Have I been reading this wrong all morning? Is he suggesting what I think he’s suggesting? I glance at the newspaper. My stomach twists.
He rests his hand over mine. “It’s too soon for us to live together,” he says gently, killing that thought before I even express it. “But I gotta be honest—the place you live in isn’t safe and I don’t feel right about it.”
I blink and sit back.
“I don’t like my woman living somewhere she’s not safe.” He points to the paper. “This place is five minutes from your job. Nice neighborhood.”
Still too flabbergasted to speak, I stare at the listing.
“You know, you can just look these up online now. You didn’t have to go buy the paper.”
“Just look at it,” he growls. “No need to remind me I’m old as fuck.”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” I mumble, scanning the first listing he’s circled. My eyes bug when I read how high the rent is.
“I can’t afford this place.” I push the paper toward him.
He runs his hand over his freshly inked chest, absently scratching. I lean over the counter, gently prying his hand away. “Stop. Let it heal.”
“Oh. Damn.” He glances down and almost seems embarrassed. “Forgot.” He captures my fingers and dips his head to kiss my knuckles. “Thank you.”
I’m about to swoon right out of my chair if he keeps that up.
“I’ll pay for the apartment,” he says.
“Huh?” He’s still holding my hand, rubbing it between his palms. I squirm in my seat. Whoever heard of getting turned on by holding hands?
“Oh. Right. Apartment.” I take another glance at the listing. It’s a two-bedroom. He actually listened when I explained about my side hustle. Sure, he had no idea what I was talking about, but it didn’t matter. He understood it was important to me.
Damn.
“You’ll still have the space you need,” he adds.
“It’s not that.” I duck my head. “I can’t have you pay for my apartment like I’m some…kept mistress or something. I can’t.”
“Serena,” he pleads.
His touch is too distracting. I pull my hand away. “What if we…don’t work out?” I ask. “Then I’ll be homeless and need a place to live. I can’t go through so much upheaval.” I’ve had enough in my life.
“I won’t…I wouldn’t kick you out on the street, Serena.” His voice has a hard edge, like he’s deeply offended. “That’s not the kind of man I am.”
“Still, it would be awkward.”
“Why?” Frustration roughens his tone. “You can take the money you’re spending on rent now and save it, if you’re worried. Or, you said you’re still trying to pay down some debt? Use the money toward that. I’ll take care of the move and everything. To avoid too much upheaval,” he says, using my own words. “Fuck knows, I understand the need for peace in life.”
It’s a tempting offer.
But I’ve had many tempting offers presented to me by different men in my life.
They were all illusions.
Violently ripped to shreds at some point.
“I’ll think about it.”
My answer clearly frustrates him. But it’s all I can give.
His jaw clenches.
The urge to run thrums through my veins. I curl my hands around the edge of the counter, prepared to flee.
He exhales slowly. The tension flows away with his breath. “Okay,” he says. “If you want to look at it, let me know. We’ll go together.”
Calm and reasonable. No yelling or threats. My heart’s still wildly thumping but I loosen my grip on the counter and relax.
“Will you at least let me fix your door?” he asks.
“Okay.”
“Good. Thank you.”
I chuckle. “I can’t believe you’re thanking me.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“Me?” No one’s ever called me that before. Pushover, maybe.
“Is it so terrible that I want to take care of you?” he asks.
There goes my stupid heart, fluttering all over the place. “You barely know me.”
He raises an eyebrow and shoots a look toward his bedroom. “I think I know you pretty well.”
Heat bursts over my cheeks. “That’s sex.”
His jaw drops like I sucker punched him.
How is every word out of my mouth making this worse?
“Right,” he says. “Understood.”
“I just meant…we haven’t been together that long. Are we together?”
“I don’t use the term old lady lightly, Serena.” He holds out a hand. “But I realize you don’t understand the significance.”
I open my mouth to explain that I do understand.
Then stop myself.
Grinder
I search her face. “I sense a but.”
She drops her gaze to the floor. “Can we talk about how to handle your therapy appointments?”
“What do you mean? I’ll keep going. Keep our relationship on the down low.”
“How? If we tell anyone how we met…it will look really bad, especially if I’m still treating you. If your parole officer wants to make trouble for you…or me, all he’d have to do is call my supervisor.”
She’s really stressed about this. I come around to her side of the counter and take her hands. “I won’t let that happen.”