Jack
It’s weird that he even asked me out. Nobody does that.
EVER.
Nate
He asked you out because you’re a babe.
Look at all yourcute freckles.
Jack
I’m pretty sure freckles are a skin disease, Nate.
Nate
Well, how lucky are you that your disease is so sexy, right?
Jack
Oh my god.
Fine, I’ll go.
Nate
Seriously, though. Just try and have fun. It’s just a date, nothing serious.
It’s nothing serious,it’s nothing serious, it’s nothing serious,I chant to myself, and about halfway through dinner, I actually start to believe it. Christopher is nice. Or at least, nice enough to not laugh each time I stumble over a sentence, nerves making my tongue stupid and clumsy. He’s also got brown hair, dark eyes, and is skinny, which means he looks just enough like Desmond for me to blush like an idiot the entire time we’re eating.
I do a good job keeping the conversation pointed in his direction, asking questions and barely letting him stop for breath or a bite of food before asking another. I want to listen, not talk. Thankfully, Christopher seems all too eager to comply. By the time we’re leaving the restaurant, I’ve learned enough about him to ghost write his biography.
“Want to come back to my dorm?” he asks, pulling his coat tighter around himself and smiling at me.
I don’t, particularly. I want to go back tomydorm; take a shower and settle in bed for a few hours of reading. I want to relax, and be in my own space. But, I also hadn’t wanted tocome on this date in the first place, and it’s honestly been a pretty good time. Not as much fun as hanging out with Nate or Desmond, but few things are. I’ll probably never go on another date again, so I should make this one count.
I still can’t believe he asked me out in the first place. When Christopher had approached me after class, smiling and chatting as though we already knew one another, I’d figured he was going to ask to borrow my notes. Instead, he’d asked me to dinner, easy as anything. I’d gaped at him in silence, too stunned to even blush. I’ve only told one person I’m gay, and it sure as hell wasn’t Christopher. Before I could even contemplate the offer, I’d sputtered a distracted yes and watched as he jotted his number down on my notebook.
“Sure. We can go back to your place,” I agree, because I might as well continue my streak of trying new things. Maybe we could put on some anime—he’d seemed like a fan at dinner.
We walk side by side, and I give hand-holding ten seconds of consideration before discarding it. No way I’m doing that. My palms are probably clammy as hell, and then I won’t be able to think about anything else; the rest of my body will start sweating in response. I stuff my hands into my pockets, because that’s the safest option.
“My roommate is gone,” Christopher tells me as we walk into his dorm. I glance back at him, watching as he takes off his coat. I do the same, clutching it in front of me awkwardly.
“Okay. Cool.” I’m not really sure why I care where his roommate is, although I suppose it’s nice to not have to talk to anyone else. He laughs like I’ve said something funny, and walks over to where I’m still standing uncertainly by the door.
“You coming in or are we doing this here?” he asks,grinning and coming to a stop close enough that his chest brushes mine.
I flush, suddenly realizing exactly why it’s important I know the location of his roommate.Welcome to your first hook-up, Micky, I think, as he takes my coat and tosses it onto his roommate’s bed.
The only thing that keeps me from flinching when he grasps my hips is how used to attention like that from Nate I’ve become. But Nate doesn’t kiss me on the mouth, so I’ve got nothing to go off of when Christopher presses his lips to mine. He’s a little bit shorter than me, and a lot slighter, but there is no question who’s in charge here. He moves one hand to my neck, and this time I do startle, flinching away from that strange touch against my skin.
Anxiety squeezes my chest, my heart beating loud enough for me to feel it in my ears. Maybe I’m just doing it wrong, but this isn’t how I imagined kissing would be. Not at all. Christopher’s mouth feels strange and insistent, moving through a series of steps that I’m not privy to. I consider trying to reciprocate, but it’s really hard to breathe and I can’t concentrate and I don’t want to do this. I don’t like it.
He pulls his mouth away, and I gasp in relief. He makes a groaning noise and starts kissing my throat instead, like me gulping air is sexy and not a plea for life. I still haven’t moved my hands—haven’t done much more than stand here—but my head is pounding and my skin feels two sizes too small and I just want to go home.
When I feel sure fingers at my waist, fiddling with the catch on my jeans, the fight-or-flight portion of my nervous system zings to life.Run, it suggests.
