. He nixes that by putting his arm around me and curling me into his chest. I’m asleep within minutes.
I wake up before he does and don’t dare move. My arms and legs are wrapped around him, and he feels like heaven. I don’t want to wreck it, so I keep my eyes closed and try to go back to sleep.
His breathing changes and I’m sure he’s awake. His nose brushes my head and he breathes in deeply. I fight to keep still. Then his fingers trail down my arm and I shiver.
“Chilly?” he asks.
“No,” I whisper.
“How did you sleep?” he whispers back.
“So good. You?”
“Better than ever.”
My lips curve up on his chest and he chuckles.
“Soti?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s peaceful here.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I don’t typically sleep with men,” I tell him. “It was nice.”
He starts to say something but stops, and I nestle deeper into his neck.
“You smell good.” I bury my face before I giggle like a kid.
I can hear the smile in his voice. “Not as good as you.”
“I’m sorry about last night.” My voice falters, but I try to keep going. “I just … it’s what I…” I shake my head. “I suck at pillow talk. Can you tell I’ve never done this?” I can’t tell which of our hearts is pounding harder.
He touches my hand tentatively and winds his fingers through mine. My heart is definitely the one pounding the hardest.
“You don’t owe me anything. You know that, right? None of this has been to get you to have sex with me.”
And because I think he might mean it, my heart decides to have a mind of its own.
Restlessness kicks in after weeks of not doing much. I haven’t forgotten the sounds of the gunshots, but I can’t live in hiding forever, either. After Soti has checked on me a second time that afternoon, I tuck all of my hair into one of his hats and go downstairs with him. He goes to a meeting while I hang out with Miss Christine and the kids. She runs the after-school program and just being near her is calming. The kids hang on her ever
y word. When Soti comes back later, I’m sitting by a little girl named Morgan and we’re coloring a picture. He gets a funny expression on his face, watching us. Miss Christine winks at him and then looks at me, blushing when she realizes I’ve caught the exchange. He bites the inside of his jaw and stares at me. I wish I could see his thoughts.
He bends down and smiles at the little girl. “Nice picture. Is this your first day here?”
She nods. “Thanks. Yes,” she answers with a lisp. “Morgan.” She points to her colorful yarn necklace nametag.
“Well, you got the star treatment on your first day, Morgan, getting to color with this lady.” He stands and we both tilt our heads way back to look at him.
“I like it here,” Morgan says.
“Me too,” I whisper to Morgan, but I look at Soti when I say it.
He starts sweating. I’ve noticed in the apartment he’ll pull out a cigarette and twist it around when he gets nervous. I haven’t seen him smoke and he hasn’t smelled like smoke. Maybe he’s trying to quit. He flips one around absentmindedly and puts it back in his pocket before anyone else likely realizes what he’s doing.
“I’d like to help in the kitchen tonight,” I tell him.
“I … I’m not sure that’s a great idea.” He leans in closer so the kids can’t hear. “We need to keep you safe. I know all the regulars, and, for the most part, I trust them, but money makes people do crazy things.”
“I’ll stay out of the way. I know you need help. Miss Jez told me how busy it gets during the dinner hour.”
“You’re not exactly one who can fade into the background.”
I’ve been paid countless compliments, but they’ve never meant anything. I already know the sweet things he says will linger in my memory long after I leave.
I tap my hat. “I’ll keep this on and wash dishes in the back or something.”
I finish helping Miss Christine clean up after the kids leave and head to the kitchen. Once I round the corner, I feel the heatwave. The kitchen is at least twenty degrees hotter than the rest of the building. Miss Jez fans her face with a pot holder and jumps when the timer buzzes.
“I’ll get that.” Soti puts his hands on her arms and gently moves her aside while he takes the pans out of the oven.
“Thank ya, honey.” She fans him with the pot holder then pauses to look over the food on the stove. “The red beans and rice is jes’ right, not too runny, not too thick.” She notices me then and they both look so happy to see me, I melt.
Soti takes a bite of the hot sausage she’s uncovering and she glares at him.
“I can’t get anything past her.” He winks at me.
“Now is not the time—you’d eat me out of house and home if you could!” Her belly shakes with each chuckle. “Go ahead and open them doors. It’s time.”
I move toward the sink and start washing pans, so those in line can’t see me. Miss Jez piles food on plates as fast as she can. Soti serves the bread pudding and gives an extra dollop of the sauce when Miss Jez isn’t looking. JT comes in to help a few minutes after they begin serving. They have quite the operation going here. When everyone has gone through the line, Miss Jez makes a plate for me and they go out to eat with everyone.
Before Soti goes out, he stops by the sink. “I’ll help finish the dishes once it clears out. Enjoy your dinner while it’s hot or you’ll have to live with the wrath of Miss Jez.”
I smile and nod. He leaves and I get caught up in the sounds of everyone visiting with one another. At D’amour, Tricia or Lexy would usually bring me a plate of whatever they’d made and I’d eat between appointments. Even on Sundays, no one hung around the house to eat together. I take a huge bite of a biscuit and moan—I certainly never indulged in carbs. I could get used to this.
Once everyone leaves and we finish cleaning the kitchen, Miss Jez adds to the ongoing tally of meals they’ve served since opening: 3,405.
“It’s really remarkable what you’ve done here,” I tell Soti.
His eyes brighten. “Thank you. I know what it’s like to need a little help.”
“I can’t imagine. I’ve gone through a lot, but I’ve always had food and a roof—a nice roof—over my head.”
“You’d be surprised how quickly you learn to adapt. When I first saw you, I—” he stops and rubs his fist over his mouth.
“What?” I press when he doesn’t say anything else.
He looks away. “I thought you might be homeless.”
“Why? Because I was willing to leave with that jerk?”
“That wasn’t the first time I saw you.”
My mouth drops open, but I don’t ask anything else; I’m scared to know. I’ve been working this city for a long time. Whatever he’s seen can’t be good.
He places a finger between my brows and smooths. “You look so worried.”
“What do you normally do after this?” I reach for anything to recover and he looks relieved.
“Rush to the apartment to see you, lately.” He grins. “Just depends on the night. Basketball sometimes. You like to play?”
“No, but sounds fun. You’re probably good, right?”
He lifts a shoulder. “If I say I am, you’ll take back what you said about my ego.”
“I need to retract that statement anyway…”
“Yeah, you were setting the bar high with that one,” he teases.
I laugh and he tugs the bill of my hat lower.
“You should laugh more often,” he says. “Makes you even more beautiful, if that’s possible.”
I look away, heart stuttering. We reach his door and he leans against it, studying me.
“I … wondered if you might like to go pick up some furniture for the apartment tonight. We can get it set up next door for you,” he says.
My face falls and he stands up straight. I can’t seem to hide what I’m thinking from him.
“Or we don’t have to go anywhere, if you’re not in the mood. God knows I don’t want you out of my apartment … ever,” he says, running out of breath from talking so fast.
I look up at him shyly and smile.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep that look on your face.” He puts an arm around my shoulder and unlocks the door. “Anything to make you stay.”
“You haven’t pulled a cigarette out of your pocket for at least an hour. You trying to quit?”
We’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch and he’s been more at ease the past hour than he’s been the whole time I’ve been here.
“Ugh,” he groans. “I’m that obvious?”
“No, I don’t think anyone else even notices.”
“I’ve been struggling with it again … lately,” he admits. “Miss Jez will have my hide if she so much as smells a hint of it.” He chuckles and leans his head back. “I started smoking at fifteen to piss off my parents and ended up addicted. My dad had a huge following in Greece. He was this charismatic man who attracted people wherever he went. When we came here, he became a big tele-evangelist in Baton Rouge. As his son I was expected to be a bright, shining example of perfect behavior. What a load of crap. I was—and still am—as far from perfect as my father was.”
I’m intrigued now, knowing the little he’s said about his dad hasn’t been positive.
“I quit the first time when they died a year later. But I didn’t last long. Losing my sister—part of me died with her. Astra was my whole world. No matter what was going on at home, we stuck together. She was three years older than me and also sick of trying to be perfect.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “She lashed out at my parents long before I did. The months before she died, she was getting into more trouble. I started following her everywhere, worried. She hated it.” He turns to me then, but his eyes are distant. “It’s how I knew where to go after she died. I did all the things I begged her not to do, tried every drug I could get my hands on.”
He’s quiet for a long time and I finally get the nerve to speak. “How did you stop?”
/>
“One night I was looking to score, and one of my friends hunted me down. Sam, the older guy who usually slept in the same old abandoned building as I did, was asking for me. We found him leaning against the outside of the building. Both eyes were swollen and blood poured out of a gash on his head. He’d gotten into a fight and I wanted to take him to the clinic, but he kept saying no. He asked me to talk to him until he fell asleep. I don’t know how long I sat there with him. Stories just poured out of me that I’d forgotten. His eyes were closed, and his breathing became more labored.” He looks at me as if he’s just remembered I’m there. “Have you ever seen anyone die?”
I picture Bentley and shudder. He was already dead, though, by the time I saw him. I shake my head.
“I expected a big gasp for air, and it was like that the last hour, but my experience has been that it’s on a quiet exhale that people finally leave. That last breath just sort of dissolves into eternity.”
We sit quietly, respecting this moment.
When he speaks again, his voice is hushed. “Everything stilled. The air, the rustling leaves, the branch that scratched against the window. Silence. I’m not sure how much time passed before I wrenched my hand out of his and whispered in his ear: ‘All things new…’ I walked away, got clean, and never looked back. That was five years ago.”
“It’s remarkable that you could walk away from your addictions, especially after all you went through with your dad, and losing your family. It’s even more remarkable that everything I’ve seen of you seems loving and accepting.”
He nods. “I hope so. It’s taken time, but I’m glad that’s what shows. I didn’t want any part of the hypocrisy I’d seen growing up. Where love was spoken about but not given. Just hate and more hate. No, thank you. I didn’t have any answers; I just knew how I didn’t want to be. Some days I think this city might drown me. For every JT I’ve helped there are three Sams. Sorry, soapbox.”