A few days later, he brings me flowers at work and asks me to be his boy. His.
Of course I say yes.
We spend every moment together—whenever I stay the night at his place, he drives me to work the next morning, and in the car he kisses me over and over again until I’ve got to run to clock in on time. Some mornings Mr. Weeks comes out and taps on the window to get me going.
In the evenings, Kevin swings by my mom’s house on his way home, and he holds me in the foyer, kissing me breathless because he hasn’t seen me in hours and he’s hungry for me. My mom likes him—she says at least I found a guy who has a decent job. He works for a lawyer, she says proudly, as if he’s her own son.
I can’t get him out of my mind. At work, I stare through the shelves as I stock them, remembering him in me
