Gareth
Chapter twenty-four
After we made out like teenagers, Trey kissed me on the forehead and tucked me in for the night. The couch isn't the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but I manage to get a few hours of sleep. I don't know if it's the couch or the hundreds of questions I have that keep me up all night.
Why didn't he take things farther? Is he seriously going to take care of my kids when they come for my time? Does he know what he's getting himself into? Is he really really choosing me? The alcoholic single dad?
Me being in the closet was a deal breaker for him before, but did that change?
The next morning, Trey brings me a cup of coffee and a kiss before heading into the kitchen to make breakfast. I feel terrible that I can't help and that he's forced to wait on me, but I'd do the same for him in a heartbeat, if it was him in this cast.
"Thank you," I say as I take the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, but my stomach is in knots with unanswered questions.
So, I blurt out the first one I can think of before I chicken out. "Are you still working?"
I don't know his financial situation, if he can afford to quit or not, or if he's even willing to. All I do know is that it would kill me to watch him walk out of that door, knowing he was going to be intimate with someone else. I'm not sure I could handle that. No. I know I wouldn't be able to.
He settles into the chair next to the couch, his own plate of eggs and bacon in his lap, but the look he's giving me gives nothing away.
But when he answers that, yes, he is still working, my stomach hollows out. Blood rushes through my ears, giving me a buzzing sensation in my head. It's so loud, I almost don't hear the rest.
"I've kept my photography clients, but cancelled my escort ones. It didn't seem fair to you to ask you to be loyal while not giving you the same in return."
"Wait. What?"
His lips tip up in a lopsided grin. "My boyfriend's a little possessive, if you don't remember."
I understand all of the words coming out of his mouth but it's as if my brain won't process them. I knew he was a photographer, but I had no idea he did it professionally.
"Speaking of..." he says, setting the plate down on the coffee table and walking into the home office I caught a glimpse of earlier. When he returns, he gently lifts me by my shoulders so he can slide onto the couch behind me, placing a laptop on my lap and wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
What I see on the screen takes my breath away.
It's me.
It's me at my apartment. He's done something to the exposure to make it dark and moody and sexy, and the angle has the lighting caressing every muscle and divot on my body. It's sexy and moody as hell.
"Wow."
He flips to a few more, all of me, in different positions, all masterfully edited. Somehow, he's made me look like a model. Maybe not one of those skinny, effeminate models, but like a classical work of art.
"These are incredible," I say, in awe of both his talent and how he's made me look. I look hot.
"Not too shabby, huh?" he teases, but I'm speechless.
When he slides the laptop to the floor beside us, I sink into him, loving just being in his arms. I never thought I'd have this again.
And knowing there's no booking link or deposit makes the easy affection that much more heady.
This is him - this is me - choosing each other for no other reason than because we want to.
He changed his career for me. Something he's been building for a decade, and while I never would have asked him to, he did it anyway. He knew I would struggle with it and gave it up for me.
My nose burns as tears pinch through my eyelids. My heart aches with love for this man.
He's behind me, so he can't see the tears, but he pulls his plate onto his lap and eats with one hand while the other plays lazily with my hair. And for the first time in my life I feel well and truly loved.
And I will spend every day for the rest of my life showing this man how much I love him.