Page 46 of Winning You
“Well, A, you’d be really fucking sad if you couldn’t drop by anymore and get your fix, and B, because I don’t have capital to start my own restaurant, and my options were either getting a disability check or the pity hire my dad’s best friend gave me.”
“I think I might need you to explain more,” Frankie admitted.
Lucas sighed, then pressed his hands to the table and stood up. “Okay, but this calls for blanket nest.” He stopped halfway from stepping back from his chair. “Gage didn’t clean it up, did he?”
Frankie leaned back in his seat and peered around the half wall into the living room. “Just like it was this morning.”
“Sweet. If you’re not too cool for a blanket nest, we’re going in there because I’m tired and need comfort.”
Frankie wasn’t going to argue with that. He followed Lucas into the living room and waited for him to get situated before lowering himself down. There wasn’t much space for him to fit. He was broader and taller than Gage, and the space left behind had been for the other man. When he settled in, his shoulder was pressed right up against Lucas’s.
“Is this?—”
“You’re fine,” Lucas said, cutting him off. “I get touchy-feely. It helps me stay oriented and also keeps me from panicking thatsomeone’s left the room without telling me and I’m just sitting here talking to myself like a total jackass.”
Frankie pressed against him harder, and then Lucas turned his body onto his side and let his chin rest against Frankie’s arm. It was heaven.
“My old school had this weird thing where, when you were young, they put it in your head that you can do anything. You could be an astronaut or the president or…I don’t know. A NASCAR driver. They wanted all of us kids to think that there were no limits. Then we got older and closer to an age where we could go out into the world and start working, and suddenly, it was like, let us teach you how to file for disability because most people won’t hire you and you don’t want to starve to death.”
Frankie’s brows dipped. “That sounds…complicated.”
“It was confusing. And to be fair, most of the teachers and the staff at our school were sighted, so no matter how long they’d been working with kids like us, they had zero personal experience what it was like to navigate a world blind.” Lucas took a slow breath. “And I do not count them walking around for ninety hours or whatever the fuck they do with a blindfold and a white cane.”
Frankie heard the tension in his voice, so he took his hand, and Lucas immediately began to trace a touch all over his fingernails and knuckles. It was an absent gesture, like he wasn’t aware he was doing it, but it felt so fucking good Frankie wasn’t about to stop him.
“I didn’t graduate from that school. My dads got divorced, and we moved here, and I did my senior year at Gage’s high school. It was harder, but in a way, it was kind of better. It showed me firsthand how shitty things could and would get.” He licked his lips and turned Frankie’s palm over to touch the lines there. “At that point, I was really good at cooking andprobably saved my dad from a life of fast food and bullshit from gas stations.”
“So you’re a hero in many lives?”
Lucas pressed his face forward to hide his laugh in Frankie’s sleeve. “Mm. I guess. I think I knew I wasn’t going to get ajobjob, you know? Like there was no way in hell I was going to apply, and some chef was going to be like sure, let’s spend a shitload of money to make this kitchen accessible so I can pay you minimum wage.”
“Maybe they should,” Frankie murmured. It was in that moment he realized he hadn’t come across a single chef with a visible disability. Not one. And none of the kitchens he’d ever inspected had anywhere near the equipment Lucas’s truck did.
“I mean, should and would are two very different things. It is what it is. One of my dad’s friends hired me. It was a total pity hire, but he loves me, so I was okay with it. He and his sous taught me everything I know in the food truck and in his restaurant. Then they gifted me the food truck. Well, I paid for it, but I’m not going to tell you how much because it’s probably considered tax fraud or something.”
Frankie laughed softly and turned his head, laying his cheek against Lucas’s temple. “I’m not with the IRS, so don’t worry. I’m not a mandatory reporter.”
“Thank god. Anyway, yeah. So now I have this truck I can’t drive, but I don’t care because it’s mine, and I run everything in it. Even when I need help, I’m still the boss, and that’s important to me.”
“I get it. I’m sorry I thought?—”
“Whoa, no. It’s so fucking flattering that you think I’m good enough to work in some fancy kitchen.” Lucas leaned back and tilted his head up. Frankie stared at his eyes. Up close, they didn’t look as real. They were too…perfect, the color in them likegemstones. He lost the fight against his urge to touch Lucas and traced a line over his jaw.
Lucas shuddered. “Anyway.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat as Frankie gently pulled his hand away. “I hope one day I can get a café. I want one of those cafés and bookshops that sell nerdy shit like DnD and Warhammer figurines and indie books by authors who never get to see their books on shelves. So when I die—single and probably still a fucking virgin—at least I’ll have accomplished something.”
It took Frankie a moment to process that last sentence, and when he did, his entire world flipped upside down. “Virgin?”
Oh, fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
CHAPTER TWELVE
FRANKIE
“Shit.I’m sorry. I just…I’m…” He was panicking.
“I’m not ashamed,” Lucas said, pulling away. His voice was tense.Hurt. “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin at my age, you know.”
Frankie grabbed him and yanked him close. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. God. You’re just so…vibrant and beautiful and powerful. I understand it’s probably a personal choice, so I don’t mean to make it sound weird.”
