Page 80 of Pieces of Heaven

“How do you move around in here?” he asks, hiding none of his irritation.

“Very carefully.”

Hobo’s gaze warms as it gives my body the once-over. “I’m stinking up your dollhouse.”

“The tiny shower might break your spirit.”

“How small are we talking about?”

I gesture to the compact bathroom tucked away in the corner of the boxy house. Even before Hobo leans in to check it out, I know he’ll refuse to shove his sweaty body inside the narrow shower.

“No,” he mutters, backing away like he’s under attack.

“I have an idea.”

“Do you want to practice pissing and shitting outside?” Hobo asks with fake hope.

Grinning at him, I walk to the bathroom to locate a washcloth. I return to find him eyeing my bedroom. Is he hoping to try out the mattress or wondering where I stuck his pack?

“Take off your clothes and I’ll wash you by hand.”

Hobo cocks his blond brow and mutters, “If you think I won’t run away because I’m naked, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“Oh, I know,” I reply, giggling at how he nearly beat up two elderly women while his dick swung free. “You don’t have to clean up. But if you want to, I’ll help you reach all the nooks and crannies.”

Hobo’s icy blue eyes glance at the door, considering the wide-open spaces waiting for him on the other side. His gaze flashes to me before zeroing in on the washcloth. He gives me a warm smile, tossing aside his earlier tension.

Peeling off his dark blue T-shirt, Hobo reveals tattoos and scars so much more intimidating in the light of my house. After kicking off his boots, he drops his jeans and boxers. The sight of this beautiful man at my disposal fills me with lust and pride. But also, with sorrow over how much suffering he went through to get to this moment.

His childhood wasn’t disappointing and stressful like mine. No, Hobo survived terrible poverty and abuse. His scars can’t be erased with a new outlook on life. My love won’t fix him.

However, maybe my heart can wrap him in warmth and safety enough to distract from the past. I don’t know what he sees in me, but I refuse to give up the best thing I’ve ever known.

Hobo inhales sharply as the wet cloth brushes across his sweaty chest. When I hesitate, he kisses me, tenderly and without passion. Just a soft touch to reassure us both.

Soon, I return to wiping away a hot day from his flesh. The washcloth cools his muscled chest and chiseled stomach. I go to the bathroom to refresh the soft fabric before sliding it across his face. When Hobo turns around, my gaze takes in the sight of the black, gray, and red ink covering every inch of his back. I can’t imagine the pain he endured to create such artwork to hide his childhood scars.

As I wipe down his beautiful, battered body, I’m struck by the realization that I’ve never cared for someone like this before. My life’s been so superficial. That’s why I couldn’t see my parents clearly or how I let my friends float away without a fight. Nothing was ever real. I was just sleepwalking through life.

With Hobo, I’ve awakened. The food tastes better. My laughter comes easier. The Valley’s beauty is more than a postcard for the fridge. This place hums with a lovely ruggedness.

Just like the man I soon take inside my body. Hobo is so entranced by my touch that he doesn’t seem to notice the narrow bedroom or small windows. He covers my body with his and sinks into the love I want to spend the rest of my life offering.

As the night wears on and I begin to doze, Hobo leaves the bed and walks to the front door. I worry he’ll sprint into the night and never return. When I sit on the edge of my mattress, I have a direct view of the front door.

Hobo stands on the porch. I hear him taking deep breaths as if working through a panic attack. Before I can go to him, he steps inside and shuts the door.

“Eagle said the reason I get restless at the Pigsty is because I didn’t get a room with a view,” Hobo explains as he squeezes past me and collapses on the mattress like an exhausted kid. “I remember how those guys were fighting over the better rooms up on the top floor. Our president won the corner suite with the best view. Eagle battled for it once Ruin moved out. I just stayed in my spot on the main floor. Even after Eagle left a month back, I never thought to claim his room.”

I open the small windows above the bed before settling next to him. The Valley’s sweetly humid scent waffles inside, and Hobo inhales sharply.

“I don’t want to be in here, but I don’t want to be out there without you,” he admits as he stares at the ceiling. “If I battle for Eagle’s old room, I might not feel so trapped at the Pigsty. Then, you could sleep there, and I’d get less squirrely.”

I can’t picture the Pigsty. In my head, it’s a frat house with trash everywhere and posters of topless women on the walls. In the dark, I roll my eyes at how I have no idea what men would be like if left on their own. Plus, Goose isn’t a guy, and Irina lived there for months.

“I’ll find somewhere to live that isn’t such a chore. No Velma to dodge. No walls closing in on you. Oh, and a shower you can fit in without losing your mind.”

Sounding depressed, Hobo mumbles, “I probably seem crazy when I get squirrely.”

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