Page 24 of Filthy and the Beast

Mom frowns, considering it. “What kind of schooling is that? Psychology?”

“It could be a psychology degree. There are other options. Did you know people even work as sexual surrogates?”

Letting the words linger, I watch them both piece it together.

Mom adjusts her glasses. “Oh. That would be quite a career.”

Mama looks up at the sky. “And is that safe?” she asks gently. “Is it legal?”

I expected these contortions, wrestling through their own generally openminded attitudes versus the parental instincts rising up when it comes to their own son.

“I don’t think I want to do that,” I blurt out honestly. “All the different kinds of sex therapy are fascinating, though. I made an appointment with a graduate department at a university here. They have an interesting sexuality studies program. And I am very smart about sex. I don’t have a lot of relationship experience in the traditional way, but if you consider all the knowledge I’ve gained in my recreational life, and with so many different sorts of people, I’m probably uniquely suited.”

Mom looks a bit ill, like she sometimes does when I discuss my sex life in too great of detail. She’s going to say her favorite line: “We’re just happy if you’re happy.”

Mama sighs, capable of a bit more advice. “I don’t know, Damian. It sounds like you’re awfully excited about it. Speaking to a professional and learning more about your options in the field would make sense.”

Mom nods. “Options. Exactly what she said. As always.”

“I might try out a boyfriend again.” I let my thoughts flow. “Someone steady. A committed relationship.”

My thoughts flit to Enzo. In only a couple weeks, I’ve gotten used to coming home and having him near. Even sleeping at other ends of the house, knowing he’s in the same building can be surprisingly nice.

Is that what a committed relationship would feel like? Similar, but even better, I imagine.

“A relationship,” Mama says approvingly. “Now that will be a change, won’t it?”

“Yes.” Mom gestures around with an open palm. “We all have more to learn about sex and relationships. None of us should turn around next week and begin working as a sexual surrogate, correct?”

I laugh. “Yes, Mom. I hear you. I promise I won’t take out a classified ad for a new business anytime soon.”

She sighs. “Anytime soon,” she mumbles to herself.

“Is there a special someone who has caught your eye?” Mama asks.

My eyes land on a framed picture of Enzo. He must be in his mid-twenties, and he’s standing in the middle of a boxing ring, shoulders slumped, sweat dripping down his face, and a medal hanging over his chest. He’s clean-cut and strikingly handsome, only a few nautical tattoos on his arm, although his nose isn’t broken yet, so not quite as hot.

“I don’t know.” My eyes are still on the photo. “It’s complicated.”

CHAPTERELEVEN

ENZO

When my truckcomes alive beneath me, I let out a deep, relieved sigh.

My back is still fucked. Shouldn’t be going out on my own. Shouldn’t have gone to the lake the other night. Shouldn’t be doing this now. But I don’t care. I’m a hell of a lot better, and once I decide I want to do something, I have trouble thinking about anything else.

I roll out of the garage and head toward the city. At midnight, everything is quiet here on the outskirts, rolling green hills and plenty of gates.

Soon enough, I won’t need Damian anymore. Per our original agreement, he’ll be gone the week after next. Starting physical therapy full-time will put a hole in my wallet. No good reason to keep him on.

An ache weakens my muscles, my breath heavy. It’s not my recent injury. More like all the old bruises smarting.

I grip the wheel tight. This is why I called Buck.

No time to waste. If I’m ever going to fight again, the door is closing.

An urgency fills me, a drive I haven’t felt in years.

---