Page 43 of Up In Flames
“Eh, it is what it is. Walking away was the best decision they ever made for me, even if they didn’t make it for my benefit. I want to say that I became a lawyer so I could change the system from the inside or fight to help kids who were like me, but that’s a lie.”
“So tell me the truth.”
“The truth makes me sound like an asshole.”
“Your parents were assholes, Oren. Whatever your reason, it can’t be that bad.”
I closed my eyes and let my memories drift to the courthouse. The staccato rap of shoes on the tiled floor. The way everything gleamed made me uncomfortable with how clean and shiny itwas. How I was the contrast. I kept my dirty fingernails hidden by sitting on my hands and watched men with manicures and fancy watches, shiny shoes and crisp, clean suits pour in and out of those rooms.
“Money,” I said on an exhale, bringing myself out of the past and back into the present. “Lawyers looked like they had money.”
“People do a lot worse things for a lot worse reasons. Being a lawyer because you wanted a better life for yourself doesn’t make you an asshole.”
“Yeah, but shouldn’t I want to go into family law and be the hero to someone? Fix the system, etc?” My other hand cut through the air, emphasizing my frustration with myself. Sometimes I felt guilty that I hadn’t gone into family law. Not that it was too late or anything, but the mere thought of it had me wanting to peel my skin off my bones.
“If you don’t want to do it, you’d be a shitty lawyer and those kids would be better off without you. You’re not a bad person because you don’t want to be the hero you never had.”
It was the exact perfect thing to say. The ten year-old inside me with dirty fingernails and a hole in the sole of his shoe smiled at me and faded away.
“Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.”
Will leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to mine. Our eyes met and his sparkled with something that looked a lot like happiness.
“What are boyfriends for?”
CHAPTER 20
Will
Boyfriends. The word rattled around in my head every day since we’d decided what we were to each other. It was like a shiny object I’d only ever heard about but hadn’t seen up close. I kept picking it up, looking at it, and setting it down again. I’d been a boyfriend before, but not a real one. Not a boyfriend who had someone he wanted to be with. I’d been a fraud. A fake.
There was nothing fake about my feelings for Oren or my delight that he hadn’t given up on me. It had been a couple of weeks since I found him sitting in my hallway, and every day since was better than the last.
The doorknob rattled, and Oren slipped inside my apartment. I’d buzzed him in a minute ago and unlocked the door for him, then went back to the stove.
“Holy crap, it smells delicious.” He came into the kitchen, dressed for work, but with his tie hung loose and his jacket over his arm. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, his hand pressing into my lower back.
“I haven’t made it before, so here’s hoping it’s not terrible.”
“Nothing that smells this good could possibly taste bad.” Oren slid past me and draped his jacket on the back of a chair. He slid the bag containing his laptop off his shoulder and set iton the seat of the chair. He’d rolled up his sleeves already. The sight of his forearms shouldn’t entice me half as much as it did, but he was just effortlessly attractive.
“Want a taste?”
Oren raked his gaze over me slowly, from head to toe and back again. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Absolutely, I do.”
“Of the food.”
“Oh. That. I guess.” He rolled his eyes but stepped in close.
Grabbing a teaspoon from the drawer, I dipped it in the sauce and gently blew on it before offering it to Oren. He looked me in the eyes, the heat between us always at a low simmer that could turn up to inferno levels in a blink. Twin flames danced in his eyes as he opened his mouth and let me feed him the spoonful of sauce.
The moan he let out was sinful and sexy. My cock thickened in my pants. Uncomfortably hard, it ached where it pressed against my zipper.
“Well?” Tossing the spoon in the sink, I adjusted myself.
“I know I’ve said it before, but if you ever stop fighting fires, you could be a chef.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I wouldn’t. Cooking was a pleasure to me. It gave me something to focus on. New recipes to challenge me. Old ones to comfort me. It let me take care of people because everyone needed to eat.
