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When I was finished, I looked up into the mirror, almost surprised at what I saw looking back at me.
Not the bruises or stitches.
I’d been getting used to seeing them.
It was something in my eyes, a look I wasn’t sure I’d ever really seen there before.
Happiness.
A sort of bone-deep happiness.
Even with the shitty situation that was still unfinished, and all the danger that might be involved in that still, I washappy.
I knew better than to think it had anything to do with just having some help with my situation. If that was the case, I would feel the same sort of joy if I’d gone to the Murphys. And I knew I wouldn’t have.
This wasn’t about Czar or the Bulgarians, or whoever the hell else I found myself tangled up with.
This was about me.
And Slash.
And whatever it was that was growing between us.
Neither of us were good at this sort of thing, had much experience in making relationships work.
But maybe that was the beauty of it. Neither of us knew what we were doing. There was no burden on the “more experienced” partner to help guide the clueless one through the stages of becoming a couple.
We were both just going to stumble and fumble and fuck shit up and then try to fix it… together.
I liked that.
An even playing field.
There would be times to come, I knew, where it wasn’t going to be easy. To bite my tongue. To accept help. To share my thoughts and feelings.
It wasn’t going to be easy for Slash, either, though.
Somehow, that fact was going to help me power through in those tough moments, knowing he was going through the same.
“Alright. Well,” Slash said, coming in as I was walking out from the bathroom, stark freaking naked still, making him kick closed the door, then fall back against it, letting out a deep exhale. “Fuck. That’s something I’ll never get sick of seeing,” he said, his gaze roaming over me.
His arms were loaded down with snacks. Little single-serving bags of chips in all the colors that meant at least four different flavors. Fruit packs. Graham crackers. Peanut butter cups.
“Wait a damn minute,” I said, eyeing a specific light blue, funny-shaped plastic container. “Is that… is that a Dunkaroo? I thought they discontinued them when we were kids,” I said, walking toward him.
“They’re back. I only know this because fucking Raff never shuts up about them,” he said as I came up to him to snag the container.
“Well, these are mine. And I’m not sharing,” I told him, waving it in his face before turning and walking back toward the bed, feeling his gaze on my ass the whole way. “Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” I asked, glancing over at him with a smirk.
“Can’t decide,” he admitted.
“Well, if you come over here, you can lookandtouch,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, can’t argue with that logic,” he said, coming to the bed, tossing the snacks in the center, then climbing on with me.
It was so simple.
Having sex.
