Page 91 of Faithful

He pulls back an inch and arches a brow. “'Cause I want to. Do I need some other reason?”

“No.” I shake my head and return his kiss. “Should I have brought flowers or something?”

“I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

“It’s just…” I gesture at the table. “A little romantic.”

“Says the guy who’s flown across the country to see me.”

“I don’t mind romantic.” I simply don’t know why we don’t talk about these things. We do them but we don’t call them what they are. Walking on eggshells around him has become difficult, but I don’t feel like this is the right evening to dissect our relationship.

Tonight, I just want to forget about everything, including Glasses’s threats, Gavin’s upcoming return to Seattle, and my mother’s departure to New York. Although the latter bit is a good thing.

“I’d offer you a tour but that’s pretty much it,” Kai says once we’re done with our make-out session.

He steps to the side and motions at the stretch of space behind him, and as I take in the surroundings, I realize that he’s right. It’s a single room. A loft.

It’s very minimalistic with muted colors, shiny appliances, high ceilings, and an exposed brick wall painted black. The elaborate shelf formation in the center divides the space into a kitchen area with a small island and a living area with a corner sofa set and a huge TV. A massive window, which is actually the only window here and which also serves as the door to the balcony, overlooks the vibrant nightlife and the distant lights of Elliott Bay.

The view is not as illustrious as the one at my aunt’s penthouse, but it’s still a view only good money could buy. It’s still something I can’t afford unless I crawl back to my father.

And that will never happen.

“Where’s the bed?” I ask once I finish taking inventory of the interior.

Kai motions at the shelf. “Upstairs.”

I walk over and around and see that there’s a small staircase behind it leading up to what appears to be the second floor.

“Can I check it out?”

“You know what happens if we’re anywhere near a bed.”

“It happens when I’m near you, not near a bed.” I pull him to me by the hem of his T-shirt.

He doesn’t protest.

We kiss again until we’re out of air, then move to the table and eat. Apparently, he ordered takeout from some fancy Italian place Danny recommended. The food is a little cold since we kinda got sidetracked, but that’s really not a big deal because we spend the next two hours talking rather than eating anyway.

I tell him about my mother and my concerns for her mental health.

He tells me about Iodine’s European tour that’s going to be announced after Thanksgiving.

Eventually, we move to the couch and watch a few more episodes of the anime series he’s following.

There’s beer.

But we don’t drink much.

I think he’s scared to get drunk again after the bender we both went on in Vegas. The bender that resulted in us getting matching tats that are a fucking dead giveaway of our relationship, the relationship we still refuse to describe.

We christen his bed too.

It’s a slow, almost lazy fuck that has me shaking and spouting filthy words I had no idea I knew. And Kai is a warm, inked, moaning-with-pleasure puddle beneath me and I don’t ever want for this–sex with him–to be any different, to be any less visceral, any less messy.

After, we lie on the damp sheets naked and tired, Kai’s head pressed to the side of my neck. He’s breathing heavily, and each exhale is like a tiny fire on my skin.

“Your place is nice,” I say in the darkness of the room, staring up at the ceiling.

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