Page 16 of Expensive

“You get dry. I’ll grab your pajamas.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I give him a firm look that makes him close it again.

Andrew has two huge bags to search through. They’re both meticulously organized. The contents of his suitcases make me smile. He brought bison jerky, my favorite. And one of his bags is halfway full of books. There are at least twenty of them. He probably could have packed everything into one suitcase if he didn’t need to bring an entire library with him.

I find his pajamas in the corner of the book suitcase. Underneath them is a stuffed bear. Its brown fur is worn through along its stomach like it’s been hugged too many times.

My heart aches. Andrew needs someone to take care of him, not just a fuck buddy he can call Daddy.

I hear quick footsteps behind me. Andrew runs around me, and crouches in front of his suitcase, snatching the bear from my hands.

“I packed him just in case things didn’t work out, okay? This is my first time, and I didn’t want to feel alone—”

I place my hand on his bare knee. “Andrew, it’s okay.”

He searches my eyes, his whole body tense with fear. Does he honestly think I’d judge him for packing a bear? In the pits, I used to lump up the food sacks our captors threw down after they’d been emptied. A few sacks tied together were big enough to pass for dolls. After the omegas gave birth and our captors took their babies away, I’d give them one of my makeshift dolls to hold as they cried for their children.

Andrew’s bear isn’t the same thing, but in this life, we have to take comfort where we can find it.

“Do you sleep with him?” I ask.

Andrew shakes his head for a moment, then bunches his shoulders together and slowly nods.

I hand him his pajamas. “Get dressed and pick out a book. We can read in bed for a while. Please bring the bear. When we sleep together, I want you to be comfortable.”

His lip trembles and a thick tear slides down his cheek.

I cup his jaw with my hand and brush his tear away. “Do you not want to sleep with him while we’re together?”

“I just… want you to be comfortable too. I want you to like being with me.” He lowers his eyes to the ground. “I mean, having sex with me. I know we’re not together or anything.”

I lean over and kiss his forehead. “How could I not like being with you? If anything, this helps me get to know you better, and I really like the boy I’m getting to know.”

We crouch there for a while, staring into each other’s eyes. It’s too soon to tell him how much sharing this moment with him means to me. The connection between us is so strong I worry about taking things too fast. I don’t want Andrew to feel more vulnerable than he already does. I need him to know he’s safe with me.

Eventually, I stand and let him put on his pajamas. He goes through the motions quickly, grabbing a book without even looking at the cover. The book’s binding is broken, and its pages are bent on the edges. The title isFrankenstein. I’m a little surprised.

“Like the movie about the monster?” I ask.

Andrew stares down at the book with a wistful smile. “Frankensteinis actually a sophisticated and emotionally complex story about loneliness. Mary Shelley really understood what it feels like to be socially isolated.”

Hearing these words from him feels a little like discovering his teddy bear. It’s a glimpse into his life that he shouldn’t allow me to see yet. We don’t know each other very well. With Andrew, a bond ache doesn’t seem to make him insatiable for sex. At least not with me. He’s desperate for intimacy—for an emotional connection.

I get into the huge bed and hold out my arms to him. He climbs in next to me with his book and bear in tow.

“Would you like to sit in my lap?” I’m not sure why I ask that. It just seems like something Andrew might find comforting. Something that fits this moment.

He nods and shifts over. I pull him close to me, lifting the covers over both of us. He curls into me and rests his head on my shoulder.

“My omega dad was a literary history professor,” Andrew says. “He was the one who taught me to read. When I was little, we used to sit like this in my bed, and he’d listen while I sounded out the words. He was so patient.”

I catch the “was.” I don’t know what happened to Andrew’s father, and I’m not sure if I should ask.

“He died when I was eight.”

I guess I won’t need to ask. I wrap my arms around him. “Read to me, baby boy.”

Andrew hugs his bear close and opens up the book.

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