Chapter Four

Megan walked the street looking for Mouth, although she no longer expected to see him. He’d been missing almost a week. Six days since she’d last talked to him and pissed him off so much he’d probably relocated to a new area of the city or maybe even hopped a bus for somewhere else completely. She no longer tried to pretend she came to the boulevard for any other reason. She’d finished the article a few days ago and submitted it to Rossi, all the while hearing Mouth’s voice in her head telling her she was using the kids’ lives to further her career. It took most of the pleasure out of her sense of accomplishment at finishing the piece and, although she knew it was a riveting article, part of her almost hoped her boss wouldn’t print it.

She’d told herself tonight was the absolute last night she would come down to the boulevard and look for Mouth, but she’d promised herself that several times already. Then she looked up and there he was, standing in his usual spot, back against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, one leg cocked while the other bore his weight. His face was profiled half in shadow and half in the light and Megan thought of the photo she’d snapped and how that striking image alone would sell her story. She felt a rush of relief coupled with a strong swell of desire at the sight of him. Overlaying those emotions was anger that he’d caused her so much worry—even though it wasn’t any of her business where he went or how long he stayed away.

Megan approached him just as he turned his head. In the harsh light, the left side of his face was swollen and bruised. One eye was a mere slit and his mouth on that side was twisted downward by the swelling. She gasped and her stomach dropped as she surveyed the damage to his face. The need to touch him, to assure herself he was really there and safe flooded through her. She walked more quickly toward him.

He caught sight of her, registered her presence with a blink of his good eye, then pushed off the wall and began to walk away. He carried himself stiffly and favored his right leg, but still moved fast.

Megan hurried to catch up. “What happened?” She trotted along at his side.

“Go away,” he answered. “I’m trying to work.”

“Look, I’m sorry about what I said the other night. It was rude and wrong, but please don’t shut me out. Whatever happened to you, I want to help.”

Stopping abruptly, he turned to her.

She stumbled as she came to a halt beside him.

His angry stare made her step back. “You want to help? Then get the fuck off my street and leave me alone.”

“Please. Don’t.” She reached toward his injured face.

He reared back, raising his hand to block hers. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed it hard once before dropping it. “I don’t need your help. I need you to get the hell away from me.” His voice was icy and level. It would’ve been easier to take if he yelled.

“Listen.” She tried once more. “I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please forgive me.”

He looked up the street, then back at her. “You didn’t upset me. For you to upset me, I’d have to care what you think, and I don’t. I’m not your friend. You don’t need to apologize or help me. Just finish your article and stop hanging around here.” He added with an ironic grimace indicating his bruises. “It’s not safe.”

“So I’ve been told before.” Megan paused, then said in an impulsive rush, “No, it’s not safe and you’re in no condition to be out here right now. That’s why I want you to come with me.”

“What?”

“Come and stay at my apartment for a night or two until we can find someplace safe for you to go.” Her inner voice asked her if she’d just made that offer aloud.

“Like where, a group home or shelter? I don’t think so.”

“Fine, then. No authorities. No foster care or institutions or shelters. No interfering, just a couple of nights of sleeping on a couch in a warm living room instead of in a drafty, abandoned building.”

He looked down at the ground, his shoulders slightly hunched and his neck muscles tight. With the distortion of the left side of his face, it was hard to read his expression, but he seemed to be considering it.

“Hot soup thrown in, no extra charge,” she said with a smile, trying to lighten the fervent tone of her plea.

He sucked his torn bottom lip into his mouth, then winced as the scab opened and it began bleeding. His tongue darted out to lick at the blood.

“A shower. Clean sheets. Stouffer’s lasagna, which isn’t half bad,” she cajoled.

He shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “I guess so,” he muttered. “One night.”

“I’m parked in a lot about a block away. Do you have any stuff you need to pick up?”

“I got a bag over there.” He jerked his thumb toward one of the bars. “I’ll go get it.”

“I’ll bring my car around.”

He walked away with a halting step that made her wonder what his catalog of injuries included. The limp convinced her she’d made the right decision, impulsive or not, in inviting him home, and even her logical inner voice agreed and shut up. Part of her wanted to run after him, not let him out of her sight until he was safe inside her car, but she knew she had to trust him. And when she pulled her car around and he was waiting there on the sidewalk with his stained duffle bag over one shoulder, she felt like whooping for joy.

 

 

 

When they got to her building, Megan led Mouth up the stairs to her apartment on the third floor. She never took the elevator since the day Mrs. Ryan got stuck in it for over five hours. He moved slower and slower by the time they reached the last flight, and she cursed herself for being so insensitive as to make him walk up. She glanced over at him as she put her key in the lock.

He leaned against the wall, his eyes half-closed, his mouth a grim line of discomfort.

She wondered how badly he’d been beaten and by whom, but she hadn’t asked questions during the ride home, waiting for him to volunteer the information. Maybe a john had whaled on him or he’d been in a brawl with other kids. Mouth made no secret of the violence that often erupted on the street, fueled by the drugs and booze which most of the kids used to numb themselves to their wretched situation.

Dragging her mind away from the depressing images her question generated, she led him through the small foyer and into her living room.

“Sorry, I don’t have a sofa-bed.” She gestured at the couch.

“It’s fine.” He looked around the room, seeming subdued and smaller somehow inside the confines of the indoors. Or maybe he was just exhausted from his climb up the stairs.

“I’ll improvise something with sheets and blankets while you clean up.” She eyed him critically. “I think I can find you a pair of sweats and an extra large T-shirt to change into while I wash your clothes. I mean, unless you have clean stuff in your bag.”

He looked down at his torn jeans, ragged jacket and filthy white T-shirt, which had bloodstains on it as well as grime. “This is fine. I don’t want other clothes.” His voice was firm and his arms hugged his duffel to him, as though unwilling to surrender any more of himself into her overbearing goodwill.

Megan knew how to pick her battles. Mouth was clearly uncomfortable in her territory and unwilling to admit he needed her help. She tried to tamp down her anxious babbling and adopt a more casual tone as she pointed him toward the bathroom, giving him a fresh towel and washcloth from the linen cupboard.

She noticed his hands when he took them, how the skin of the knuckles was abraded from fighting and the fingernails were bitten short. For the glimmer of a second, she thought about how those hands would feel touching her body, his rough skin skimming over the tender surface of her stomach or inner thigh, then she slammed the door shut on the image. But not before the thought had seared itself into her mind, leaving traces of arousal in its wake.

 

 

 

After he’d showered, Mouth joined her in the small kitchen.

Megan was relieved to see he had, after all, decided to make use of the clean clothes she’d set outside the bathroom door. With his hair wet and slicked back, clad in sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, he appeared younger. He was clean, but still looked like he’d been dragged down the street behind a car.

Standing in the doorway, barefoot on the tiled floor, he was clearly unsure of himself.

Megan smiled at him, feeling she needed to act the role of hostess and put him at ease. How long had it been since he’d been a guest in someone’s home? Someone who wasn’t a client.

“I promised lasagna, but it’ll take another twenty minutes or so to warm up. What do you want to drink in the meantime?”

“Beer would be good.”

Megan hesitated for a second, then sent her inner chaperone to hell. The kid might not be twenty-one, but he sucked cock for a living. It wasn’t like a beer was going to corrupt him. She opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of a local microbrew she kept for when James or Sasha’s husband, Stevie dropped by because they were both such beer snobs. She popped the caps and handed him a bottle.

He knocked it back in a few long swallows.

Her gaze fixed on his bobbing Adam’s apple. Try as she might, she felt her attention drawn to his body again and again. And somehow she doubted he’d fail to notice her glances. This was a kid whose whole existence depended on reading people’s non-verbal cues right. He could tell if someone looked at him. It was up to her to keep her eyes under control.

When he lowered the bottle, his eyes met hers, locked and held for a long moment. The air in the kitchen was charged with palpable tension.

Megan broke, looking away first. “Can I ask you something?” she said, hoping to break the awkward silence that had settled as they waited for the food to cook.

“Sure.” He set the empty bottle on the table.

“What’s your real name?”

He was silent for a moment, absent-mindedly tonguing his injured lip, while Megan focused her gaze elsewhere. She was poking at his privacy again, but couldn’t call him Mouth anymore. Mouth was his street name, his hustler name. It was a name designed to evoke blowjobs given in dark alleys or the front seat of cars, his lips stretched around another man’s dick. It reeked of sex, and just didn’t belong in her kitchen.

“It feels wrong to keep calling you Mouth here,” she added when she realized he wasn’t about to answer.

He nodded. “Fair enough. I guess I owe you anyhow. I’m Sean.”

Sean. It sounded so different, like he was this whole new person she’d just been introduced to. It was such a wholesome name. She smiled. “Thanks, Sean.”

 

 

 

They ate at the dinette table in her kitchen, and it was nothing like the first time she’d seen him eat. He was no longer careless and open about his appetite. Here, he took smaller bites and his movements seemed cautious and controlled. He sipped his milk instead of gulping and refrained from making origami with his napkin as he had in the restaurant. He seemed withdrawn and wary.

Megan realized he was probably as nervous as she was. She remembered what he’d said earlier, about owing her.

“Listen.” As he was finishing his second helping, she broke the strained silence that had fallen between them. She hesitated, wanting to make sure she said this correctly. “I want you to know that whatever happened on the street, you’re safe here. And aside from basically not trashing my place, I don’t expect anything from you.”

He looked up from his plate, his eyes scanning hers as if trying to read them.

“You don’t want payment for this?”

Megan’s heart broke at his incredulous tone. She shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything, Sean.”

“Yeah? Because it really wouldn’t bother me, you know.” He gave her a suggestive once-over that made her stomach flip. The blood rose up her neck. Jesus, he’d just offered to fuck her or go down on her or something in exchange for a meal and bed for a night. And his hooded gaze on her body… She raised her hands in denial.

“God, no, Sean! I’m not…this isn’t…I’m not like that…” As she stammered, anger replaced shock. How dare he think that of her after all the time they’d spent together? How dare he compare her to the men who used him?

“You have no right to accuse me of that,” she said. Rising quickly, she walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. She trembled and tears threatened to take over. The cool air from the appliance washed over her hot cheeks, and she stood there a moment staring at a gallon of milk, a Chinese takeout box and a nasty looking slice of cake she’d forgotten to cover.

She tried to compose herself, but ended up grabbing the milk and spinning around to continue railing at him. “Seriously. After all these weeks, after all the talking… I thought—I thought you respected me. I thought you knew I wouldn’t do that kind of shit. Who do you think I am?”

She was almost shouting now, but Sean hadn’t moved. His expression was blank.

“I’ve seen how you look at me.” His low voice hit Megan in the pit of her stomach. God, nothing slipped past him.

She walked over to the table and set the milk down, rested her hands on the table, took a deep breath and forced herself to look him in the eye. “That’s got nothing to do with it, Sean. Nothing. I would never expect anything from you. Damn it, you’re seventeen. You’re younger than my little brother. You’ve told me how shitty your life is. How could you think I’d ever take advantage of you?” She maintained her stance, leaning on her hands and looking down at him, trying to put their roles in proper perspective.

He shrugged, regarding her from under his eyebrows without lifting his head. He’d been gripping his fork like it was a weapon and now he set it carefully down beside his plate. “Yeah, well, that’s the way it is when you work the streets. You wouldn’t be the first person wanting to rescue me for their own reasons.” His eyes were flat, his voice even, as he retreated into the emotionless shell he favored when he felt vulnerable.

It hadn’t even occurred to her he might have had similar experiences in the past.

“You’ve done this before?” she said, dropping back into her seat.

He cocked his head sideways and gave a little shrug of assent.“More than once?”

“Listen, Megan,” he said slowly, “I’ve been on my own for a year and a half? You don’t think I’ve ever wanted to believe someone was just being nice to me?”

“You seem so unwilling to trust anyone. Why would you—?”

“Yeah, well, I learned my lesson,” he cut in abruptly. “And I was lucky. I never got caught up in any real shit. But no, I don’t trust anyone who says they don’t want a piece of me. It’s just not true. It never is.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her from his one good eye. The blackened one gave him a dangerous look, and he lounged back in his chair with sprawled legs, sending a sexual message. He was definitely giving her attitude. He might be better-mannered and more respectful to her on her turf, but he still had a feral intensity she found hard to ignore. His smoldering gaze challenged her to deny her attraction to him.

“Sean…” Megan swallowed hard. Her body hummed like a plucked guitar string at the heat in his eyes, her nipples tightened and her sex pulsed in time with her heartbeats. When every reaction to him blazed across her face, how could she pretend there wasn’t an element of truth in what he said? The difference was, while she might be sexually attracted, she wouldn’t act on it or demand anything of him as others had done.

“I’m a fucking whore,” he continued. “The people I meet either want to fuck me or fuck me over. End of fucking story.”

“So, if that’s really what you thought, then why did you come with me?”

“Because I can handle this. And with you—well, it wouldn’t be a chore, you know?” His half-lidded eyes and predatory smile left Megan feeling like prey.

She bit her lip—part of her reacting unthinkingly to what he said with a fresh wave of arousal, and the rest of her brain utterly appalled at the thought and at Sean’s matter-of-fact approach. He really had no illusions about anything.

She rubbed her hands over her face. “Look, you might find this hard to believe, but I swear it was never my intention to even suggest I want anything from you. I really don’t. Talking to you over the past few weeks—it’s made me aware of the life you lead, it’s certainly opened my eyes in many respects, but it hasn’t made me want to have sex with you.”

“So why did you want me to come with you?” He sounded skeptical, but he’d uncrossed his arms and resumed a less defensive, less sexual posture. One hand returned to his lap, the other toyed with his fork on the table.

“Because I was worried about you. I am worried about you. You drop out of sight for a few days and come back looking like hell. What happened to you, anyhow?”

“You’re worried about a fucking hustler so you invite him into your home? You don’t know me for shit. I could beat you up and steal all your stuff. You think you can trust me because we talked a couple of times?”

Megan ignored the little shiver of apprehension crawling up her spine at his words—no, she knew he wouldn’t do that—and plowed on. “Look, I took a gamble. But no, I don’t think you’d beat me up and steal my stuff, and no, I haven’t brought you home to sleep with you. If you don’t believe it, fine. Leave. But if you stay, just deal with it, have some faith in me and stop being such an ass.”

She took a deep breath. Her cheeks were flushed, showing her emotions as always. It would be nice to have Sean’s amazing self-possession. Then Megan remembered why he was so good at hiding everything and didn’t envy him anymore.

“Okay,” he said, sounding almost defeated, as if it cost him to drop the aggression and the attitude. But he seemed to relax, too, just a tiny bit. Perhaps he’d been hoping for this all along, and had only confronted her to allay his own fears.

Her own anger had gone away completely, leaving her feeling a little foolish at having reacted so violently to his offer of sex. He’d really hit a raw nerve, making her ashamed of wanting him and even more ashamed he’d noticed.

“So, what did happen to you?” she asked again.

Sean looked away. “Some kids beat me up. But that’s nothing. I was stupid and careless and I paid for it.” More than angry and bitter, he sounded desolate.

“What do you mean?”

His bruised jaw clenched. “I was tailed by some kids I got into trouble with. They trashed my place and got my cash then beat the shit out of me just for the hell of it.”

Megan blinked. His money? That meant months of sucking off strangers because it was his ticket to a better life, his way out, wasted. Months of hell. She had no idea how much money Sean was talking about, but it had to be quite a lot, because his daily expenses weren’t much. “They got your money?” The beating did pale in comparison.

He nodded, his mouth tight.

She wanted to hug him, but knew it was out of the question. Without thinking, she extended her hand across the table toward his, then stopped herself. He was bound to misread that gesture, too. She fumbled and grabbed a paper napkin instead.

“What are you going to do?” She twisted the napkin in her hands.

“Try to earn it again, I guess.” But his voice sounded hollow, his confidence drained. She could imagine how depressing it was to think he was back to square one, with a never-ending stream of tricks to turn before he recovered his lost cash.

“Don’t think about it tonight, okay? Try to get some rest and heal. Honestly, you can stay here a few days while you think about what you want to do next.” She kept her gaze fixed on him, searching for any negative reaction to her offer and was relieved to see none. “In the meantime, is it okay if I wash your clothes?”

“They’re pretty dirty. I can do it.”

“Why don’t you finish the lasagna? Let me do this much for you. Unless you’d rather I didn’t go through your stuff. Do you want to deal with the duffel bag later?”

He was about to say something, but simply nodded assent.

 

 

 

When she picked up his jeans from the floor outside the bathroom where he’d carefully folded them together with his stained T-shirt, she realized his personal belongings were still in the pockets. She pulled out his wallet gingerly and exerted all her willpower to stop herself looking inside for additional information. Placing it on the bathroom counter, she went through the other pockets quickly and fished a handful of condoms from his back pockets. Her heart sank. This irrefutable proof of his daily occupation made her want to cry—again.

As Megan put the clothes into the laundry basket, she looked through the doorway at him. He was eating his way through his third plateful, head bent down, shoveling the food into his mouth like a guy who never quite ate enough. He looked young, with his damaged face, unkempt, damp hair and bare feet.

There was no way she’d let him go back to the street, certainly not as long as he was that badly messed up and even when he healed. As she carried the washing down to the building’s communal laundry room, she decided if she didn’t want him slipping back into his hustling existence, she must find a way to convince him to stay with her.

 

 

 

After giving Sean pain medication and seeing him bedded down on the couch, Megan retreated to her own room.

While dressing for sleep in a T-shirt and shorts, she thought about her motivations for helping Sean. Was she conning herself into believing she was being selfless and helpful, when in fact she wanted more? There was no doubt she was powerfully attracted to him. Having him at close quarters in her house had made that clear to her—and evidently to him. But she was an adult, a mature, responsible adult who would not—could not—allow herself to act upon these thoughts.

It took her a long time to fall asleep, her ear unconsciously straining for any sound coming from the living room, her mind and body restless as she tossed and turned under the sheets. When she finally did fall asleep, it was to a jumble of disturbing dreams, none of which she remembered when she woke, but which left her feeling anxious and skittish.

In the early morning, she tiptoed to the bathroom, not wanting to wake Sean. She checked in on him and the sight of him, sprawled on her couch, sheets everywhere, made her mouth go dry. His T-shirt had ridden up, exposing his chest and stomach. His whole torso was a mass of purple and yellow bruises, colors blossoming under the skin in a garish pattern, which had to signify serious pain. He was remarkably fit and well-muscled for a guy who lived on the streets, with a clearly defined six-pack visible even under the bruising. She mentally kicked herself for that observation and forced herself to look away.

Would she be able to get him to agree to go to a doctor? Probably not, since he clearly hadn’t wanted her to see the extent of his injuries. She didn’t want to push and risk alienating him.

Megan took a quick shower and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. Sean padded softly to the bathroom and when he came out she called, “Morning. There’s fresh coffee if you’d like some. What would you like to eat?”

He leaned against the kitchen doorframe, looking groggy, his black eye slightly less swollen than it had been the previous day, but his face still a mess. “What have you got?” he asked, his voice raspy, and it was unclear whether he was doing the James Dean routine accidentally or on purpose, or whether he even knew about it.

“Bacon, eggs, there’s pancake mix if you want pancakes or toast, cereal, orange juice… You name it.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Yeah, that sounds like breakfast to me.”

“You want all of it?” Megan was about to make a crack about how he’d eat her out of house and home, but caught herself in time. “Sure. How do you like your eggs?” She turned from the refrigerator toward him and caught his gaze riveted below her waist.

Megan was still wearing her bedtime briefs and they suddenly felt way too short. The skin of her bare legs prickled at his attention.

Sean quickly looked up from her ass to her face. A smile quirked his lips. He moved into the room and reached his hand toward Megan’s. “I’ll cook them. It’s the least I can do.”

Still processing the fact he’d been checking out her butt, Megan surrendered the pair of eggs to him. There was a warm brush of skin on skin during the transaction and her fingers tingled when she pulled away.

Sean moved to the stove and cracked the eggs into the hot skillet. “Scrambled okay?”

“Sure.” As Megan got out silverware and plates, she thought about Sean’s interested scan of her assets. She’d been so caught up in fighting her sexual feelings for him she’d never considered the attraction might be mutual. Having him stay with her could be even more difficult than she’d imagined. After a breakfast of toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, coffee and orange juice, Sean looked noticeably happier. Food agreed with him.

“So how do you feel this morning?” she asked, as she collected dishes and pans and piled them in the sink.

“Okay, I guess. Better.” He smiled again. It was a nice smile, a little crooked, highlighting the fact she hadn’t seen him smile often before. He got up and took the sponge from her hands. “I can do the dishes.”

Megan leaned against the counter, watching the back of Sean’s head as he busied himself with the washing-up. He was a neat worker, washing, rinsing and placing each item on the rack with practiced ease, even though it had to have been a while since he’d had the opportunity to do such a domestic task. It was strange to have him moving around her kitchen, touching her things, filling up the small space with his strong presence. Strange, but comforting too, and she knew she absolutely didn’t want him to leave today.

“I wanted to say…” She trailed off, feeling self-conscious. “I mean, you’re still pretty sore and if those guys have it in for you…” She stopped again. “What I’m trying to say is—stay for a few days. Please. I hate the thought of you being out there when you’re still so beat up.”

“I can’t—impose,” Sean muttered, his back still to her. He was done with the clean up and stood resting his hands on the edge of the sink.

“It wouldn’t be an imposition. Please, Sean.”

When he turned to face her, she knew she’d won the battle for now. He regarded her with solemn eyes. The depth of expression in them made his eyes appear ancient in contrast with the boyishly tousled hair falling over his forehead. He gripped the sponge in his hands. “Okay. Thanks.” He swallowed. “Thanks for trusting me.”

Megan shook her head. “Thanks for trusting me.”