I began my appointment with Patrice asking about my week. How school went, how work had been going, how I was getting on with my roommates. It had been a few weeks of transitions, and all things considered, I thought it was going great.

“School’s good. I’ve done three assessments and my grades were good. Mr Landon was pleased. We’re starting ad libs next week, where we have to do solos in front of the whole class. It’ll be fun. Work is good too! It’s just coffee, but I think my boss is happy with me. I like my coworkers. Charise, and my boss, Vonna, have taken me under their wings.” I snorted. “I seem to have that effect on people.”

Patrice smiled. “And how’re you enjoying the living arrangements? You’ve been there almost three weeks now.”

“Oh, great. I love it. They’re all cool, different in their own way, but we get along well, laugh a lot, watch TV together, Jeopardy, that kind of thing. I really like Skylar and George, but I definitely get on with Jordan more. I walk her to the bus stop every morning, and we did our laundry together as well. I think she likes the company, but she also likes having someone with her when she’s out. She doesn’t do crowds very well, or strangers.”

“And how are things with Peter?”

“Things with Peter are great. Better than great, actually. We spent all day Saturday together, but we did our own thing on Sunday… and I missed him. He missed me too. I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, he was out with his friends to watch football but called me on his way home and we talked for hours. It was almost midnight by the time I went to sleep.”

“It sounds like he missed you.”

I tried not to smile and failed. “He really is very nice.”

“Do you see him during the week?”

“No. His job is demanding, but with my classes and work, it’s just not possible. But we talk or text.”

“It sounds like it’s getting serious.”

And that was the crux. “How soon is too soon? I mean, after everything I’ve been through, how soon is too soon before I’m ready for… something? Anything? I don’t even know.”

“You keep asking, and I understand and can sympathize with your impatience. You want your life back. But these things are different for everyone. Some people can move forward quicker than others; some take years. But each person moves at the speed that is best for them. There’s no wrong or right.” Patrice put her pen down and straightened the folder in front of her. “But you need to make sure your motives are your own.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t use Peter as the reason. The only reason you should be ready is because you want it, for you. Not for anyone else.”

“Peter would never pressure me,” I said, quickly defending him. “But I do want it for me.” So I finished with a question that had weighed on my mind for days. “It’s not just about moving forward with my life. I guess I want to know how will I know when I’m ready to be intimate with someone, mentally and physically?”

“With Peter?”

“Well, yeah.” I chewed on my bottom lip for a while. “It’s like my body is reacting to him. I get butterflies and I want to touch him all the time. He looks at me like he’s interested, but then he pulls back like he’s worried I’ll break. And sometimes I think I might, ya know? I don’t want to take the next step with him and then freak out because I’m not ready for anyone to touch me like that.”

“Do you want him to touch you like that?”

I nodded. “Well, yeah. I think so. I just want to crawl into his arms where it’s safe and warm. Which I’m sure would lead to other things…”

“Do you think about him when you pleasure yourself?”

I blinked.

“How does it play out in your mind? Are you comfortable with the idea?”

Jesus. “Um, I haven’t done that… not in a long time.”

Now Patrice blinked. “Okay, then that’s a good place to start.”

I’m sure the smile she fought was from the horrified look on my face. God, it was like talking about masturbating with my mother.

She gave me a sympathetic look. “You’ve been through sexually traumatic experiences. There are no rules or guidelines for recovering. Some people can eventually resume an active sex life; some people never can. Everyone is different. There is no right or wrong. The only reason I’m even suggesting this to you is because you brought it up, and it’s a safer option for you to find what you’re comfortable with when you’re by yourself rather than with a partner. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want. It is always up to you.”

I wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs.

“But my advice for any sexual assault survivor is this: you should discuss this with your partner. They need to know your limits, what’s acceptable, and most definitely what not to do. Anything off limits, any trigger words or touches.”

“I have to tell him what happened to me?”

Patrice nodded slowly. “I would recommend being honest with him, yes.”

She talked for a little longer about the importance of open communication and how it eliminates any confusion and assumptions, and all I kept thinking about was the fact I had to admit my shame.

And if that was a hurdle I had to get over before I could have a relationship with Peter, then I wasn’t sure I could.

I snorted out a laugh, and Patrice’s eyes narrowed with concern. “What’s funny?”

“Well, here I am having this existential crisis about the fact I want, or might possibly want, a relationship with him, and he’s not even aware.”

She tilted her head in that reassuring, knowing way she usually did. “Then maybe that’s where you need to start.”

* * *

The rest of the week passed in a blur of classes and work. I closed up late on Friday night, and when I got home, I fell onto the sofa and pulled off my shoes. “I’m beat.”

George, who was watching cartoons, snorted. “Such a party animal.”

I laughed at that. “Says the guy wearing a death metal shirt and watching Phineas and Ferb.”

He tongued the ring in his lip. “I’ll have you know, this is a perfect example of how capitalism tries to impede science and intellectualism believing control over the public serves the hierarchy best. I’m writing a paper on how it’s a subliminal political statement aimed at children.”

I stared at him for a long moment, then at the TV, just in time to watch Phineas and Ferb foil the bad guy’s plans using science, and the moral that good guys always win, with the help of a secret agent spy platypus, of course.

“Right.” I nodded slowly. “How clueless are their parents? I mean, how can they be so oblivious?”

“Don’t all generations think they’re better than the one before it?”

I considered that. “It might be true, to some degree, but not always.”

George looked at me and smirked. “Because you happen to have a thing for the older generation. Mr Hottie Gen X.” I threw a cushion at him, and he laughed. “Speaking of friends,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m having a friend over tomorrow. If that’s okay with you? He’ll be here for a few hours before we head out. I just wanted to pre-warn, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s fine. Peter’ll be here after two-ish, but we’re not staying here. We’ll go out and probably go back to his place.” Then I thought I’d pry for a bit of info. “Your friend, do they have a name?”

George hesitated for a moment, then blushed a little. “His name is Ajit.”

Then because I couldn’t help myself, “And is Ajit a Gen-X hottie or a Gen-Y hottie?”

He tossed the cushion back at me, which I caught with a laugh. “Gen Y. Definitely Gen Y.”

My tired chuckle became a sigh. “I gotta get to bed. I need my beauty sleep.” I trudged upstairs, got ready for bed, did my nightly routine of window and door checking, and fell onto the mattress.

Then my phone beeped. I blinked sleepily at the screen. It was a message from Peter. How was your night?

I smiled as I replied. Busy, but good. How was your day?

Can I call you?

Yep.

I hit Answer as soon as my phone rang. “Hey, you.”

There was a smile in his voice. “Hey, you, too.”

His deep, rough voice felt like a warm caress and I hummed. “I’ve missed your voice.” He was quiet, and I realized I’d said that out loud, so I covered quickly with, “I mean, texts are nice and all, but it’s not the same.”

“Are you in your room? I can’t hear the TV.”

“Yeah, in bed. I’m tired.”

“Oh. I can call back in the morning.”

“No, it’s all good. I like that you called. How was work?”

“Good. Productive week, which is always nice. Are we still on for tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’m looking forward to it. I finish at two. What were you thinking we should do?”

“There’s a music festival thing on at Venice Beach. We could go have a look?”

Sunshine, music, and Peter. “Sounds perfect.”

“I’ll see you at your place at about two-thirty.”

“Okay.”

“You sound sleepy. I should let you go.”

The truth was, his voice, soft and low in my ear, was lulling me to sleep. “’Kay. See you tomorrow.”

“Sweet dreams, Yanni.”

“Sweet dreams, Peter.”

I clicked off the call, plugged my phone into the charger, aimed at my bedside table with a too-tired hope for the best throw, and fell asleep.

* * *

I’d been so busy all week, I hadn’t given Patrice’s advice much thought. I certainly hadn’t taken her suggestion of self-servicing too seriously either. But with a quick shower after work on Saturday, my dick was certainly open to suggestions.

I hadn’t had one inkling of sexual awakening since… him. My ex. Sex was certainly something I hadn’t enjoyed, given pleasure was something he only took for himself. Whenever he wanted it, whether I did or not.

So no, my libido had gone to ground, and that was perfectly fine with me. But for the first time in a long time, I was half-hard. In the shower and drying myself off there was a warmth and twinge of anticipation.

And maybe my body was ready, but I wasn’t sure my mind was. So I ignored it, for now, got dressed, and went downstairs. George was in the kitchen with his friend. They were arguing playfully over adding chili sauce to homemade nachos and how Ajit’s Sri Lankan grandparents would think George’s definition of spicy was funny. “Oh, hey,” I said, going for casual as I opened the fridge.

“Yanni, this is Ajit. Ajit, my roommate Yanni.”

Ajit was not what I was expecting, at all. I assumed, with George being goth, that someone he was interested in would be too, but Ajit was anything but. He looked like he just came from math club, wearing tan pants and a striped T-shirt tucked in. He was tall, thin, had gorgeous dark skin, light brown eyes, and the longest eyelashes I had ever seen on another human being. He was cute.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

“Likewise.” I smiled at him and George. “What are you guys up to today?” I asked, grabbing my yogurt out of the fridge.

“We’re studying,” George replied.

“The cartoon capitalism thing?”

Ajit laughed. “Something like that.”

“I’m being kicked off the TV,” Jordan said. I hadn’t even realized she was sitting on the sofa.

“Hey!” I grabbed a spoon and took my yogurt, plonking myself right beside her. “Didn’t see you there.”

She smiled. Her long hair was in a braid today, and it looked pretty. She hid herself away in her baggy clothes, wore long-sleeve shirts and pants, and a long cardigan, which she often wrapped around herself. It was a self-protective thing, which I understood. I never commented on her clothes or appearance, not only because it made her self-conscious but because, well, she was more than just fabric, and I didn’t give a shit what she wore.

“What are you doing today?” I asked.

“I have an assignment due Monday.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah. So that’s my weekend. We still doing laundry tomorrow morning?”

“Yep. Have to. I’m out of clothes.” I looked down at my blue shirt with the little palm trees on it and my red denim shorts.

“You look great. Anyway, I’m sure Peter won’t care what you wear.”

I took a mouthful of yogurt and gave her a nudge. “He’ll be here soon. Wanna meet him?”

We’d talked so much about him, but she still hadn’t met him. And that was fine. I would ask but would never push.

And just then, the doorbell rang. “That’ll be him.” I shot up off the couch and got to the door before I looked back at Jordan and gave her a questioning look, which asked her yes or no. She took a deep breath and gave the slightest nod.

I shoved my spoon in my mouth, so I could unlock the front door, and grinned when I saw him. I had to take the spoon out so I could speak. “Good afternoon.”

He chuckled. “Hello.”

“Come in. I’ll just put this away and we can get going.”

He followed me in and stood at the living room entrance, which opened up to the kitchen. “Peter, this is Jordan,” I said. She had her legs pulled up and her knees tucked into her cardigan, but she gave a small wave. Then taking the emphasis off her, I waved toward the kitchen. “You’ve met George before, but this is Ajit.”

Peter smiled but didn’t walk in any closer. “Hi.”

I threw my yogurt in the fridge and quickly washed and dried the spoon. Meeting Peter back at the hall, I took his hand and pulled him out the front door. “I’ll be back later tonight. Don’t wait up, kids.”

There were muffled laughs as I shut the door and found myself bathed in the warm LA sun and a huge smile from Peter. We drove to Venice and walked the boardwalk, listening to all kinds of music, and enjoyed a lunch of pita wraps from a Greek takeout truck. Peter insisted we eat Greek food “because it’s who you are,” he’d said. He made me order for him, so I chose beef kefta, tzatziki, piccalilli mustard, tomato pitas.

And he was right. I loved my heritage, and I did miss food like we’d have at family get togethers. Like he’d said before, I couldn’t do much about being kicked out of my family, but that didn’t mean I had to give up my traditions. So I ordered a small bougatsa for us each as well.

“I know you’re watching your diet,” I said, “but you must try this. It’s vanilla bean custard with sugar and cinnamon pastry. It’s amazing, and it’s only small.”

He bit into it and groaned, letting his head fall back. “Oh wow. That is so good!”

“I know!” I cried. I shoved mine into my mouth. “And tonight, we totally order Russian food for dinner.”

Peter’s smile almost outshone the sun. “Deal.”

We strolled with our arms linked, walking slowly, talking and laughing, listening to music, and all too soon, the afternoon sun began to get lower and lower. And whether it was my busy week, the hours in the sun, or all the walking and food we ate, by the time we got back to his place, I was sleepy. We were on his couch watching another Charlie Chaplin silent movie and my blinks were getting longer, my eyelids heavier. I hadn’t realized I was leaning into him until my head fell onto his shoulder.

I startled and sat up, but Peter simply pulled a cushion against his arm for my neck, then dragged the throw blanket over me. “Comfy now?” he asked.

“Very.”

He extended his long legs out onto the coffee table, and for the next hour, we sat like that. Even Neenish joined us, curling up on top of the blanket, purring loudly. I was suddenly wide awake; weariness was no match for my hammering heart and adrenaline.

Leaning on him, being so comfortable with him felt so good, so unbelievably right.

I wasn’t sure where things were between Peter and me, but I was pretty certain where they were headed. We were crossing the ‘just friends’ line, inch by incredible inch. There was no rushing, no pressure. Thank God he didn’t pressure me. And with that thought came the realization that what Patrice had said was true.

I had to tell him everything. I had to admit to what I’d been through and the shame and embarrassment that went with it.

But I didn’t want him to think differently of me. I didn’t want him to realize the depth of my problems.

I didn’t want to lose him.

When the film ended, I reluctantly sat up, missing his warmth immediately. I couldn’t bring myself to even start the conversation I knew we had to have. I wasn’t ready. And if I wasn’t ready to even talk about it, then surely I wasn’t ready for an intimate relationship either.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Yes, though I don’t know how.” I fought a yawn. “All that walking today must have burned off all the food we ate at lunch.”

“Stay here,” he said, peeling himself off the couch.

I looked at Neenish, who was somewhat disgruntled that I’d changed positions, and she gave me the stink eye. “Not sure your cat is giving me any alternative.”

“If she’s annoying you, just move her,” he called out from the kitchen.

I gave her a scratch under the chin and her purr told me I was forgiven. “Nah, she’s fine.”

Peter came with a takeout menu. “Russian still okay?”

“Yes! But I want you to order for me! Pick something you know I’ll like.”

“Beet soup, duck liver, and beef tongue it is then.”

“Uh…” I grimaced.

He burst out laughing. “Just kidding.”

In the end, he ordered some lamb dish with rice, marinated peppers, and fresh vegetable salad to be delivered. “This is delicious!” I said as we tucked into it.

“My babushka would make something similar to this,” he said with a wistful smile. “It reminds me of visiting her when I was young.”

He told me a story of when he stayed with his grandparents when he was nine. His father had been arrested; his mother admitted to the hospital. He remembered the stories his grandmother told him of when she lived in Russia, looking at photographs and touching the ornaments they’d brought with them.

Even though the memory wasn’t strictly pleasant, he recalled it fondly. “I loved spending time with them. They were very kind and very generous. Their son, my father, wasn’t like them at all, and I remember my dedulya, my grandfather, telling me he didn’t know why my father was so angry. I think he blamed himself. I don’t know.”

I slid my hand across the table and gave his fingers a squeeze.

Tonight was about Peter’s past. Mine could wait.

* * *

It didn’t happen the next weekend either. Maybe there were plenty of opportunities. Maybe I was putting it off. But I was more focused on enjoying my time with him, the small touches, the lingering looks, and the laughter.

I didn’t want to ruin any of it. School was great, work was good, but Peter was the absolute highlight of my days. A text, a phone call at bed time, a photo of the piles of folders and papers on his desk along with a crying emoticon. The fun we had on Saturday, the lazy hours on Sunday afternoon after I’d done my weekly laundromat trip with Jordan.

On Wednesday, I had dinner with the Landons, including Andrew, who told us all about his trip to Australia with Spencer, and before that, I had my usual appointment with Patrice, which went fine. I’d explained that I was resigned to telling Peter everything, but I wasn’t sure when the right time was, and even though I wanted him to know everything so we could possibly move forward, I was afraid. She talked of patience and listening to my heart, and I understood completely.

But the next weekend, reality came to a crashing halt.

Work went fine. I walked home on Friday night without incident, crawled into bed exhausted from a busy week at school, then spoke to Peter until I fell asleep. Saturday was work in the morning, then Peter and I went to the Getty Center in the afternoon. We walked around, our arms linked, taking it all in. It was incredible, and he knew so much, and I hung onto every word like a kid in awe. We had a late dinner, he dropped me home, I kissed his cheek and said goodnight. I fell into bed, exhausted but never happier.

Sunday morning saw Jordan and me sorting our laundry and talking about our week. She’d had an exam, and she was happy with how it went, and she’d even gone for coffee with one of the girls in her class. She tried to hide the way her cheeks blushed, but it was pretty obvious she liked her. “Did you get her number?” I asked.

“I did, but just for study group. We’re doing a project together…”

I buzzed with excitement and she finally laughed. Then she mumbled, “She asked me out for coffee again.”

“And what is this young lady’s name?” I asked, pretending to be serious.

“Hayley.”

“And you said yes to another coffee date, yes?”

“It’s not a date. Honestly, it’s not. It’s just school.”

“Uh, yes, it is. It’s totally a date.”

“Like you spending hours with Peter,” she countered. “You keep saying they’re not dates, but they totally are.”

I opened my mouth to argue but promptly shut it again. “That’s different.”

“Of course it is.” Jordan laughed, and we pulled our wet clothes out of the machines and threw them into the dryers.

Two hours later, I met Peter at the front door and kissed his cheek. “Hello.”

He smelled like heaven on earth and smiled much the same. “Afternoon.”

“What did you want to do today?”

“We missed our movie date… or non-date, yesterday,” I said. Jordan laughed from the living room. I ignored her and the embarrassment that crept over my cheeks. “We could go back to your place and spend a lazy afternoon watching movies?”

“Perfect!”

I called out goodbye to Jordan and to Skylar, who I thought was still in the kitchen, and closed the door behind me.

Peter opened the door to his car but looked at me over the top. “I haven’t had lunch yet. You hungry?”

“Always.”

Peter chuckled. “How does wood-fired pizza sound?”

I slid into the passenger side. “That sounds so good.”

We ate our gourmet pizzas on the couch while Charlie Chaplin’s Tramp made us laugh on the TV, and when that was done and we were cleaning up the mess we’d made, my phone rang.

As soon as I saw Jordan’s name on my screen, I knew something was wrong. Frowning, I hit Answer. “Jordan? Are you okay?”

She let out a sob. “I’m at the store…” There was more sobbing. She sounded distraught. “You said to call you if I needed… There was a man….”

My blood ran cold. “Which store? Jordan, where are you?” By this time Peter was in front of me, his eyes wide. I was trying not to panic. “We’ll come get you.”

There was muffled noise in the background, then she sniffled. “At the greengrocer’s with the yogurt bar.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Peter had already grabbed his keys and wallet, and we were out the door. I gave directions and Peter drove a little too fast, but I didn’t mind.

“Is she okay?” he asked, clearly concerned.

“I don’t know.” She didn’t sound very okay, and the fact that she called me… “I told her to call me if she ever needed someone. She doesn’t like crowds. She’s afraid of men. When we walk to the bus or go to the laundromat, she tenses when there’s a guy. I’ve never asked her for details, but I can guess.”

Peter frowned and drove a little bit faster.

When we arrived at the grocer’s, I didn’t need to ask where she was. There was a bit of a crowd toward the end of the store, and a manager ushered us through. “There was a guy who pestered her, but he took off when she freaked out,” the lady said, as if that explained everything.

I stopped when I saw her.

Jordan was sitting on the floor, up against the dairy fridge in the corner, with her knees pulled up against her chest. Her long hair hid her red, puffy eyes and tear-streaked, pale face. I could see she was shaking from where I stood. I knelt down beside her and didn’t know if I should touch her, but needing to comfort her, I slid my hand over hers. “Jordan, it’s me, Yanni.”

She looked up at me, and that wild, frightened look in her eyes was one I recognized. “How about I get you home?”

It took her a second to process my words, but eventually she nodded. I took her hand and helped her to her feet, put my arm around her, and walked her out. I ignored the way people stared, like there was something wrong with her, like she was crazy or a freak. I helped her into the backseat of Peter’s car and climbed in beside her.

Just like Spencer did with me that day he found me. He’d sat in the backseat of a car and held my hand while they drove me to safety. I gripped Jordan’s hand, and she tried to crawl into the smallest ball she could make. “We’ll get you home, huh?” I said soothingly.

Jordan never said a word, but Peter’s eyes kept watching me in the rearview mirror, and a minute or two later, we pulled up in front of our place. I got her inside, and Peter hesitated at the door. “Want me to go?” he asked quietly.

“No, please stay.” I needed him, selfish or not. I needed him with me.

We got Jordan settled on the couch, and I pulled the throw blanket over her. She stared blankly into the in-between space, where memories and the present sometimes lived.

“I’ll make something,” Peter mumbled, walking into the kitchen, and I sat down with Jordan.

“It was so bad,” she mumbled, crying. “There was a man, he tried to talk to me, but I had my earphones in. I didn’t want to talk to anyone so I ignored him at first, but he… he followed me around the aisle. I told him I wasn’t interested.” She looked at me with wide eyes. “I was polite, but he grabbed my arm. I said no, Yanni. I said no, but he wouldn’t let go.”

“He had no right to touch you.”

She scrubbed her hands over her face, smearing her tears. “I dropped my basket, and he called me names and I kicked and screamed.” She sobbed again.

“He was wrong,” I murmured, fighting my own tears. “He had no right to speak to you or touch you. You did nothing wrong.”

Peter came in, then, holding a coffee cup. “It’s lemon and honey,” he said softly.

I took it first, then waited for Jordan to unwrap her hands from the blanket so she could hold it. Peter stepped back and sat on the other sofa.

Then Jordan told us her story, of how she ended up under the care of the Acacia Foundation and in this house. Her face was pale. Her voice was detached, resigned. “I grew up in a religious home. We lived on a property with other families in the same religion. It was remote. We lived with and did homeschool with the other kids, and were self-sufficient, mostly. Never saw anyone outside of our own.”

Oh, God. A cult. She grew up in a religious cult.

“I knew I was in trouble when I was little. I never liked boys. I tried to because it was a sin not to. When I was sixteen, I was supposed to get married to a man my father chose and have babies and be a good woman in the eyes of the Lord.” Jordan sniffled and shivered. “But I told my father I didn’t want to. I begged him to give me more time. I wasn’t ready. I never would be ready.”

She took a deep breath, and I braced myself to hear what was coming.

“The men took turns… in converting me. Said they’d drive out the demons and I’d have their babies. It would be the Lord’s will, and I’d be cured.”

Oh, fucking hell.

“The pastoral leader, my father, my brother, the other men…”

I felt like I was going to be sick. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t even try to stop them. “Oh, Jordan. I’m so sorry.”

“After… I tried to kill myself, even though I knew it was eternal damnation, but that couldn’t be any worse, right?” A shiver ran through her whole body. “One of the grandmothers took me to a hospital. They saved my life. But the police went in and arrested the men and disbanded the commune. I had nowhere to go. Not that I would have gone back there, but I had nothing, no one. I ended up on Skid Row, ya know, where all the homeless go?”

I nodded. “I went there too.”

Jordan stared at me, then frowned. “That’s where I heard about the Acacia Foundation. I met Helen Landon, and she changed my life.”

I pulled my legs up underneath me and leaned my head on the sofa. “She changed mine too.”

Jordan took a sip from the cup and gave Peter a weak smile. “Thank you. This tastes nice.”

I glanced at him then. He looked like hearing Jordan’s story had scrubbed him raw. I knew that feeling well.

“I’m sorry for calling you,” Jordan said to me.

I shook my head. “No, you did the right thing. You can call me anytime. It’s what friends are for.”

Her eyes watered again. “Thank you. I feel a bit better now. Sorry for dumping it all on you.”

“Don’t apologize.” I gave her a sad smile. “I’m glad we could help.”

A while later, Jordan went up to her room. She was exhausted, emotionally, physically. She’d thanked us again and again, and I thought she was a little embarrassed, but she needed some time to herself. Skylar was home by then and promised to keep an eye on her. And I was left alone with Peter. I knew what I had to do.

“Can we go to your place?” I asked him. George and Ajit had come back, so doing this here wasn’t an option.

“Of course.”

He never asked questions. He never hesitated. He just did as I asked. I spent the drive to his house trying to get my thoughts in order, and by the time we walked into his house, I figured I should start at the beginning.

I sat him on the couch. “I need to tell you something.”

He frowned. “Okay.”

“I’ve been talking about us with Patrice, my therapist, and she suggested I be honest with you. If I want more with you, and if what we have is going to become something more, then there are things you need to know.” I took a deep breath. “And I do want more with you. When I’m ready. But there are things about me you should know before we go any further.”

He took my hand. “I want more with you too.”

I felt a brief rush of relief before the reality of what I was about to tell him took its place.

“I came out to my parents when I was nineteen. I knew they wouldn’t like it, but I thought… well, I didn’t think they’d kick me out. But they did. I’d just finished my first year of college. I had a bag of clothes and nothing else. My entire family shunned me. Grandparents, aunts, uncles. Everyone. Told me I was an abomination to their faith. And I found myself on the streets of LA. It wasn’t easy, and I was scared as hell. Like Jordan, I ended up on Skid Row. There are shelters and soup kitchens. But I didn’t hear about the Acacia Foundation. Not then. What I did hear about was boys like me who made money…” I let out a breath and took another to steel myself. “They made money selling themselves. And believe me, after having nothing for so long, the idea of money for food when you don’t have two dimes is hard to ignore. So I thought I could try it…”

Peter never looked away. There was no judgment in his eyes, only concern.

“On my very first night, I went to a bar like I was told to. But I didn’t hook up with some random stranger or a john. I met a guy who had an expensive suit and sharp eyes, and he promised me the world.”

“Your ex.”

I nodded. “And you know, the first few months weren’t too bad. I mean, I had a place to stay, a warm bed, showers, food. He would make me… do things… in bed. I put up with it because it was better than living rough.” I shook my head and barked out a laugh. “I was a virgin when I met him. Can you believe that? I had no clue what I was getting myself into.”

Peter squeezed my hand. “Oh, Yanni.”

“He was older and more experienced, and he knew what he was doing and I didn’t have a clue what I was doing and I thought… I mean, I thought I’d struck gold, ya know? He bought me things. He paid for my school.” I frowned. “But then he got possessive and angry. The first time he hit me, he said he was sorry, and I believed him.”

Peter’s eyes closed slowly, and when he looked up at me again, there was something alight inside him. Anger for what I’d been through? He put his hand to my face and gently caressed my cheek. “I’m sorry he did that to you.”

“That was the least of it.” I sighed, and now resigned to him hearing everything, I let it out. “He became very mean and controlling. He’d tell me I was just worthless ass to him, for him to treat as he wanted. He’d decide when I could eat. He once put my plate on the floor beside his chair at the table like a dog.”

Peter’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flared. The anger in his eyes burned.

“He would hit me, then he’d go out and get drunk and come back and he would force himself on me. He raped me often. In the end, it hurt less if I didn’t fight him.”

Now Peter’s eyes welled with tears, though the fire behind his eyes raged on.

“That last time, he left me on the bathroom floor. I had a black eye, cut lip, swollen cheek. He never used to hit my face. Always body blows, but he was getting worse. And I didn’t want to wait around to see how bad the next one was gonna be. I mean, if he did end up killing me, no one would miss me.”

Peter blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek. He made no attempt to hide it or apologize.

“I was so scared of him, but I couldn’t leave. I had no one, nothing. Over time, he’d cut me off from my friends. I was totally dependent on him. I didn’t want to go back to the streets, I really didn’t. But I had to. The very last time he hit me, I swore never again. So I left everything. None of it was mine anyway. I had the backpack and the few clothes I went there with, and that was it. I had no clue where to go, so I went to the hospital to get my face looked at, and they called the police and took me downtown with them. I figured I’d be safe there, at least. I made a report, which I think they just laughed at. You know, a gay lovers’ tiff.” My eyes blurred with tears. “And I walked out of that police station and went back to living rough.”

I took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders now that I’d told him the truth. I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “That’s my story. Not as horrific as Jordan’s, but still not sunshine and roses.”

Peter stared at me for the longest time. It had grown dark outside, the only light was from the kitchen behind us, and I couldn’t really read his eyes anymore.

I shrugged, trying to be brave. “It’s okay if you need to take a step back. I understand. People come with all kinds of baggage, but not this kind of baggage. I don’t even know if I can be intimate with anyone. I don’t know if I’ll ever have sex again. I think I want to, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. He took so much from me, and it doesn’t just end because I left him. I live with this. I’ve only just stopped sleeping with my backpack in bed with me, and I still sleep with the light on.” I laughed right out loud. “God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

Peter’s face crumpled, and he slowly slid his fingers along my jaw. When I leaned into his touch, like it was some kind of permission, he pulled me against his chest and held me.

“Is this okay?” he asked gruffly.

I nodded against him. “Yes.”

Then he wrapped his arms around me: strong, warm, safe arms. And for the longest time, he just held me. The beat of his heart in my ear was his rhetoric. It was all I needed to hear.

Eventually he kissed the top of my head and whispered, “Thank you for telling me.”

I never wanted to move. He rubbed my back and kept me warm. The feel of his stubbly jaw resting on my head felt like home to me.

I had said so much and he so little. It was a lot to process, but I couldn’t escape the feeling of rejection looming over me. Then I realized maybe he was trying to think of a way to let me down gently, so I decided to help him out. “It’s a lot to take in. I don’t expect an answer straight away.”

“An answer to what?”

“If you want to take a step back. We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and if you need time―”

He shook his head. “I’m not giving up on you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I sat up then and almost fell off the couch, so Peter pulled me onto his lap and put his arms around me. To anyone else, it might have been weird, but with him, it felt like where I was supposed to be. Like I was his boy and he was comforting me. I found myself smiling, despite the somber mood of the evening. “Do you think any less of me?”

“Never. I hate what you went through. I hate that he did those things to you, that he hurt you like that. He should have worshipped you.” He frowned, our faces just a few inches apart. “I think you’re strong and brave. You’re kind and funny and more resilient than you realize.”

I wasn’t sure I totally agreed with that, but whatever.

He smiled. “It’s true. And I would never think any less of you. If anything, I think more of you now, knowing what you’ve been through, what you survived. You’re very remarkable, Yanni.”

I swallowed down my heart and put my hand to his cheek. “I meant what I said about wanting more with you.”

He smiled under my palm. “And I meant what I said about wanting more with you too.”

“Even after everything I told you?”

“Nothing can change what I feel about you.”

His words struck my blood like lightning. My heart thundered. “And what do you feel about me?”

“Well, I feel that we could have something special.”

There was hesitation and a hint of doubt in his voice, and even in the darkening room, I could see it on his face. He was scared of pushing me, forcing me. “You know, I’ve spoken to my therapist about you.”

The corner of his lip curled up. “So you said.”

“And I mentioned how you like being the daddy, and I told her I like the idea of being your boy…”

His eyes widened. “You said that?”

I nodded. “She asked me what I liked about it. I told her that you make me feel safe. That I trust you to be in control, and how you know what’s best for me, to keep me, well, safe. It’s the best word for it.”

Peter swallowed hard. “Yanni.”

“It’s okay. I think she was worried I’d gone from one controlling relationship to another. But it’s not like that at all. It’s so different. The difference being you protect me from people like him.”

“I will.”

I broke out a smile. “Like a good daddy should.”

Peter made a sound that could only be described as a growly whimper. “Yanni, I would never hurt you.”

“I know. But can we talk about how I’m not ready for anything sexual? Because it’s true, I’m not. As much as I might want to, I think I’d freak out, to be honest. But sitting here with you like this, in your lap and in your arms, feels so right.” I shrugged one shoulder. “Can you be patient with me while I figure this whole sex thing out?”

He put his big warm hand to my cheek. “I will give you all the time in the world. Anything you need.”

I kissed his palm, then met his gaze. “So, we’re doing this?”

Peter smiled. “Completely at your pace.”

I leaned in closer, our noses almost touching. “So if I wanted to kiss you right now, that’d be okay?”

His breath caught. “Very.”

God, this is it. With my hand still at his cheek, I slid my fingers into his hair and slowly, oh so slowly pressed my lips to his. It was soft lips, hard stubble, electric and perfect. I pulled back an inch, only to kiss him again, opening my mouth a little, tasting him on my tongue. There was a promise in his kiss, of purpose and patience.

I pulled back to see his face in the dark, his eyes heavy-lidded and his lips wet. He looked sexy as hell. Something that spoke to my insides, like I couldn’t have done anything else, and I kissed him again.

Still soft, still testing my boundaries, but deeper. I tilted my head and I slowly let my tongue taste his. He groaned, and the sound shot flames through my body. Just the barest of touches, a slight caress of our tongues, and I melted in his arms. I kissed him deeper still.

Peter let me lead, taking my cues and never rushing, never pushing. Until he put his hands to my face, big but gentle, and he slowed the kiss before pulling away. He swept his thumb across my lip, his eyes trained on my mouth. “You are the sweetest thing,” he murmured. Then he shifted me on his lap, adjusting my weight.

It took me a kiss-drunk moment to realize why. He was turned on. “Oh, sorry.”

He let his forehead fall onto my shoulder, and he chuckled through his embarrassment. “Don’t apologize.”

I stroked my fingers through his hair, from his temples to the nape of his neck. “I should probably go home.”

He looked up then. “Are you hungry?”

I made a so-so face. “I can eat at home.”

“Or we can get disgustingly greasy burgers and fries on the way.”

I snorted. “I thought you were supposed to cut back on saturated fats.”

He grinned at that. “I’ll hit the gym early.”

I climbed off his lap and stood up, giving him room to do the same. I followed him into the kitchen, deliberately keeping my eyes above his belt at all times. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I saw his bulge. I liked that I was the reason he was turned on, but I didn’t want to push him.

He refilled Neenish’s bowl with cat biscuits and grabbed his wallet and keys. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

We found a burger joint, and I convinced Peter to let me pay. It was the least I could do, and now that I’d been working for a few weeks, I had a little cash. We didn’t talk about us or my past while we ate. Instead, we talked about what movies we would watch after we’d gone through the Chaplin box set. I suggested classics like Moby Dick and Peter suggested classic black and white spaghetti westerns, then we somehow ended up debating the difference between classic Clark Gable and Humphrey Bogart.

It was so effortless with him, and now that we’d agreed to take our relationship one step further, it seemed even easier. There was no pretense, no wondering what if? There was no doubt. We just slotted into this new phase.

When we pulled up in front of my place, he shut off the engine. “When can I see you again?”

“I have tomorrow night off work, but I work on Tuesday night, therapy then dinner with the Landons on Wednesday, and work on Thursday and Friday night.”

“I can pick you up from work on Friday night?” He sounded so hopeful, it was hard not to smile.

“Sure. Sounds good.” Then I thought of something. “What about our usual Saturday afternoons, though?”

“I’ll think of something fun for us to do.”

I sighed, truly happy for the first time in a long time. I stared at him for a moment, hoping he could see how happy I was. “Thank you for everything. For helping me with Jordan. You were great today, driving me to her and then driving her home. Then taking me back to your place, where I dropped a helluva bombshell on you, and you didn’t even run away screaming.”

Peter chuckled. “No running, no screaming.”

“And you’re really prepared to be patient with me?” I didn’t know why I asked again. I guess a part of me expected rejection, expected to be hurt.

“I am. I was a little speechless before when you told me. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I want you to know I will wait until you’re ready. I like you, Yanni.”

“And if I’m not ever ready?”

Peter took my hand. “It’s not all about sex. I’d like to think we’d have more of a relationship than what happens—or doesn’t happen—in the bedroom.”

“Thank you. But just so you know, I do want to be. Ready, that is. I want to get my life back.”

“You’re doing great. There’s no rush.”

“You’re kinda perfect, ya know that?”

He barked out a laugh. “Ah, no I’m not.”

“You know how you told me that you have needs, regarding the whole daddy thing?”

He nodded. “Yeah?”

“Will you tell me the details of what you meant by that? Not tonight, but soon?”

He studied me for a moment. “Of course.”

“Because this isn’t just about me. I mean, I have… issues… that means I have needs.” I cringed at how lame I sounded. “But that doesn’t mean your needs aren’t as important…” I let my words die off.

He squeezed my hand. “Thank you. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. It’s nothing sinister, just so you know. Though I do prefer to be upfront about it, that’s all.”

I let out a nervous breath and nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Or call. I like the sound of your voice when I’m sleepy.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Okay, call it is.”

I took my hand from his so I could cover my face. “That was kind of embarrassing.”

He laughed. “No, not at all. I’m glad you told me!”

“I should go.” He surprised me by taking the keys from the ignition. “What are you doing?”

He grinned and took off his seatbelt. “I’m walking you to your door.”

I walked in front of him and stopped on the top step. I turned to face him and he was two steps down, smiling up at me. “Thank you for today,” he said. “Thank you for telling me you want to get to know me. I understand that’s a huge step for you, and I’m really glad you did.”

“Me too.”

He took one more step up, making butterflies swarm in my stomach. “Tell Jordan I said hi, and I hope she’s feeling better.”

“I will.”

“Can I kiss you goodnight?”

I nodded, and he gently cupped my face and brought my lips to his. It was a warm kiss, with open lips and just the barest hint of his tongue. It took my breath away.

“Goodnight, Yanni.”

I couldn’t speak, so I giggled instead, making him laugh as he walked back to his car. I bumbled getting my key into the lock but managed to wave when he started the engine. “Night.”

And with the stupidest grin and a thumping heart, I went inside.