I open my eyes at the sound of the bathroom door and look up to find Ronnie, freshly showered and shirtless. A thrill goes through my body at the lean muscles in his chest and stomach, the thickness of his shoulders and biceps. I can even see a hint of that lily tattoo of his sticking up above the waistband of his black sweats. Brightly colored ink trails down his neck, the snakes' tails wrapping around roses that spill down his side in crimson color. I feel a serious lady boner coming on.
“Well hello, Ronnie,” I say and he snorts, moving across the room with the soft whisper of bare feet. He pauses on the other side of the cart and smiles down at me, wet hair hanging in his face. With a brush of his wrist, he pushes it all back and shows me those eyes I love so much.
“I love your accent,” he tells me and it's my turn to laugh.
“No, I love your accent,” I say as I both thank and curse the heavens for this damn cart. If it wasn't here, I'd be dragging him down on top of me, crushing our mouths together, reaching into his pants to find his cock. But then I'd probably be getting a real nasty reminder that I got myself shot last week. I settle for licking my lips and shaking my head in disgust. “You're not allowed to look that fucking hot when I'm this Goddamn injured.” I watch as Ronnie removes one of the lids and reveals a hamburger and some hot chips – sorry, French fries. “Holy fuck, that looks brilliant. Gimme a damn bite before I pee myself.” With another laugh, Ronnie lifts the plate up with one hand and pushes the cart to the side with the other, helping me climb back into bed and setting the food on my lap. He gives me another one of those confusing forehead kisses, the ones that feel too gentle to be real, and I find my heart catching in my throat.
“Did I miss anything?” I ask and Ronnie shakes his head, grabbing his own plate and coming to sit next to me. I watch as he slathers his entire plate in ketchup, and I wrinkle my nose. I don't touch the stuff. But I like this, this simple act that tells me something banal about Ronnie. I want to know every boring detail about him – what types of books he likes to read, if he enjoys crappy reality television as much as I do, if he's ever had a real meat pie. He catches me staring as he puts the cap back on the bottle and smiles.
“Turner got a noise complaint filed on him about an hour ago. He had to call and tell me all about it. Also, while you were asleep, Milo dropped off some new phones and some of our personal items. That's about it.” Ronnie shrugs as I take a bite of my burger and cringe at the sweetness of the bun.
“Jesus Christ, that shit tastes like fairy floss.” Ronnie nearly spits his food out as he laughs at me, trying desperately to maintain some sort of dignity as he sits there and covers his mouth with his hand.
“Sorry. You were asleep, but I wanted to make sure you had something to eat when you woke up.” I smile back at him and take another bite of my burger, tossing him a wink as I swallow. Wish I was swallowing something else, if you know what I mean. I wonder if getting settled here won't be a good thing? Maybe Ronnie can finally get that fucking STD test he's so paranoid about. Lucky me, I got my blood work done at the hospital and I'm all clean. I wonder what's the best way to bring that shit up?
“I appreciate it, really I do. You can't help that your country puts sugar in every single fucking food item, and I can't help that I love Vegemite on toast. It's just the way things fucking are.”
“Please tell me you also had a pet kangaroo growing up. That'd make my day.” My turn to laugh and spit bits of hamburger out on my plate. My side aches in protest and I have to clamp down on the emotion as I glare at Ronnie and try not to smile. My sister is dead; I killed somebody. A second somebody to be exact. I shouldn't be sitting here laughing, but I can't seem to help myself. I genuinely like this guy.
“I had a couple of budgies and a rainbow lorikeet, but no kangaroos. Sorry to burst your bubble. What about you? You grew up in Los Angeles, so you must've lived next to a movie star, preferably one who starred in action thrillers and toted shotguns around in their Hummer, painted a brilliant red, white, and blue, of course.”
“Actually,” Ronnie says, leaning back against the headboard and poking at his food with a finger. “We did live next to a guy who owned a Hummer. Unfortunately, it didn't have an American flag painted on it, but it was pretty ostentatious. I think hummer is a word better reserved for the bedroom.” We exchange a look that heats up the room in an instant, and I sigh, setting my leftover burger back on the plate.
“I want to fuck,” I admit and Ronnie laughs again. I like that I can make him smile so easily. Hopefully this is a skill that'll last. I want whatever this is between us to be something that really matters. “But I guess having you humping away at me would be pretty painful right now.”