Page 22 of The Kiss Principle

“I don’t steal food,” I said. “Give me a fucking break.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“I want you to answer my goddamn questions!”

He shrank back. His hand fell from my thigh. He’s young, I had to remind myself. He might be taller than you, he might be knitted out of all that long, lean muscle, but he’s Augustus’s age, which means he’s practically a kid, and he’s hurting, and he’s alone, and he’s trying to do everything on his own.

“Yes,” he finally said. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I sleep in my car.”

“Where?”

“In my—”

“No. Where do you park your car?”

After a pause, he shrugged. “There are places.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Donkey balls, you are going to get yourself killed.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You’re doing a great fucking job of it so far.”

Then his eyes did come up to mine, and for the first time, I saw him angry. “If you’re not firing me, and it’s not affecting my work, then it’s none of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business.”

The best he could come up with, apparently, was a baffled, “Why?”

“Because you are in my life, and that means I’m responsible for you!” My face heated as I heard my own words, and I hurried to add, “And because I have no fucking idea what I’d do with Igz if something happened to you, you big sackless wonder.”

The corner of his mouth turned up, and in a tone I didn’t recognize, he said, “You big sackless wonder.”

“This is how I talk. Is that going to be a problem?”

It was definitely a smile now. He shook his head. “What’s a nut-rabbit?”

“What do you fucking think? And it’s not because you’re gay. And it’s not sexual harassment since I said it out of a place of anger.”

“And how can I have donkey balls and be a sackless wonder at the same time? Is it because I have a shit-slurry for brains?”

“Look, I didn’t mean—I can try not to, I don’t know, say stuff like that. But I can’t promise anything about the swearing.”

Zé shook his head. He still wore that tiny, unreadable smile. “I kept wondering what you were holding back. You’d get so mad at something on TV, or that time someone knocked over the trash can, or when you stepped in that dogshit, and I could see it building. And then you never let it out, and I wondered what it was.”

“If those two brainfucks would keep that fucking dog behind their fence—” I drew a deep breath. “I, uh, will work on it.”

His smile canted. It was something else now. Deeper. More, if that could be a thing—if a smile could be more. “You don’t have to work on it, except maybe around Igz.” And then, with nothing to explain what the fuck he might possibly mean, he added, “It’s cute.”

I was suddenly aware again of our positions: his long body stretched out on the couch, propped up by the armrest, the tilt of his head that displayed the strong lines of his neck. That ridiculous hair hung in his eyes again. We were so close that I couldn’t help noticing the freckles sprinkled at the hollow of his throat, or the stubble that accented his jaw, or that his lips were slightly chapped.

“Yeah, well,” I said, “we’ve gotten off topic. You’re not sleeping in that car anymore.”

Zé opened his mouth. “I don’t need—”

I spoke over him. “I’m not going through the hassle of finding Igz another nanny. Manny. Whatever. I will blow my fucking brains out before I have to deal with that again.”

“Fer, I’m fine. Thank you, but—”

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