Page 49 of Hex and the City
He ruffled his hair and averted his gaze, looking a little sheepish. “You know what, that’s fair. I didn’t even think of it that way. Sorry.”
Five minutes later Leon had inhaled half the jar of overnight oats I’d prepped for breakfast, digging his spoon in for more.
“You know what? I was wrong. This is so good. You’d have to force-feed me oatmeal on any other day. I thought I hated this stuff. It’s so creamy. What is that? Banana? Peanut butter?”
My chest expanded with pride. “Bit of both, yeah. Sometimes I add a little cocoa powder, or if I’m feeling especially naughty, a bunch of chocolate chips.”
“Whatever it is,” Leon said, his cheeks absolutely stuffed, “I think I’m sold. I’m an oatmeal person now.”
I couldn’t help grinning. This was something new for me to enjoy. I liked preparing my meals — all part of the program — and I liked devouring them, too. But I never knew I’d get such a kick out of seeing someone else enjoy the things I made.
After destroying the jar of oats, Leon dug out one of the glass containers I’d whipped up over the weekend. Chicken in a tasty teriyaki glaze, with broccoli and brown rice. Made the sauce myself, too. Normally, seeing my meticulously prepared supplies depleted would make me twitch.
But the look of earnest anticipation on Leon’s face as he microwaved the whole thing was too much to bear. The way he blew on the first forkful excitedly to cool it down, how his eyes lit up when he popped it into his mouth? I couldn’t stop staring. He was just so happy.
“Max. I take it all back. I don’t care if you murder me in the night. This is amazing.”
Music to my ears. Something fluttered in my belly, and I finally understood what they meant about butterflies in the stomach. Very annoying how they kept fluttering up into my chest area. Seeing Leon smile made me want to smile, too.
I pulled up a seat next to him, sweeping my thumb across the corner of his lip where he missed his mouth and smeared a bit of sauce. I nodded as he chattered excitedly, leaned my elbow on the counter, enjoying how much he was enjoying himself, savoring the laughter in his voice.
“Could I grab some of that fruit?” he asked, spooning up the last of the rice.
Sweet that he’d ask for permission, even after I’d already given him the go-ahead to demolish the oats and the chicken. I retrieved the fruit for him myself, happy to watch yet again as he speared cubes of watermelon and apple and cantaloupe.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, remembering to breathe between his sweet, juicy mouthfuls of fruit.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, smiling. “I’m perfectly content right now.”
I showed him around the rest of the apartment, quietly pleased when he fussed excitedly over every little thing. The ornate brass plate where I kept my keys, an old gift from Vera. A framed picture of me and Tina when we vacationed in Thailand for a week, proof that yes, we really were best friends, and yes, she totally existed.
“And what’s this?” he asked, holding up a brass contraption. “Why is it shaped like a bell when it doesn’t make a clanging sound?”
“Will you please put that down?” I lowered his hand gently. “It’s a candle snuffer. Antique. You said you worked magic with your mothers using brass and candlesticks. You never used a snuffer?”
Leon shook his head.
I frowned. “So what do you use for snuffing out candles?
His forehead wrinkled. “My breath. Duh. I just blow on it. I’m very good at blowing things, or haven’t you noticed?”
“The snuffer makes it so you don’t get bits of burnt wick in the wax,” I explained, carefully ignoring how my cock stirred with sudden interest. “And it helps the candle burn more evenly because — ”
“Ugh, I regret asking. Ooh, wait. What’s this?”
A wick trimmer, I told him, prepared to get into yet another pointless yet oddly amusing argument over its purpose. I should have found it annoying, exhausting, following this chaotic mess of a boy around my apartment, showing him bits and pieces of my life.
But if I hated it so much, why did my chest feel lighter with every sigh of exasperation? Why did the world seem brighter each time he laughed?
Yet nothing got Leon quite as excited as the sight of my bed, the linens dark gray and crisp, as soft and smoothly made as anything he’d find in a luxury hotel. My stomach lurched when he took a short running start and threw himself onto the mattress.
“Oh, wow. It’s so nice and comfy. Max, let’s trade lives. Or at least apartments.”
I nudged him with one socked foot. “Get off. Hey. Those sheets are clean. Don’t go humping them in your outside clothes.”
Leon rolled onto his side and waggled his eyebrows. “Only if you take them off me yourself.”
I kicked him out of bed. Not something I’d normally do with someone I liked as much as Leon, but it was worth the look of surprise on his face, the wounded pout he gave me as he rubbed his sore little butt.
