I walked into my kitchen and CJ followed. The tension between us was palpable and heavy in the air. I wanted to fix this, but I needed the truth and I needed to hear it from him. Yesterday afternoon, I was determined to walk away from him until he sent me that damn text message.

Hi

That was all it said.

But I knew how much it would have taken him to write that and then to find the courage to send it. Those two simple, innocent letters were like a red-hot poker to my heart. Then a few hours later, he sent it again, and it almost killed me. I could picture him trying to figure out if he’d somehow fucked up the first one, and even imagining him staring at the phone confused just about broke my heart.

When my phone rang and it was his number, I almost hit Answer. My God, I almost did. I wanted to speak to him so badly. I wanted to hear his voice, to say I was sorry for ignoring his texts, that he didn’t mess the text messages up, he did it perfectly, but my heart wouldn’t let me.

But then his voice message . . . he sounded so confused and hurt, and for him to call me when his father might hear or find out he actually had a phone . . . well, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I called him back and his voice was like a song written just for me. Even all the beers I’d had couldn’t lessen the pull I felt for him. I’d hoped the alcohol would help numb me, but if anything, it made it worse.

It’s funny how alcohol affects your vision. Sometimes things tilt and blur, then other times it strips away all the bullshit and the truth is all that remains.

I was in love with CJ Davis.

That was the truth right there. I was in love with a convicted meth dealer.

And seeing him this morning didn’t make it any easier. He was bright-eyed and gorgeous, all smiles and warmth when he saw me. I tried to put up a defensive barrier, but it did more damage than good.

The truth was, CJ was so new to this. He’d never had a relationship before. He’d never trusted anyone enough to give his heart to, and he’d had such a shitty life. He was taking a huge chance on me. The least I owed him was honesty. I just hoped he’d afford me the same.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked me quietly.

“I read your case file.”

CJ blinked in confusion. “So? I thought you read it before.”

“Not all of it.”

He folded his arms and his eyes hardened. “Which part didn’t you like exactly? The fact my old man broke my arm when I was nine because I dropped his cigarettes in a puddle of water? Believe me, breaking my arm wasn’t the worst thing he did to me that day. Or was it the fact they found cigarette burns up my arms?”

Oh, God. My heart hurt. “The fact you got caught with all the ingredients to make meth.”

He stared at me, like the light had been snuffed out inside him. His voice was whisper quiet. “Do you think for one second I would do that?”

“What am I supposed to believe? Pseudoephedrine, desoxyephedrine, amphetamine, ephedrine, lighter fluid.” I counted them off on my fingers. “Jesus, CJ.”

“I don’t even know what they are!” he cried, throwing his hands up. “Well, I didn’t until that night. Fuck, Noah. Do you think I would know the first thing about that shit? I’m too stupid to fucking know!”

His anger, his defiance, his hurt was all too real.

“You’re not stupid.”

“I ain’t no fucking meth dealer either. You, of all people, should know that. You are the only person who knows the real me! How many times have I told you I don’t do drugs? I don’t touch that shit. Not ever.”

“I don’t want to believe it. The CJ in that case file is not the CJ I know. But the evidence⁠—”

“Fuck the evidence,” he spat. “It don’t mean shit.”

“So tell me. Tell me what happened that night.”

“Just like I told my lawyer back then. It don’t matter when they’ve already made up their minds. Of course I’m guilty, I’m from Davis Row.” He took a step back like he was about to turn and run, so I grabbed his arm.

“Tell me what happened that night.”

He grabbed my shirt and we ended up pushing and shoving, our frustrations at the boiling point, and he pushed me against the kitchen counter. “Why? You already think I’m guilty!”

“Because I deserve the truth.”

“And I deserve the benefit of the doubt! But I didn’t get that from you, did I?”

I let my hand fall from his arm, the fight in me breaking with my heart. He was right. I didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt. All CJ had ever wanted was for someone to believe in him, and I’d failed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to believe it. I know you, CJ, and none of it made sense to me.”

“Then why did you believe it?” he murmured.

“Because you pleaded guilty.”

“I didn’t have a choice. Plead guilty and get a suspended sentence. Or plead innocent and let it go to trial where twelve people will see footage of me breaking into the chemist and stealing stuff?” He huffed out. His eyes were glassy. “Yeah, right.”

I put my hand to his face. “Then tell me what happened.”

He ran his hands down my chest and fisted my shirt. “I had money for Pops’ medication put aside, but Dad was out of jail and he found it. We had a massive fight, but he didn’t give a shit and he took it anyway. I tried to stop him and he punched the shit outta me.” His eyes welled with tears. “It was cold and Pops’ breathing was bad. The stress didn’t help. Anyway, my old man drank all the money and got into a fight at a bar in town. The cops came and he ended up grabbing one of them in a fight. It was ugly, but they threw his arse back in jail, which was great for me and Pops. But it didn’t get him any medication.”

“So you broke into the chemist?”

He nodded. “I didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t breathe, and I asked the chemist if we could work out some kind of payment plan but she said they couldn’t do that. So I went back that night.” He frowned and looked down between us. I put my hand through his hair and he sucked back a breath. “So I grabbed what I thought was his medication, but it all looks the same . . .”

Oh God. He couldn’t read the labels . . .

“I grabbed some cold and flu tablets and a nose spray thing. I’d seen those ads on TV and I thought that might help him. And I took some packets of tablets. The packaging looked like the ones he normally takes.”

“But you couldn’t read it,” I whispered.

He shook his head and the first of his tears fell. “And I’d bought some lighter fluid from the smoke shop earlier that day. I didn’t know all those things together is what meth-heads use. I had no idea.” He looked up at me then, and I could see his broken heart in his eyes.

It all made sense. He’d had a black eye when he’d been caught, and the only reason he’d have that was because of his old man. And of course he couldn’t read the labels, especially big words like pseudoephedrine and desoxyephedrine.

I should have known.

I should have trusted him.

I cupped his face and wiped his tears with my thumbs. “I’m sorry I didn’t put the pieces together. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I should have, I should have believed in you, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I guess I was too hurt to realise about the reading thing.”

He nodded and more tears fell, so I pulled him in for a hug.

“I’m sorry your old man hit you. I’m sorry no one believed you back then, and I’m sorry your Pops is sick. But I’m really sorry I didn’t believe in you.” I rubbed his back and kissed the side of his head. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He buried his face in my neck and held on to me like he’d fall over if he didn’t. It was one of those fixes-everything hugs that we both needed, him more than me.

“I thought I’d done something wrong,” he mumbled. “Or that maybe you found someone else.”

I pulled back from him and cupped his face. “No. You’ve done nothing wrong, and there isn’t anyone else.”

“And you were drunk last night and I thought maybe you hooked up.”

“I don’t want anyone else, CJ.”

“You didn’t want me last night either. On the phone.”

“I’m sorry. I was so confused. I thought a few beers would help me see a bit clearer.”

“Did it?”

I nodded. “Yep. ’Cause all I could see was you.” I looked at his mouth, so close, so perfect. His eyes were smouldering with emotion and need. “I want to kiss you so bad.”

He put his hand around my neck and brought our lips closer. “We can’t do this. Not for one more week.”

“Fuck the rules,” I murmured and crushed my lips to his.

He tilted his head and opened his mouth, letting our tongues collide. He tasted of cigarettes and mint, emotion, and everything I wanted. I held his face and he slid his hands down my back and pulled our bodies together, making us both moan.

Fuck.

He pushed me harder against the counter, our bodies melding together, our mouths, our tongues, our hearts.

I dragged my hands down his neck to his chest, letting them find their way lower, lower . . . and he pulled away and stepped back. “We should stop right there.”

We were both breathing hard. “I’m not sure I want to.”

He barked out a laugh. “I sure as hell don’t want to. But we should. You’re my parole officer.”

“For one more week.” I took a few breaths. “Can you wait that long?”

He ran his hand through his hair, looked up to the ceiling, and made a pained groaning sound. “We have to.”

“You have more self-control than me.” I put my hand to his chest and slid it up to his cheek. “But if we’ve kissed once . . .”

He smiled. “Then twice won’t matter.”

I brought our lips together, softer this time with slower, tender kisses. I wanted him to know how sorry I was, how much I never meant to hurt him, how I would never hurt him again.

But then he trailed his hand around my back and lifted my shirt a little. He slid his fingertips along the line of skin above the waistband of my shorts.

It damn near brought me undone.

I smiled into the kiss and gently pushed his hips from mine. My flimsy soccer shorts didn’t leave much to the imagination. I was turned on, hard and aching, and it was very obvious.

“Um,” he started, looking down at my tented shorts.

I palmed myself. “Shut up. I can’t help it. You’re just lucky to be wearing jeans.”

He laughed and the tension between us settled into something else. I took his hand. “Are we good?” I asked. “I really am sorry. I acted like a jerk.”

“Yeah, you did.” He held my gaze for a beat. “But we’re good.”

I sighed in relief. “Okay, can you give me a sec. I need a real quick shower because I’m all sweaty after soccer, and these shorts are not my friend right now.”

He raised one eyebrow. “I dunno. I like ’em.”

I chuckled and squeezed his hand. “Will you stay? Please?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“I won’t be long.”

He gave a pointed glance at my still-tented shorts. “Oh, really?”

“I’ll be having a cold shower, thanks.”

He laughed. “Let me guess. You won’t be opposed to me making you a toasted cheese sandwich while you’re gone?”

“Not at all.” I grinned at him, then pecked his lips with mine. “Then we can talk, okay?”

CJ nodded. “Go, shower.” He palmed himself now. “Before we well and truly break your stupid rules.”

I eyed the bulge in his jeans. “Well, if we’ve broken one rule . . .”

He turned me around and pushed me toward the door. “Go.”

I heard him clanging a saucepan and grumbling to himself as I walked into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, I was cold-showered and clean and smelling a whole lot better. He had two toasted sandwiches made and handed me one on a plate as I walked in. “Feel better?”

I bit into my sandwich and spoke with my mouth half-full. “Cold showers suck, just so you know.”

He snorted. “How was soccer?”

“We won!”

“You did? That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah. How was your riding course?”

“Pretty good. Nigel, the instructor guy, was impressed with me. Well, impressed that I know my way around a bike, anyway. I asked him if there was a quiz at the end if he could read it to me because I don’t read too good.”

My God, I couldn’t believe he’d asked the instructor for help. “You did? What did he say?”

He swallowed down his food. “Said it was no problem. That it’s nothing to be ashamed of because lots of people don’t read too well.” He shrugged. “I told him I had no problem with road signs or nothing like that, just tests and lots of big words.”

God, I felt like I could burst. I put my hand on his arm. “I’m really proud of you.”

He blushed and tried not to smile. “There are two guys in the class who don’t know nothin’ about bikes. I’m surprised they could even kick-start one. One turned on with a key, so maybe he didn’t know how to kick-start one.”

I chuckled. “And you know how to pull one apart, fix it, and put it back together again.”

He nodded, this time not even trying to hide his pride. “First time I’ve ever been the smartest in the class, that’s for sure.”

Now I laughed. “You’ll nail it next weekend. Then you can sit the test after you finish the course. I can drive you straight to the RMS if you like. This time next week, you’ll have your rider licence.”

He finished his sandwich and smiled. “Sounds good.”

“I really am sorry, CJ. I need you to know that I do believe in you. I should never have doubted you, not even for one second. I know what kind of man you are, and I feel like shit that I let you down.”

He swallowed hard and he never looked away, even though I bet he probably wanted to. “Thank you. What I did was a stupid mistake. I should have found another way.”

“You were only trying to help Pops. I don’t blame you. I would have done the same thing.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

I shrugged. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. There’s no saying what I’d do for someone I loved.”

His eyes shot to mine and my heart galloped, overtaken only by the butterflies that flooded my throat. I held his gaze until he looked away. I wanted to kiss him again and figured if I’d done it twice, then three times wouldn’t hurt. I took his plate and put it on the counter beside him and stepped in front of him. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

“I’d really like to kiss you again.”

He bit his bottom lip. “You know, I never did beg you to kiss me. You said you’d make me beg.”

“Is that a problem?”

He smirked. “No, just that you said I’d be begging you for it.”

Right, then. I took a step back and let out a breath. I was disappointed at not kissing him right now, but he was right. “Challenge accepted.”

He barked out a laugh. “So now you won’t do it unless I beg? How is that fair?”

“It’s not, but I never said it would be.”

He pushed my shoulder playfully and I flicked his arm away and his eyes went wide and he shoved me against the fridge, pressing his body against mine. His grin was full of heat and daring. “What if I make you beg?”

If he wanted to play, I’d play. “You reckon you’re good enough?”

He put his hand to my face, almost a little too roughly, then in a contrast of touch, he gently slid his thumb across my lip and dipped the tip into my mouth. I licked it and his nostrils flared, so I sucked it into my mouth before drawing it out with a flick of my tongue and never broke eye contact.

He laughed, a tortured sound. “Fuck.” His hips rolled into mine, our bodies pressed tight, and just when I thought he would cave in and kiss me, he stepped back.

I was breathless and light-headed. “Your self-control is impeccable.”

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Nah. I just don’t like to lose.”

I snorted. “It’s probably just as well one of us is thinking straight anyway.”

“Not sure if straight’s the right word.”

Now I laughed. “Any way you look at it, I think some distance is a good idea.”

He flinched. “Distance? Should I go . . . ?”

“No, just to the other side of the kitchen would be a good start.” I readjusted myself. “Jesus, I need another cold shower.”

He grinned with satisfaction. “So, this time next week . . .”

“This time next week you’ll be finished with your rider course and will have sat for your licence already.”

“No, I meant”⁠—he motioned between the two of us⁠⁠⁠—⁠”you won’t be my parole officer anymore and your rules won’t apply.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure the rules went out the window this afternoon.”

He smirked. “Will there be any rules this time next week?”

“What exactly are you asking?”

He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Don’t make me say it.”

“You want to know if we’ll end up in bed?”

His eyes shot to mine, and he didn’t have to actually answer. It was written on his face.

I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Depends what you beg me for.”

He barked out a laugh. “Right. So, nothing then.”

I was grinning at him. “Or what I beg you for.”

He nodded slowly and let out a steadying breath. “So are we doing this?”

“This?” Now I motioned between us. “As in boyfriends?”

“Like I told ya before, I ain’t ever had a boyfriend.”

“But you’re not opposed to having one?”

CJ stared at me, vulnerable yet defiant. “Is this you asking?”

I stared right back at him. “Yes.”

“What about your rules? Shouldn’t we wait until next weekend?”

“Probably. So, we could be unofficial boyfriends until then.”

“I ain’t ever had an unofficial boyfriend either.”

“We really should start that list of firsts.”

He chuckled and a delicious blush crept along his cheeks, but then he lifted his chin. “I can’t promise I’ll get it right. And for as long as my old man’s outta jail, I can’t be around much. And I ain’t exactly out and proud either.”

“I can live with that. As long as we know from the beginning, there’s no miscommunication.”

“Miscommunication . . . Like you assuming I’m a meth dealer?” He gave me a pointed look.

I groaned. “I really am sorry. Can you forgive me?”

He smirked. “I already have. But next time, ask me.”

“I will. I promise.” He still hadn’t strictly answered me. “So? Are we doing this?”

He chewed the inside of his lip like he was trying not to smile. “Yeah.”

I pushed away from the fridge, where he’d had me pinned earlier, and stepped in front of him. I leaned in as if I was going to kiss him but whispered in his ear instead. “You just made me very happy.”

I went to pull back but he had a hold of my shirt. He still had his head down but he pulled me against him and wrapped both arms around me. It wasn’t a hug that was leading to something more physical. It was one of those soul-soothing hugs that I didn’t reckon he got too often. So I slid my hands over his back, letting him feel my touch as much as I could, and he sighed into me. “You made me pretty happy too.”

I smiled into his neck and neither one of us were in any hurry to move. “I never thought I’d like the smell of cigarettes, but on you, it mixes with something else. I dunno what it is, but I like it.”

He chuckled, his breath warm on my neck. He still didn’t want to let go of me. “I really like how you smell. I’ve always had a thing for guys who smell nice and it was the first thing I noticed about you.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmm.” His arms tightened around me. “This is nice. Hugs are good.”

I chuckled. “Hugs with you are particularly good.”

He rested his forehead on my shoulder. “Are you gonna hound me to quit smoking?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

“As your unofficial boyfriend, I accept all your dirty, stinking, cancer-causing habits.”

He snorted. “Gee, thanks.” He pulled back now, and with his hands on my hips, he met my eyes. “I wish I could stay, but I should probably get home.”

I sighed. “Yeah.” I cupped his face, and begging be damned, I pressed my lips to his. “I’ll drive you.”

Then he baulked like he remembered something. “Shit. I was supposed to pick up a few things from the supermarket.”

I smiled. “Then let’s go shopping.”

* * *

I’d kinda forgotten about CJ’s reading levels until we got to Coles. He picked up a basket and I did the same, figuring I may as well grab a few things while I was there. The funny thing was, a lot of products were obvious. Like loaves of bread or cartons of milk or trays of sausages or bags of carrots, for example. It was only the products with non-see-through packaging and ambiguous labels that were difficult, and I noticed CJ avoided those.

I never said a word. I never asked him anything. But I did pretend, just to myself, to recognise products without looking at the words or labels. I wanted to view what the world looked like to CJ, especially in a supermarket where I took the ability to read for granted.

How did he tell the difference between a can of refried beans and a can of whole beans? Sure, most labels had pictures on them, but not all. What happened if they didn’t have the kind of toothpaste he was used to buying? Would he know which other one to get?

He only grabbed some sausages, bread, milk, and two packs of cigarettes, so it was hardly a challenge. But it got me thinking . . . what challenges did he have? What else did I take for granted that he struggled with? Like the carton of milk in my fridge: it wasn’t a bottle, it didn’t look like milk, and the writing on the carton was swirly and there was no picture of a cow.

And for personal products, how did he know which condoms or lube to buy? How did he know if he was buying lube or massage oil that affected the latex in condoms? I mean, the list was endless. For household stuff, Pops would soon tell him if he bought the wrong kind of detergent, but he couldn’t very well ask his Pops if the lube he bought was self-warming or if that slight burning sensation was something he should go to the clinic for.

I remember hearing a story when I was a kid of a dad who couldn’t read, confused the small tube of superglue with his kid’s conjunctivitis ointment and didn’t realise until he’d glued the poor kid’s eyes shut.

Jesus. Getting cow’s milk confused with almond milk would be a bit of a shock to the taste buds but it wasn’t a serious medical emergency. Just what kind of shit did he have to deal with?

CJ sighed. “Just ask me.”

“What?”

“You’ve been in your own world for five minutes looking at that packet mix like you’re trying to solve the world’s problems.”

“Oh.” The packet I was holding was a chilli con carne spices mix. The one next to it was a savoury mince packet. Both pictures on the packets looked similar, but they sure as hell tasted different. “Yeah.”

“You wanna know how I know which ones to buy?”

I looked at him and nodded.

He smiled, a little sadly. “Pictures, mostly. You’d be surprised. This one is spicy because of the red powder in a pile behind the meat. And the cut lime, that tells me it’s Mexican or Spanish or something. This one is just like a gravy because, see the vegetables? Potato, carrots, peas. That means Irish or English to me. I mean, not spicy. Sometimes there’ll be a little chilli pepper to say how hot it is, but not always. Most cans have pictures. Like baked beans or tinned tomatoes. Washing up detergent has plates on a sink on the bottle. I know what toothpaste looks like, and I can read the word Colgate. It’s the fancy words after it that stump me.”

“Like fluoride and stuff?”

“No, just that now there are ten different types. Some kind of whitening or antibacterial bullshit, I dunno.”

“I never thought of that.”

CJ shrugged. “I usually stick to the cheap brands anyway, and sometimes their labels don’t have pictures but I look at the ones next to it. And if I have time, I can stand there and sound the word out in my head. It’s not as bad as you’d think.”

“Actually, you’re pretty damn clever.”

He laughed. “I dunno about that.”

“I do.”

“Sometimes I get the wrong thing and Pops helps me read it out loud. It’s never a big deal. And sometimes we’ve had an interesting dinner we wouldn’t have had otherwise.”

I chuckled at that. “It’s still pretty cool though. You’re kinda incredible, the way you improvise like that.”

“Don’t really have a choice.”

“Can I ask you about something . . . personal?”

He eyed a woman who was pushing a trolley past us and waited until she was out of earshot. “I don’t know. Can you ask me something personal?”

“You don’t have to answer, but how do you know which condoms to buy?” Then it occurred to me that he might not practise safe sex. “Ummm, do you buy them? At all? I mean, do you use them? You mentioned the studded ones once, but I think that was a joke . . .” I sorely regretted asking this line of questioning. “You know what, never mind. You don’t have to answer that. Actually, you should. Because if that’s something we’re going to explore together, then I need to know that, I guess. Oh God, this got really awkward.”

CJ stared at me for a full three seconds, then burst out laughing. “Come with me.” He walked off and I followed, right to the personals aisle. “Here,” he pointed to one packet. “It’s got a woman on the box in a sexy pose, and I can read the word ‘her’ there.” He pointed to the word. It actually said ‘for her pleasure’ but he was right. “Then this one here has ribbing on the picture, and this one says ‘XL’⁠—don’t need an English lesson for that one.”

I chuckled. “Okay, okay. It’s not as hard as I thought it would be.”

He raised one eyebrow and a slow grin spread across his face. “There are pills for that.”

I realised what I said and rolled my eyes. “I think we both know that’s not an issue. I had to have a cold shower earlier to prove that.”

He laughed, took a twelve pack of condoms, and threw them into my basket. I raised my eyebrows and he smiled. “Problem?” he asked.

Jesus. “Nope. Not a one.” While we were being brave and forthright, I picked up a bottle of lube and tossed it into my basket as well.

His voice was low and he was standing way too close. “Do you have any other questions?”

“I have so many, but I don’t think here is the place.”

He snorted. “Got everything you need then?”

I looked at my basket. “Uh, yeah. I do now.”

We went through the checkout and when CJ paid with cash, I was reminded that we hadn’t gotten him a bank account. Something else to add to my list of things to do this week.

Seven more days.