I knew that I was going to have to cut it eventually.
Shane might be frequently drunk, but he would notice eventually that his houseguest never took his hat off.
“Oh, yeah? From who?”
“Perverts, mostly.”
I shook my head and dropped the bag of peas back on his face, but I was smiling. Who would have thought I would be able to laugh at, well . . . anything, really. But he made me laugh. He didn’t try and make it sound like everything was okay. The big biker lying on the kitchen table was real.
And I really liked that about him.
“I guess it’s my turn to clean you up.”
I should have just left him there. He was a big boy. I figured he was seven or eight years older than me. And who knows, maybe booze would make him do something bad.
But I felt safe. I really did. And I didn’t want to leave him all bashed up like that. I couldn’t. There was something weird in me. A feeling I hadn’t had since I was little and my mom was crying on the couch every day after my real dad left.
I wanted to take care of someone else.
I wanted to take care of Shane.
I grabbed the first aid stuff he’d used on me the first night and washed my hands. Then I pried the bottle of tequila from his bloody hand.
“Jesus, Shane.”
He wasn’t joking about the other guys looking worse. His hand looked worse than his face. He must have doled out a massive beating, or twelve. I clucked my tongue and filled a bowl with warm water.
“Sit up.”
He sat up and smiled at me stupidly. The alcohol fumes coming off him almost knocked me over.
I took a swig from his bottle.
“Bad boy.”
“Who, me?”
I still wasn’t used to being referred to as a boy, but Shane made it seem normal. He treated me like a kid brother. It was nice.
I took his hand, ignoring the thrill that went through me when our skin met. I felt an actual zap, but one more pleasant than a shock from static electricity.
Much, much more pleasant.
Get a grip, Parker. You are a boy. You are a teenage boy.
Think about boobs or something.
I lowered his hand into the bowl of water and went to get a washcloth. I soaped it up and gently began washing his hand. Then I rinsed the bowl and filled it with cold water and ice.
He grunted as I lowered his hand back in.
“Smart. You’re smart.”
I shrugged and got another soapy washcloth for his face. I leaned in, uncovering his wounds bit by bit. I was so focused that I didn’t realize he was staring at me.
Not at me.
At my lips.
“Jesus, you smell good, kid.”
I swallowed.
“Don’t get all pervy on me now,” I whispered, even though I had this crazy idea. I really kinda wanted him to kiss me.
He howled laughter and the tension was broken.
“I’m not into boys. Especially not underage ones.”
“Good.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that. My brother was gay.”
I looked at him. Was. He’d said ‘was’.
“He’s gone?”
“He was killed,” he said, the pain evident in his voice.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded in acknowledgement, quiet now. I dabbed some antiseptic on his split lip, a cut on his cheekbone, and another across the bridge of his nose.
“Thank you.”
There it was again. His total focus was on me. On my eyes this time.
There was nothing sexual in his gaze. Nothing to set off my alarm bells. But there was something there. Something more than I’d expected. He cared about me, I could feel it.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t stop hoping he would kiss me.
Never going to happen, Parker.
I broke away and took another swig of his liquor. I knew it wasn’t ladylike, but I’d learned to relish the sting and heat of a strong drink since I ran off. It numbed the pain, emotional and physical, as well as staving off hunger and loneliness.
If only I could have lasted another six months. I could have gotten a job, figured stuff out. Maybe even gotten into college, despite my flagging grades. I would have had options.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t take one more day under that roof.
I couldn’t have handled one more second.
Instead, I was hiding out, disguised as a boy and swigging tequila in a rustic shack in the middle of nowhere with the one person I actually wanted to want me and who never would.
Uh-oh. Maybe this pit stop was a mistake. I was starting to realize I was in real trouble here. Shane would be mad if he found out I’d been lying to him. The last thing I wanted was to make him mad.
And what if by some miracle, he did want me back once he figured it out? Could I handle someone like him? He was a man, and I was a scrawny almost nineteen-year-old virgin. Even worse, what if he didn’t?