“Let’s go to my room,” I say, and I guide him over to my bedroom. Bailey’s door is shut.
“Is Bailey’s room empty now?” He asks, jerking his head toward it.
“Mostly,” I say. “She has a couple things left, but I think she’s coming to get them tomorrow.”
“Are you going to get a new roommate?”
“I honestly just don’t know,” I should. I can’t afford this place on my own. Our lease is up in two months, so if I don’t find someone by then, I’ll need to move.”
“You don’t want to move.”
“Not really. I can’t explain it. I love it here. I have so many good memories of Bailey here. Isn’t that dumb?”
“It’s not dumb.”
We go into my bedroom and I push the laundry off the comforter into a big pile on the floor.
“Classy, I know.”
“Don’t worry about it. You should see my place.” He winks. He actually winks.
“Aren’t military guys supposed to be all about order and neatness?”
“You might be surprised.”
“Is that so?”
James nods, looks around, then unbuttons his shirt. Slowly, almost teasingly, he undoes each button, revealing a broad, still-muscular chest. The room is dark, lit only by the light in the hallway, but I can still see the scars that cover his chest.
“I’m not pretty,” he comments.
“I think you look great.”
“I have scars,” he motions to his chest and drops the shirt on the ground.
“Everyone does,” I tell him.
“Not like this.” He sits on my bed and pulls his pants and boxers off together, kicks them on the ground. I can see his prosthetic leg now. It’s my first look at it.
“It’s different than I thought it would be.” I reach for it, but pull my hand back, looking at him.
“You can touch it.”
I run my hand over the leg that holds my man upright. I can see where the prosthesis ends and his own skin begins, and I touch the place where they come together.
“Let me show you how it works.” James reaches for his leg and shows me how it comes apart, how it fits carefully over his stump. He removes it and places it beside the bed, then lays back next to me.
He’s got scars. He wasn’t lying about that. They’re all over what remains of his leg. His abs are covered in little scars, but no real big ones. I trace each one, carefully. Then I lean forward and begin to kiss James, showing him attention in a way I would guess he’s never had before.
“I’m not scared of your pain,” I tell him.
“I’m not scared of yours.”
“You have no idea what I’ve been through,” I whisper.
“You told me a lot in the car.”
I blush because I remember. I poured out my royal heart and told him all about my dad leaving, about my classes, about my insomnia. I told him I can’t sleep at night because I’m always thinking about how I need to improve and be better. I told him all the secrets I hide from everyone around me, but that I can’t seem to keep from him.