He watches me for long seconds, and then drops his hands to either side of me and kisses me. His chest is pressed firmly against mine as his lips move with a reverence and need that I reciprocate. King presses one last kiss to my lips and stands up, linking my legs over each of his arms he pulls me to the edge of the bed and slides into me so slowly, I’m lost between frustration and bliss until he pulls out and does it again at a slightly faster pace. He repeats the movement until I make a guttural sound in my throat, and then King takes me to every edge as he burns new memories and fuses previous ones to this night, making every inch of me feel beautiful and sated as only King can.

“I have known you for only a few months, and already it feels like you know me better than anyone.” Using his finger, he slowly traces my cheekbone.

“You should let more people in.”

I look down as his wide fingers press firmly around my hand. I look back to his face, and his eyes are wide with patience. “It’s not that I keep people out. I can tell twenty other people the same stories that I’ve shared with you, and they still wouldn’t understand.” He lifts his free hand and cups the back of his neck, dropping his head. “This sounds so lame. I sound so lame. I’m not saying you’re … I don’t know what we are, Lo. All I know is that six months later, you’re in my head more than ever. Hell, that’s saying something because I didn’t even know who you were for the first two, and I would still feel your skin when I was trying to sleep. I was thinking about what makes you laugh when I was supposed to be working. I didn’t even know you. Something about you just buried itself inside of me. Initially, I thought it was because you didn’t know who I was. You treated me like I was just a normal guy. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I realized it’s not something about you, it’s everything.”

THE NEXT morning I stand in the kitchen, surveying the coffeepot. I may not know how to cook many things, or use kitchen gadgets with much success, but coffee I can do. I’ve been an addict since I was eight. Apparently I was either meant to be well over six feet, or it truly doesn’t stunt your growth.

I set the machine to brew as I lean against the counter, appreciating the soreness of my muscles. King and I fell into an exhausted state of euphoria last night, and if I hadn’t been so tempted to draw him this morning, I would have woken him up to do it all over again. Instead, I dressed in his borrowed clothes again and grabbed my bag from upstairs, preparing things in case he was a light sleeper before I made my way back down and sat on the edge of the bed so I could still see him while my hands went to work. I worked for over an hour, until my lids felt heavy and my shoulders ached from slouching, making coffee a necessity.

“Hey.” King rests his cheek against mine. I feel his chest slide against my back, memorizing the heat and friction, the width of him against my frame, before his arm wraps securely around my stomach, overwhelming me with sensations.

“Did I wake you?”

He shakes his head slightly. “No, but I was disappointed you were gone.”

“I needed some fuel.”

“I can help with that. Let’s go back—”

“Is Dad home yet?” Mercedes makes her way into the kitchen, her hair in a million directions and her eyes still blinking with sleep.

King sighs, his hips shifting against me slightly before he moves to stand behind the bar.

“Not yet, but it’s still early,” I say. It still looks gray outside, but I checked the news when I first woke up and reports informed me that crews worked late to clean everything up.

“Want some coffee?” I ask, turning to King.

“Please.” He leans forward on the bar. “Are you the kind that drinks their breakfast?” Curiosity pulls his eyebrows up.

“Not always, but it is what makes me approachable.” He laughs as I pull two mugs down and face him. “How do you like it?”

His eyes turn bright, his lips curving into a smile that makes them nearly even.

“Your coffee,” I say, shaking my head.

King’s lips stay pulled into a smile as silent innuendos pass between us. “Two sugars,” he says finally.

I’m distracted by his silent insinuations, picturing images of him from last night that make my movements feel slow as I reach for the coffeepot. The sound of the front door closing has me turning to the foyer where Isabelle’s now calling out a happy greeting. Her eyes land on me and grow wide with calculation before she smiles again and wanders farther into the kitchen, stopping to hug Mercedes.

“Hey, Isabelle,” King greets her. Rounding the bar, he hugs her and then stands behind me, his hand resting gently on my hip. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I nod absently, not certain if I prefer him being around while she’s here or not. He disappears down the stairs as Isabelle takes a seat next to Mercedes at the bar.

“How are you hanging in there, monkey?”

“I’m going to go try calling Dad again.” Mercedes slides from her chair and looks back once before also disappearing.

“Is she okay?” Isabelle’s tone is filled with a sincere concern that makes me feel worse for not liking her.

“Yeah, the storm last night spooked her, but I’m sure as soon as she talks to Kash she’ll be fine.

“It’s so great you’re getting along so well with the family. It surprised me a little to hear about you and King, but I’m happy he’s happy.”

“They’re a great family.” I feel as though I should say something more profound, or something to verify I’m worthy of their time, as pathetic as that seems. “Would you like some coffee?” I lift the coffeepot in question.

“Sure, that would be great.” I pull down another mug and fill it. “Is that for King?” she asks as I pull the sugar bowl forward.

Arching my eyebrows, I nod.

“He likes brown sugar.”

“In his coffee?” I ask.

She nods with a shy smile that ties my stomach in knots. It exposes secrets, truths about their relationship that, as benign as I know they are, still burn.

I want to find out what else she knows, but the front door opens and Kash and Summer make their way in with rushed movements, showing they’re just as anxious to ensure we’re all safe.

While I would prefer to ride the bus home, King insists on driving me. We sit in silence, one of his hands resting on my thigh while the other drums against the steering wheel. He’s relieved and happy, forcing my interaction with Isabelle to the recesses of my mind.

“I THOUGHT we talked about this smiling thing. I’ve only seen you down a couple of times: that first time we met, a few times early on when I knew Mercedes was giving you a run for your money, and now.” Robert’s voice is clear as he calls to me from his porch. I left early, before King got home, because I couldn’t face him. Not today.

“The good news is these downs remind you that you’re living. If life doesn’t offer both good and bad, we’ve lost our reason for existence.” His words replay in my head as he makes his way down the cement steps, his smile widening as I take a couple of steps up his narrow driveway.

His comment makes me think of the conversation King and I shared weeks ago now, and I attempt to smile though the thought makes me want to cry. “That attempt at a smile is a little pitiful. What’s bothering you?”

“It’s complicated,” I say with a sigh.

He shrugs noncommittally, and I’m suddenly curious about how often he and King speak and how detailed their discussions are. “Likely, you’re making it confusing.” He scratches his cheek that still looks too young to be capable of holding the title of grandpa to a ten-year-old. “You didn’t get accepted to Italy?”