Page 9 of Inevitable
“You’re a brainy guy. If you wanted, you could find him. This Ezra of yours.”
Ezra’s name on Bas’s lips made a strange shiver go through Drew’s insides. The insinuation of yours didn’t help. A jolt of longing went through him.
“I’m pretty sure that since I’m a lawyer myself, the judge wouldn’t be too lenient about the whole stalking side of things.”
Bas dismissed Drew’s attempt of a joke.
“You have unfinished business.” Bas pressed his palm on Drew’s chest and smiled knowingly when he felt the accelerated rhythm of Drew’s heart.
“It’s okay,” he murmured.
Drew had no idea what to say to that, so he just hugged Bas closer.
He didn’t need to find Ezra.
He didn’t need anybody else.
Just Bas.
Always Bas.
3
“Another cup of coffee, hon?”
Ezra snapped his eyes up from his textbook. The waitress was standing in front of his table with a pot in her hand. She had light brown hair, tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck. A tendril of hair had escaped, and she’d pushed it behind her ear. Her uniform was slightly wrinkled, and there was a stain on her white-and-red striped apron. She looked tired, but she still smiled patiently as she waited for Ezra’s reply.
He took a glance at the empty cup in front of him. He wanted to say yes. He really did. But he’d given Jordan his share of the rent that morning, so he had exactly seven bucks in his backpack, and that had to last him another three days.
He swallowed. He hadn’t talked to anybody in hours, and his mouth felt dry and sandpapery.
“I should probably free up the table,” he said as he started to gather up his laptop and books. He took a glance out the window. It had started to snow sometime in the last couple of hours. A soggy mess that made everything wet and most definitely didn’t turn the city streets into a winter wonderland, which in Ezra’s opinion, was the only quality that made snow even halfway tolerable. It would get colder as the night progressed. The sleet would turn into little shards of ice that would bombard any exposed skin like little angry missiles. Leaving the warmth of the diner was going to be a pain.
The waitress’s palm landed on his shoulder, and she squeezed it gently. “Relax, hon. There’s hardly a line out the door, is there?” She raised one of her eyebrows. “So, how about that coffee, then?”
Ezra forced a smile on his face as he pulled his backpack toward him and fished out his wallet. He opened it and looked at the two bills inside. This was ridiculous. At this point, it hardly mattered if he had five dollars or seven dollars to his name. It wasn’t really going to stretch for three days anyway, so he might as well buy himself a couple more hours of warmth. He took out two bucks and placed it on the table.
“Sure,” he said.
The waitress poured him a cup and turned away, not taking Ezra’s money.
“It’s on the house,” she said before Ezra could protest. The waitress disappeared into the kitchen, and Ezra tucked the money back into his backpack. Pride was warring with self-preservation.
Fuck it. Pride was not going to buy him ramen for his next… however many meals he managed to squeeze out of the money he had left.
He nursed his coffee for another two hours while finishing his studying for the day. After he was done, he stuffed his things into his backpack. The friendly waitress from before had finished her shift, and the one that had replaced her was giving Ezra the stink eye every time she glanced in his direction. It seemed he’d worn out his welcome.
Outside, the wind had picked up, throwing shovelfuls of snow in his face. He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and headed toward the small, three-bedroom house he shared with seven other people.
Not for the first time, he cursed himself for deciding to come to Boston. Living in the city was expensive as hell. He had a scholarship, but he still had part of his tuition to cover. Even community college in Massachusetts wasn’t exactly cheap. And then there were books. And living expenses.
Last year, he’d worked two jobs while juggling school on top of everything. The whole year had been like a sleepless form of torture. Ezra had spent his days running from classes to work and his nights trying to keep his eyes open to get his studying done.
He’d spent the summer working as many hours as possible as a roofer, in order to save enough money to pay the tuition and afford all his books. He was in his second year. His classes had been getting increasingly more difficult, but he had more time to study, so his life felt a little more manageable than usual. Even losing the dishwashing gig hadn’t created too much chaos. He’d find another job soon, and things would again be okay.
He was still on a strict budget and could barely make ends meet by the end of each month—case in point, the seven bucks in his wallet—but for the first time ever, he was cautiously optimistic about the future. The feeling was so unfamiliar that he almost couldn’t identify it at first, which was probably why he’d done something as stupid and reckless as spending the night with a complete stranger the other day. And to really top off the stupid, he’d somehow managed to fall asleep and had stayed the whole night. Fucking moron.
It took him exactly ten minutes to get from the diner to his house. Ten minutes of good feelings that were provided by the memories of Drew and the things he could do with his hands and mouth.
