Chapter Twenty-Six
Alex
While Nico showers and gets ready for work, I rush through a quick shower of my own in the downstairs bathroom, throw on a clean pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and make us coffee and a small breakfast. It all feels a bit domestic, but I can’t deny I sort of love that.
Just as I set our plates on the table, he comes jogging down the stairs, tucking his polo shirt into his slacks.
His dark hair is still slightly damp, the longer strands starting to curl at the ends, and as he pauses at the bottom of the steps, a thick lock falls down over his forehead, contrasting with his pale skin.
God, he’s just gorgeous.
My heart leaps as I watch him finish tucking in his shirt, and when he glances up at me, his deep green eyes sparkling, my whole body tingles with the memory of what we did in bed not more than twenty minutes ago.
Hell, I need to kiss him right now.
I push myself away from the table and start toward him. As soon as I’m close enough, my arms slip around his waist, and I pull him against my chest. He’s grinning, and his eyes are bright and happy. It’s warm and perfect, and god, I love this.
I love him.
I can’t believe my luck. I can’t believe he’s here with me and mine and in this as much as I am. I shake my head and purse my lips, trying to hold back my smile.
“What?” He crooks an eyebrow at me and shifts his hands up from my hips to my chest. Then he stretches up so his mouth is nearly touching mine. His grin almost looks cocky now, and I love that, too.
I bring my mouth even closer. “It’s you,” I say on a breath. My lips just barely brush his, and he closes his eyes and lets out the most arousing and needy little moan. “You’re gorgeous,” I whisper against him, and then I kiss him again in that same playful way.
He shakes his head. “You’re just saying that because of what we did in bed.”
“No, I—”
“You remember?” he cuts in, smirking up at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
His hands slide the rest of the way up my chest, and his fingers tease along my neck.
He stretches up until his lips are nearly touching mine, and he whispers, “Remember how you jerked me off while rubbing one out against my ass?”
I gulp, and heat rushes to my cheeks as Nico presses his hips forward into me. With a laugh, he closes the rest of that gap between us and kisses me. He holds me to him and deepens the kiss briefly, his tongue dipping into my mouth to taste me, before he pulls back, grinning.
“It was hot as fuck,” he whispers. “I loved it.”
My heart’s pounding now, and my dick throbs with want, apparently ready for a second round. I groan and lower my mouth to his again, capturing his lips in a kiss that’s much different from our light, teasing touches from a few moments ago.
There’s a need and a hunger to it that I can’t really hide, and I’m having a hard time not dragging him back upstairs.
But he has to go to work, and I want him to have time to eat.
So, after another few seconds, I pull back.
He whimpers in protest and chases the kiss with another touch of his lips to mine.
I loosen my arms from around him and gaze down at him, letting myself get lost. His red, swollen lips taunt me, and his eyes are half-lidded with bliss. I smile softly and lean down one more time for one more kiss. Brief and much more chaste.
Then I force myself to step back, and I tip my head toward the table. “Hungry? It’s not much, I know you’re in a hurry,” I say. “Just some scrambled eggs and then we had strawberries and cantaloupe. Unfortunately, we’re out of syrup, so no pancakes today,” I add with a smirk.
Nico rolls his eyes, but he’s still grinning.
And god, that grin. It might just be making me fall even harder.
I motion to the table. “A-after you.”
He purses his lips and shakes his head, and his eyes stay locked on mine as he says, his voice totally serious, “You first. It’s my turn to admire your ass for once.”
“What the—Nico!”
He laughs, and it makes this perfect moment even more perfect to see the pure delight in his eyes. I love it. Damn.
“Come on, now,” he argues, though the facade of seriousness is completely gone. “You got all intimate with my ass earlier. Give me a little eye candy, at least?”
I’m still too stunned at his bold banter, and I can’t form any words to respond. He just grins at me again, then takes my hand and pulls me along with him to the table.
I’d love to be able to say I didn’t fret all day about the discussion Nico and I are supposed to have tonight. Unfortunately, that would be a lie. I’m not at all immune to worrying, and my brain is quite adept at running around in circles and overthinking things.
Fortunately, though, I’m also my mom’s son.
After I get back from lunch, which was perfect in every way and ended with a quiet kiss stolen under an old oak tree at the back of the library courtyard, I sit down at the kitchen table with my laptop, a notepad, and a pencil, and I start planning.
I love math and numbers, and I’ve spent plenty of time watching my mom budget. But I’ve never had to make a budget myself, even if it’s not a budget for myself.
It’s not easy, especially because I have no frame of reference for most things. How much money does a single guy actually need for food each month? What about rent? Utilities? Extras? God, Nico’s still wearing the same set of clothes to work every day.
And I can’t answer what’s probably the most important question—what can he do for work?
How much money can he realistically expect to bring in every month?
The minimum wage is higher in California than here in Nebraska, sure.
But that doesn’t necessarily negate the increased cost of living. In fact, it almost certainly doesn’t.
There are so many uncertainties, and by the time I have a rough outline, I’ll admit that it’s hard to feel as optimistic as I had earlier in the day.
I’m about ninety-five percent sure my mom will be out hiking with Aunt Tammy or something—probably somewhere with no cell signal—but I text her anyway because if I’m going to try to convince Nico that this is something he can do, I’m going to have to believe in it myself first. And that means my numbers need to make at least some sense.
Alex (2:34 p.m.): hey mom call me when u can
I start typing out a second text to explain a bit more, but before I can even get the first few words out, the phone vibrates and begins to ring. Her name pops up on the screen. I swipe to answer and bring the phone to my ear.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie. Is everything okay?” she asks, breathing hard.
“Yeah,” I answer automatically, although that’s probably not the entire truth. “Well, I mean, I hope so. It’s just . . .” I pause to take a deep breath and steady myself.
Muffled sounds in the background—birds chirping and the roar of a river, maybe—suggest my mom is at least outside, if not out hiking, and I immediately feel bad for interrupting her getaway with Aunt Tammy for something I should be able to figure out myself.
But I know she wants to help, and she’s always told me not to hesitate to ask for help when I need it.
I open my eyes and look back down at the notes I scribbled onto the notepad.
All those numbers that just don’t add up. Then I try again.
“So, um, Nico and I are going to talk tonight. About California, I mean. And I wanted to get a jump on a budget, because I’m hoping to show him how it’ll be possible for us to figure it out. But, uh, the numbers aren’t . . . looking good, and I could use some help. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Ohhhh, hmm. Yeah, of course. Just give me a sec.” There’s some quiet talking, and I can hear Aunt Tammy’s voice, though I can’t make out her words. Then my mom’s voice becomes clear again. “Okay, sweetie. I’ve got a few minutes here. Tell me what you’ve worked out so far.”
We talk for much more than a few minutes, and I explain everything I’ve outlined to her. She’s quiet while she listens, and when I’m done, she’s quiet for another moment. I’m just about to ask her what she thinks when I hear her take a deep breath and clear her throat.
“You’re, um, missing a few budget items on there still,” she starts, and I can hear how reluctant she is.
My stomach drops as she continues. “Um, he’ll need to budget for health insurance, unless he finds a job that includes it or can get on Medicaid or whatever’s available in California, and your numbers for car insurance are probably off because it sounds like you used the quote he just got? ”
“Uh, yeah.”
“The cost will be much higher in California. And you’d need to budget for gas for his car, too, which is hard to do if we don’t know how much he’ll be driving. Gas is much more expensive there, especially in the Bay Area.”
My stomach knots up even more as she keeps talking, discussing each of the expenses I noted and explaining why each one might be incorrect or underestimated.
When she stops talking after another few minutes, I’m not feeling better.
In fact, I’m feeling worse. Especially when she quietly adds, “And don’t forget to deduct estimated taxes from his paycheck.
Whatever he’s receiving, they’ll take taxes out first. So even if he’s making twenty bucks an hour, it won’t mean that much in take-home pay. ”
“Uh, yeah. Right. Right.” It’s hard to keep the uncertainty and disappointment from my voice, and I know she hears it, because she immediately starts up again.
“But there are always ways to cut expenses, too, and I think you can find them. Maybe he can find a roommate to split the cost of rent, or—”
“Mom,” I cut in, shaking my head, “he won’t be able to have a roommate.”
“Dammit, that’s right,” she mumbles, and I hear a muffled voice on the other end of the line. “Yeah, Tam, sorry. One more minute, okay? . . . Okay, sweetie, so, I know this looks really tough, but here’s what you need to do, okay?”
She rambles on for another couple of minutes, explaining to me how to trim the budget and then how to figure out just how good of a job he’d need to make enough money.
She reminds me that he’ll have an entire three months of work here to save up and explains how that money could be used to give him a buffer the first couple of months while he works out the kinks in his actual budget.
And she also mentions all the savings I have, too.
“You can remind him that you’re in this together,” she suggests softly, “and that he’s not totally on his own to figure it out. You have to live on campus the first year, since Stanford requires it, but after that, you’ll have options on that front, too.”
“That’s true.” I stare at the numbers on the page in front of me and then turn back to my laptop to do a quick search for a take-home pay calculator.
“It won’t be easy, Alex, but—”
“—the best things in life never are,” I finish for her with a light laugh. “Yeah. I just . . . I need to know it’s possible. And it seems like it’ll just be a matter of finding him the right job and housing situation.”
I almost feel her nod through the phone. “Exactly, sweetie. It can be done. And in fact, remember that I mentioned that friend I have? She’s in San Jose, I think.”
“Oh, right, um, she has an art gallery or something?”
“She owns quite a few, actually. And she runs a collective of several hundred artists. If Nico decides he wants to give this thing a shot, I can contact her and see if she’s looking for an employee. Not all jobs are client-facing, and I’m sure he’ll be able to find something.”
“That would be great, Mom. Thank you. I’ll keep playing with these numbers, and we’ll just have to find something that works.”
“The two of you can do it,” she says, and this time, I hear a confidence in her voice that gives me a little more hope.
“Yeah. We’ll figure it out.”
“Let me know how it goes later, okay, sweetie?”
“Sure, Mom. Thanks again. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up, set my phone down next to me, and turn back to my laptop, determined to get these numbers to work, even if it takes me the rest of the afternoon.