Page 21 of Winning You

“Her walker,” Frankie clarified. “No cane. They’re not sure what her brain processes with her sight, so they want to get her walking and balance better before trying to train her on one.”

“So she’s not totally blind?”

“No. It’s CVI. Do you know what?—”

“Yes, dude. I know what cortical blindness is.” More than half his friends at school had it. He’d always wondered if it was more frustrating to see but not quite see than have nothing the way he did. He was always jealous of their glasses though.

He never got cool accessories for his face.

“Sorry,” Frankie said quietly. “A lot of people don’t know. I didn’t want to assume. I made the mistake once of asking if one of her mentors knew this blind artist at the museum. He was pretty fucking offended that I assumed y’all knew each other.”

Lucas tried to hide his smile. “I know that guy.”

“…you do?”

“No, jackass!”

Frankie groaned. “I’m tired. Please go easy on me.”

Lucas scoffed, but he already felt himself giving a little. Just a smidge. “So, I’ve had a really long day. This total asshole took up a bunch of my time two days in a row, and I really need a nap.”

“He sounds like a real turd,” Frankie said dryly.

Lucas burst into laughter, hating that the man could make him smile like this. But…he also kind of loved it. “He was. But he was apologetic, so I feel like I might be able to let him off the hook.”

“Kind of you. Not sure he’d deserve it after all that.”

“Self-deprecation isn’t as cute as you think it is,” Lucas told him as he turned to reach for the door to their hallway. He held it as he felt Elodie bump his legs again.

“The other way, Bugs,” Frankie said.

Lucas felt her walker adjust, and then she pushed inside and began to pick up speed. “She’s at it again.”

“The hallway ends. There’s no escape this time,” Frankie said. He slowed down when Lucas approached his own door. “Listen…”

“No,” Lucas said quickly. “We don’t have to do this, okay? I get it. You were a shit, I was mad. You apologized and made it right, and I got a good score on my own merits because I am a badass chef.”

“Yeah,” Frankie said with a very tired chuckle. “Thanks for not making this weird.”

“Trust me, I have time to make it weird,” Lucas promised. He felt himself grinning and wondered if he looked like a complete tool. “Have fun getting that one to bed tonight.”

“Just be glad you don’t live directly next door. All you’d hear is her cackling and me sobbing into my pillow as I eat her leftover Cheerios she spilled on the floor.”

“You sound like you need a hot meal. Or a drink. Or…I don’t know. Boozy soup.”

Frankie snorted. “I don’t even know what a hot meal is anymore. But at least the Cheerios are good for my heart, right?”

“Tell me you’re joking,” Lucas pressed.

Frankie sighed again. “Toddler. I have a toddler. Trust me, I am not joking. But this phase eventually ends, and I’ll go back to my casseroles and sandwiches.”

“That is tragic.”

“That is life,” Frankie shot back. “But there are worse things. Have a good night, Lucas.”

God, he loved the way his name sounded on Frankie’s tongue. Rich and rolling through lips and teeth. He wanted to ask him to say it again.

Instead, he turned the key in his dead bolt, went inside, locked it behind him, and walked away. If he stayed any longer, he was going to do or say something they would both probably regret.