After twenty minutes, though, he's suddenly the man who makes my grandmother laugh, who notices when her water glass is empty and refills it without being asked, who looks at me like he wants to devour me whole but speaks to her with genuine respect.
How the hell am I supposed to keep my walls up when he's systematically dismantling them brick by brick?
Even as I watch him wheel Grams toward the dining room, his massive frame dwarfing her wheelchair, my chest aches. This isn't what I signed up for. One night of pleasure in my cramped apartment shower wasn't supposed to turn into... this.
But as he glances back at me, a small, private smile playing at his lips, I realize it might be too late to stop it.
I'm already falling.
And something tells me the landing is going to hurt like hell.
