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My gaze focuses hard on Xenia’s face, searching for signs of unhappiness or fear. I can’t even remember exactly what happened. I never get horny like that. Losing control makes sense in a fight. I rarely let it happen any other time.
A smile brightens Xenia’s face as soon as she realizes I’m watching her. My hand stops traveling her body, searching for injuries from my rough fucking. I rest it on her belly. Her hand quickly cups mine. She’s so present right now.
“Does a guy bring flowers after the first time?” I ask, trying to remember what Ruin and the other men did back in the day.
Xenia surprises me by laughing. “How would I know? Men never want a second time.”
“Are you a lousy lay?” I ask, grumpy when I think of men using her.
“Yes. I’m very lazy and self-conscious.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say and scratch my jaw. “After all the blood rushed to my dick, the entire fuck became a blur. I do remember you trying to rough me up some.”
Xenia laughs again. I’m intoxicated by the carefree sound. She cups my jaw and rewards me with an unguarded smile.
“I’m still coming to the party on Friday.”
“Why?” I grunt, unsure about her getting too friendly with the other guys.
“I want to spend time with you.”
“But I don’t go to those things.”
Xenia’s smile warms. “I think you will if you know I’m there.”
“All because you want to fuck in a bed.”
“This thing under us is a bed, Hobo.”
Glancing around my tent, I nod. “I guess it is.”
“Is this where you go when you leave me?”
“Sometimes,” I mumble, thinking about that first night I saw her. I had indeed come here and wondered why I cared so much about a stranger. Beautiful was one thing, but I’d been obsessed early on. “I have tents in other places.”
“And no one bothers them,” she says, not really asking a question.
“Who would want my tent?”
“People who can’t afford their own tent.”
I consider the many things I stole as a kid. As a man, I still sometimes swipe shit. The other day at Xenia’s shop, while she took a piss and got ready to follow me around, I stuffed a menu in my pack. No reason. I haven’t even looked at it, but I like knowing it’s nearby.
“There’s a guy around town who doesn’t have a dollar to his name,” I explain as I rest next to her. “He’s a drunk who got hassled by my parents’ cult. I saw him when I was growing up. He disappeared for a while, and I figured he was dead. He eventually turned back up, having been in county jail. I was working for the club by then and had money to spare. Even though it killed me to spend it on someone who wasn’t my sister, I still got him a tent. Told him to camp away from me, though. It was just a pity thing. I wasn’t looking to be friends.”
“You’re a softie,” she says, and I shake my head. “You helped me when we met. You bought a tent for a homeless guy. You helped that salon lady. Yep, you’re a saint.”
I want to get my back up over her teasing. Xenia’s smile keeps me chill instead. She admires me like I’m something beautiful to look at rather than just a tatted monster.
“Do you miss Vegas?” I ask, testing her resolve to remain in McMurdo Valley.
“Yes, but only when I’m depressed. I build up my old home like it was something special. Since I’m no longer depressed, I can remember the reasons I left. I can also see why I came here.”
“There are many beautiful places in the world.”
“Like where?” she challenges, calling my bluff.
“I don’t know. I’ve never left the Valley.”
