9. Chapter 9 #2
Pushing the washroom door open, the ruined batches fled her mind as Frankie noticed Evan standing in front of the sink.
They were completely naked save for a pair of black boxers around their lean waist. An open toiletry kit rested on the counter, and a used towel was balled up over it.
But it was the faint bruising on Evan’s back and legs that captured and held Frankie’s widening gaze.
“What happened to you?” she demanded, startling Evan so much they flinched and almost dropped the mid-waist sport-like chest binder they were lifting over their head.
“W-what’re you doing in here? I could’ve sworn I’d locked the door,” Evan stammered, a deep blush flushing their fair skin.
They yanked the fabric down over their chest and whirled around to face Frankie.
In the process, Frankie got an unobstructed view of the muscled definition on their flat stomach.
Someone took up core workouts while in prison.
Frankie’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t allow the tantalizing view to steer her off course. “If it was locked, then I wouldn’t be in here staring at …” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Evan, why the hell are you having a sponge bath in my washroom, and what happened to your back?”
“It’s nothing.” Evan wouldn’t meet her gaze, only turned away from Frankie again, and continued to cover themself with the binder. The conversation was nowhere near finished for Frankie, and she locked the restroom door so no one else could barge in.
“It’s not ‘nothing.’ Someone hurt you.” Anger made her voice harder than she meant it, which was a complete contradiction to whatever shit-show of panic was welling in her chest at the idea of Evan being harmed.
Evan shrank away from her even more, actual fear flashing in their eyes as they grabbed a white T-shirt from their backpack. Frankie grimaced, backing off slightly, and tried to soften her tone. “Where are you staying? Are you renting a room, an apartment, or something?”
“Or something.” Evan hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans, one of the two pairs Frankie recalled seeing over the last two weeks.
Now that she thought about it, there hadn’t been a time when Evan didn’t have a backpack with them.
As a police officer, she’d met and dealt with many of Toronto’s homeless, and she knew well how varied homelessness looked on different people.
There was a chance she was wrong now, but she didn’t think so.
“You’re living on the street, aren’t you?”
Surprise crossed Evan’s face before their eyes narrowed. “Your skill of deduction is wasting away at the pub, Officer O’Rourke.”
Frankie ignored the blatant dig, following Evan’s jerky movements as they gathered up their belongings.
Frankie’s pulse was beating incessantly against her throat, and when she pressed her hand over her heart, it raced beneath her palm.
Evan was defensive, perhaps even ashamed that Frankie had called them out, but something like this couldn’t go unaddressed.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were homeless? ”
“Why, so you wouldn’t have to hire me?” Evan’s voice broke, as if their predicament had finally sunk in.
Now that she was more aware, Frankie couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen the signs earlier.
She’d spent plenty of time over the last two weeks discreetly studying Evan from afar.
Anytime she’d walked into the kitchen and they were busy at the dish pit, or when they’d arrive hours early for their shift and sit in the back of the pub with a sketchbook in their hands.
That first week, Evan had come in on their birthday and never once spoken about how they’d planned to celebrate with friends, even though Sloane had asked.
Last week for Christmas, Frankie had considered asking Evan what their plans were—not that she did much herself—but Evan never came in.
She’d just figured they’d had somewhere to go after all.
Frankie swallowed, watching as Evan’s eyes welled up with tears. How long had there been bags under that resplendent blue and brown gaze?
“No.” Frankie widened her stance, folded her arms across her chest, and said in as even a tone as possible, “So that I could have offered you my spare bedroom.”
Spare bedroom? Since when does the playroom classify as spare? Spare, equating vacant and ready for use?
“ What? ” Evan’s mouth fell open.
“I have the space, and I won’t have one of my staff sleeping on the street.”
Fuck. Frankie would have her day cut out for her, moving things around. It’s not as if she could leave her A-frame or freestanding St. Andrew’s Cross in that room and toss a sheet over them.
“It’s not up to you. Maybe I wanna live on the street. Maybe I like it.”
Frankie would have laughed at how stubborn Evan was if the urge to bend them over her knee wasn’t forefront in her mind.
Taking a deep breath, she unfolded her arms and leaned closer to Evan.
The height difference was significant, as Evan was even shorter than McCoy’s five-foot-four, but she bent so that her face was inches from Evan’s.
Their hot breath fanned her cheeks, but she didn’t back away.
“You don’t. You hate it and are often scared to fall asleep.
Jesus, Evan, what do you take me for? A little thing like you would get eaten alive out on the streets. ”
“I can take care of myself.” Evan moved to go around Frankie, but she caught their arm, holding them in place.
“I’m sure you can, but I want to help,” she insisted, yet she was as confused as Evan at her decision.
She’d never gone out of her way to help her staff before.
What made Evan different? “Starting tonight, after your shift, you’ll come home with me.
Don’t bother arguing. If you want to work for me, I suggest you take the offer. ”
Evan’s jaw tightened, and Frankie couldn’t help but follow the movement. They were angry with her, and truly, the knowledge shouldn’t have excited her the way it did.
“Sloane said you were bossy.”
“Sloane?” Frankie echoed, an unwarranted pang of jealousy hitting her square in the chest. She bared her teeth, something between a grimace and a smile that stared back at her from the mirror behind Evan. “You two talk about me often?”
Frankie hadn’t been the only one to notice Evan. Sloane was revoltingly obvious when she had her sights set on someone. The worst part was how Evan had noticed her as well. Where they were wary around Frankie, with Sloane, they looked lighter and seemed to genuinely want to be around her.
Her question roused a chuckle from Evan. “Uh, no. Not really.”
“Oh. Well, good then.” Frankie released Evan’s arm and stepped back.
She straightened her shoulders, the tightness in her chest only increasing the further apart she got from Evan.
Something about them in particular activated her need to protect, but judging by the way Evan quickly dismissed her question, the feeling was completely one-sided.
I’m being ridiculous.
Perhaps taking Kelsey up on her offer of Katie wouldn’t be a bad thing after all. At the very least, Frankie would have the opportunity to spoil and play with a sub again, which would take her mind off the current butch lesbians in her life.
“This is stupid,” Evan grumbled as they led the way out of the washroom. They stopped to stare at her, adding, “You don’t know me, Frankie. I could be dangerous.”
Frankie bit back a smile, Evan’s defiance surprisingly endearing. “Believe me, honey, there isn’t anything currently in my life scarier than me.”