Prince

by Cambria Hebert

  “I said not to call me that.” He spoke plaintively even as he pulled the door wide to do as I asked.

  A wash of tenderness overcame me, seeing how he shuffled across the floor, swallowed up by the Gucci track pants concealing his oversized feet.

  The way he held the waistband as if he were scared they might fall down made my heart feel light somehow.

  When he was directly in front of me, I reached for the waistband, but he pulled back with a gasp. “What are you doing?”

  “Fixing them so they don’t fall off.”

  “I can do it!” he insisted, hiking them up again.

  “If you could do it, why didn’t you?” I refuted.

  He scowled, and I took the opportunity to grasp the waistband.

  “Hey!” He tried to twist away.

  I stilled, my hands at his waist. “Are you that shy?”

  His ears were already pink, as were his cheekbones.

  “I’m not wearing any underwear!” he whispered loudly.

  “Well, why not?” I whispered back, ignoring the lick of desire up my spine. “I gave you some.”

  Fletch widened his eyes, the center of them shining with flecks of gold. “I can’t wear your underwear… That’s just…” he stuttered.

  I leaned closer, unable to resist the urge to tease. “Too intimate?”

  The pink on his face flushed red, and he looked away.

  Taking mercy, I chuckled and leaned back. “They’re brand new. I wouldn’t give you a used pair of boxers.”

  “Oh.”

  Laughing lightly, I slipped my fingers in the waistband, brushing against his smooth skin. He let out a squeak and stumbled back.

  “Hold still,” I instructed firmly, ignoring the way my fingertips tingled.

  He went motionless, averting his face. I worked quickly, folding over the waistband a couple times and then sinking into a crouch at his feet.

  “W-what…?” He started when I grasped the hem pooling on the tile.

  “You’re going to fall,” I explained, cuffing the pants a bit.

  His hands went to my shoulders, using them to steady himself for when he lifted each foot, allowing me to roll the extra fabric.

  I might have taken a little longer than necessary to complete the simple task because I liked that he was holding on to me.

  When I was done, I straightened, giving him back his personal space.

  “Are you warm enough?” My voice was soft, my fingers gentle when I tugged the zip-up jacket a little closer around him.

  The outfit swallowed him up, making our size difference all the more palpable.

  He nodded, about to speak, but his stomach interrupted, giving an angry growl.

  “This way,” I said, leading him back into the living room, gesturing to the oversized sofa. “Wait here.”

  Jane, my house manager, had everything already set up on the large white marble island. Two plates were covered with pewter domes, glasses of water already poured. The chocolate milkshake Fletch was so enthusiastic about was in a tall crystal glass, piled high with whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate syrup.

  Smiling at her attention to detail, I grabbed a large tray, transferring everything to it, carrying it out to where Fletcher waited.

  He was sitting in the center of the couch, nearly gobbled up by the cushions, his legs tucked under him.

  The second he saw me, he began to push up to help, but I shook my head. “Just stay there. You look comfortable.”

  “This is the biggest couch I’ve ever seen,” he said, gazing at it in awe. “My legs don’t even touch the ground when I sit all the way back!”

  His enthusiasm over everything was something I’d never known a person could possess. Most everyone I knew was bored to tears by life itself. I’d never met anyone who could get excited over a sofa.

  The second the tray was in the center of the coffee table, Fletcher slid off the cushions and onto the floor, perching in front of the table. “Is that mine?” he asked, devouring the milkshake with his eyes.

  “Well, it’s not mine.”

  Reaching for it, he used two hands because the glass was big and slick with condensation. Before I could offer a straw, his face was practically buried in the whipped cream, his mouth and nose completely out of sight.

  I watched because, frankly, I’d never seen anything like it.

  When he finally came up for air, he had the white topping all over his nose, clinging to his upper lip and chocolate on his lower lip. “This is almost as good as the frozen hot chocolate I get from Kismet!”

  “You know Kismet?” I asked, totally distracted by the tip of his pink tongue darting out to swipe at his lower lip.

  “I always get it with Ivory and sometimes Neo.”

  “Right. Well, they are very famous for their frozen hot chocolate.”

  “The hot, hot chocolate is good too.” He agreed, going back for more of the shake.

  Making a sound, I sank down beside him on the floor, picking up a napkin. “You have it all over your face,” I scolded, reaching out to swipe at his nose and mouth.

  Fletcher glanced up, eyes grabbing and holding mine. The milkshake he wolfed was suddenly forgotten, the napkin poised between us suddenly unseen.

  “Thank you,” he said, voice sincere and audible, though not too loud.

  “For what?”

  He ducked his head, hiding his eyes and whatever else he was going to say.

  A few beats passed before I could recover. Clearing my throat, I set aside the napkin and pulled the lids off the plates.

  “You should eat.”

  “When I said burger, I expected something wrapped in paper… not this,” he said, staring at the steak burger on a brioche bun with hand-cut steak fries piled high on the side.

  “Would you rather have that?” I questioned.

  In response, he palmed the giant burger and took a huge bite. As he chewed, he made a bunch of noises around his mouthful, but honestly, I wasn’t sure what they meant or even if I should reply.

  He took another gigantic bite, set down the burger, and then licked the pad of one finger, making my groin tighten uncomfortably.

  “Ah,” I said, trying to distract myself, “I wasn’t sure if you liked dipping sauce, so we got some of everything,” I told him, lifting another lid off a plate filled with cups of different sauces.

  His eyes lit up, and he snatched a fry, dipping it in three different sauces before taking a bite and groaning. I watched, completely shook, as he repeated the action but this time with different sauces and shoved the rest of the fry in his mouth.

  “Oh,” he said, noting the way I stared. “I double dipped. Sorry.”

  I smiled. “It’s okay.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, pointing at my untouched plate.

  “Of course,” I replied, picking up my burger to take a bite. Truthfully, I’d forgotten I even had food because I was too busy staring at him.

  The second the premium beef hit my tongue, bursting with mayo and warm tomato, I groaned.

  “See? Super good,” Fletch said, turning back to annihilating his plate and using so much dipping sauce I wondered if he even tasted the fries.

  “Which one do you like?” he asked, speaking with his mouth full.

  My mother would be horrified.

  Hell, all of the Upper East Side would be horrified.

  I found it endearing as he sat there, lips smacking, chomping away, and pointing at the sauces with his fry like it was some kind of teaching tool.

  “Hmm,” I said, leaning forward to look at them all. “I’ve only ever had the homemade house sauce,” I said, pointing to one of the cups.

  The building I lived in had its own five-star restaurant that delivered to residents upon request.

  The offended look that crossed his face made me laugh. “What’s that look for?”

  “You mean to tell me you have access to all this,” he said, waving his hand around, “and you haven’t ev
en tried it all?”

  “I don’t eat burgers and fries very often.”

  “You can dip lots of things in sauce,” he said reasonably.

  “I digress.” I allowed, trying to keep my entire heart from caving in.

  His nose screwed up. “You sound like Ivory, always saying words that no one knows.”

  “I just mean you’re right.”

  Turning back to the food, he studied the sauces, eating more fries.

  “Which one is your favorite?” I asked, taking another bite. I really should eat these burgers more. It was damn good.

  “Hmm.” He considered. “Ranch is a classic. Can’t live without ketchup. I don’t really know what this one is.” He pointed to one. “But it’s good. And this one… some kind of barbeque…”

  “Which one do you think I would like?” I asked.

  “You’d probably pick this fancy no-name one,” Fletch said, pointing. “But really, I think secretly you’d like this one.” He pointed again.

  Leaning up, I looked at the white sauce. “Ranch?”

  “Have you ever dipped a fry in ranch?”

  “Ah, no.”

  Completely appalled, Fletcher dipped the half-eaten fry in his hand into the ranch and held it out to me, the white sauce instantly dripping toward his fingers.

  Incredulous, I stared for long moments until he flushed and began to retreat. “Sorry, I already bit off this on—”

  Cutting off his words and his movement, my fingers circled his wrist, bringing his hand and the fry he’d already sampled to my lips. Without hesitation, I pulled it into my mouth and chewed, still holding on to his wrist.

  “Well?” he asked, excitement in his eyes as he waited to see if I would like it.

  “I like it,” I declared.

  His smile was so bright that I momentarily forgot to chew.

  I was still holding his wrist when he started to pull back, drawing attention to the ranch on the tip of his finger. Leaning in, I closed my lips around it, using my tongue to swipe off the excess dressing.

  His little gasp was quite the reward for my boldness, but though I wanted to, I didn’t linger. Sitting back, I stole a glance at the way he was frozen in place, staring at the finger I’d just licked.

  Never in my life was I so forward with someone else’s person. Grabbing their pants, smoothing their hair, licking their fingers… But I couldn’t help it with Fletch. His reactions were too unfiltered, too honest, and utterly engaging.

  Watching awareness roll over his entire being every time I invaded his personal space was thrilling.

  “You gonna share that ranch with me now?” I asked, snapping him back into the moment.

  Snatching the cup, he set it between us, a little closer to me.

  “Whoever thought of putting salad dressing on potatoes?” I wondered as I ate another fry.

  “You can put ranch on everything,” Fletcher said, taking a huge bite of the burger. “Ah!” He gasped, making me look up. “I’m sorry!” he exclaimed, scooting back almost like he was putting distance between us.

  “Sorry? For what?”

  “Is this designer?” he asked, glancing down, “Oh shit, it’s designer, isn’t it?”

  Trying to make sense of his panic, I followed his gaze to where mayo had dripped onto his jacket.

  “Fletcher…” I started.

  He scrambled back again, jumping to his feet. “I’ll have it cleaned. No! I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “Fletcher,” I said, rising as well, taking a step forward.

  He winced.

  I stopped cold, my entire body freezing into place. I felt that wince so deep it echoed in my bones and made my stomach turn.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, shoulders drooping, voice filled with something I didn’t quite understand.

  Why is he acting like this? Over a stained shirt, no less. It was not a big deal, but he was acting as if it were the worst.

  Even though I didn’t understand, I didn’t want to act as if he were being overly dramatic because I could tell in the set of his shoulders, in the way he almost expected me to erupt, that this was not some kind of act. This was not some game.

  “Hey.” My voice was gentle, my palms lifting outward. “It’s no big deal. Happens all the time.”

  He glanced up, wariness swimming in his usually innocent stare. “I ruined your shirt.”

  I shook my head once. “It’s not ruined. It will clean. And even if it was ruined, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’m more trouble than I’m worth,” he said almost as if he were repeating a mantra, telling the words to himself.

  It hurt. It hurt to hear him say that. It hurt that he could think that.

  “Fletch, no,” I said, forgetting the distance between us and closing it. Taking him by the shoulders, I gave him a gentle shake. “Don’t say that.” This is clearly about more than a shirt. “Don’t ever tell that to yourself ever again.”

  He looked up, deep sadness in his stare. “I’m sorry.”

  The whispered apology broke me, and the sound I made echoed through the too-big, quiet penthouse.

  One tug brought him to me, enclosing him tight. He stood there with his arms at his sides, cheek against my chest as I gently rocked us back and forth, not even realizing what I did.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” I promised, rubbing soothing circles over the small of his back.

  I didn’t know what else to say or what to do. It was hard to fight a battle you knew nothing about.

  My words didn’t seem like enough, though. Easing away, I went back to our food, sticking my fingers in one of the red sauces on the table. Making sure he was watching, I wiped my fingers across my chest, smearing the sauce over the white fabric.

  “There. Now we match,” I said, suddenly thankful I’d saved my shower for later.

  A small smile brightened his face, some of the sadness slipping out of his eyes. I’d ruin a hundred shirts if it made him feel better.

  “You wanna finish eating now?” I asked, not wanting to linger on the moment and make him uncomfortable.

  Nodding, he came forward, dropping in front of his plate.

  I didn’t bring it up again but quietly tucked it in the back of my mind to ask about later.

  10

  Fletcher

  * * *

  Get a grip, Fletch.

  I told myself this as I sat back down in front of the really good food Ethan had delivered. I mean, it was so good that even in the middle of a mental meltdown, I still wanted to eat.

  Maybe considering this a mental breakdown was overkill, but I saw the flash of freak in Ethan’s gaze when I winced away from him.

  I wish I could take it back.

  I didn’t mean it. I was not afraid of Ethan.

  Or are you?

  The thought turned the fry in my mouth into chalk, and I dropped the remaining wedge in my fingers back onto the plate.

  Staring down without seeing, I got lost in my head for long minutes.

  Today was just too much. First, the kid in the alley that brought up a lot of old feelings. Then I saw her, felt her cold stare.

  How can my own mother look at me that way? Why do I hope every single time I see her that she will be different?

  Being arrested. Sitting in the cold cell while a man I didn’t know screamed beside me. I couldn’t help but wonder if I would somehow end up like him. Drunk. Alone. Screaming.

  And then everything turned one-eighty. I went from the slums to sitting in a penthouse and wigging out because I dripped burger all over a hoodie that probably cost more money than I managed to steal and earn in two months.

  It was stupid, but I was tired, and the feelings I was usually really good at holding down were fighting back tonight.

  But he didn’t make fun or press me for answers. Instead, he wiped sauce all over his own shirt to try and put me at ease. No one had ever done anything like that before, except maybe my brothers.

  T
his is different somehow.

  “Hey.” The gentle voice was like a GPS in my mind, rerouting me, calling me back.

  “Huh?” My head popped up, nose nearly colliding with the forgotten fry that was dripping with ranch.

  Blinking, I gazed at it and then at Ethan who was holding it out.

  “Come on. If you don’t eat it, I will.” He encouraged, bringing it an inch closer to my lips.

  I liked his eyes. They were blue like a summer sky without all the smog from the city. I liked the way he looked at me, like he was studying every single detail about my ordinary face, like maybe it wasn’t very ordinary to him.

  The weird feeling in my stomach reappeared, and I realized.

  I realized it was him.

  “Ethan,” I whispered without thought, as if it were my heart that spoke and not my tongue.

  I didn’t even know why I said his name, only feeling in that moment I had to. I had to somehow give weight to this moment before I floated away.

  The fry was abandoned, his wide frame leaning in as he carefully reached out to cup my face.

  I didn’t understand the mood swirling around in this room or how the warmth of his palms made me feel so much calmer.

  I didn’t understand at all, and my heart was pounding, but I didn’t want it to stop.

  “You surprised me too.” He confessed as if he knew my thoughts.

  He feels it too.

  The pad of his thumb rubbed slow circles over my cheekbone, lulling me into some sort of haze where the only thing that existed in this world was him.

  Slowly, slowly, he drew me in, and the force of my swallow echoed between us.

  “Have you ever been kissed?” His voice was husky, and my stare dropped to his lips.

  Even though I was shy, I couldn’t look away. I shook my head once, my cheek pushing farther into his palm with the action.

  “Your first kiss, will you give it to me?”

  He could have taken it. I was basically putty in his hands. I was so used to people in this world taking and taking that when he gave me a choice, my pounding heart stuttered.

  “You want to kiss me?” I whispered, lifting my eyes to his.

  “More than anything.”

  My ears grew hot, my skin tingled, and I found myself staring at his lips again, wondering what they would feel like against mine.