But eventually the DJ decided to take things down a few notches. The music slowed to a heartbeat pace, and Madonna began singing an old one, “Crazy for You.” All around us, couples curled into one another, arms finding purchase. Lips finding lips.
“We should split, right?” I panted into Graham’s ear.
He nodded immediately, as I knew he would. There was no way we could go full-frontal in a slow dance and still pretend that tonight was just some crazy when-in-Rome kind of situation.
I wanted to, though. I wanted to pull his chest to mine, and press my face into his neck.It’s just dancing, I could tell myself. But it would be a lie. No matter what label I put on it, and no matter how stupid it made me, I still wanted Graham.
Yep. Time to go home.
“I’m going to tell the other guys that we’re out of here. Meet you by the door?” He nodded again. So I threaded through the crowd, finding Skippy and Ross beside our old table, guzzling water. “We’re going to head out,” I said.
“Stowe tomorrow?” Skippy asked between gulps. Then he refilled the glass from a pitcher they’d acquired somehow.
“I dunno,” I said, wondering if there was time for snowboarding. Probably not. “I’ll have to see when Graham wants to get back.” I snagged Skippy’s water glass from his hand and brought it to my lips. But I’d only managed a sip when his fingers closed tightly around my wrist, his eyes going wide. I didn’t understand why he’d object to my getting some water. “You have a whole pitcher,” I argued.
But water was not Skippy’s problem. “Whatdid you call him?”
Oh, fuck. I tried to shrug off the question, shaking his hand off me and draining the glass.
But Skippy wasn’t having it. “Youcannotbe serious.That’syour Michigan guy?” He took the empty glass from my hand and set it down. Then he took my face in both of his hands. “You cannot get involved with a guy who fucked you over when you had three broken ribs and internal bleeding.” His dark eyes glittered with righteous indignation.
For a second time, I pushed his hands off me. “Guess what? You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.” Fuck, that sounded bitter. And we both knew it.
He blinked at me for a beat. “Rikky,Jesus.Be careful.”
“Yes,Dad.” Even though I knew he really did care about me, I still didn’t want to hear it. We can’t all have a Skippy and Ross love story, with a cute apartment and a poodle curled up on the rug. Their Instagram selfies were so cheerful that I could hardly look.
From a few feet away, Ross was watching us, a wary look on his face. I was too pissed off to say a polite goodnight to either of them. I gave Ross a kind of salute, and Skippy a look of irritation. Then I made my way back through the dancing bodies toward the door. Graham pushed it open when he saw me coming.
Outside, the temperature had descended to negative freeze-your-nuts-off, but it felt good against my sweaty skin. As we approached the truck, I noticed that there were two gay couples bookending it — one making out against the car parked behind us, and the other lip-locked beside the car parked in front of us.
It was hook-up o’clock, because Guerrilla Night was drawing to a close.
We climbed into the truck. When my door slammed, one half of the couple in front of us raised his eyes to check if we were about to run him down. But his partner, a short little guy, grabbed his jacket and pulled him back into the kiss.
Graham sat in the passenger seat, just staring at them.
Rubbing my cold hands together, and still distracted by the argument I’d had with Skippy, it took me a minute to realize where Graham’s thoughts were probably headed. Kissing in public had been lethal to our friendship. And here we were, literally surrounded by men who weren’t afraid to let the kisses fly.
“Welcome to Vermont,” I said.
He said nothing. His eyes were still trained on the couple in front of us. I flipped on the truck’s headlights, which illuminated them. But I couldn’t tell if Graham was really watching, or if he was far away, inside a memory.
Either way, I knew what we had to do. “Come here,” I whispered.
He gave a slow shake of his head. “Bad idea.”
But it wasn’t a bad idea. It was a powerful one. Five years ago, two boys had kissed in a car. And a bunch of assholes turned that moment into a life-altering disaster. But right now, two grown men could kiss in a car. And then go home to play one more game of RealStix like it was no big deal.
I stretched one hand across the seat to take Graham’s. But he wouldn’t look at me, even when I gave his arm a tug. “Come here,” I said. “Or I’m coming over there.” The truck had a bench seat, so it would be easy to make good on that threat.
He looked at me then, a warning on his face.
“It’s just a kiss,” I whispered, rubbing his big hand in mine. “Do this for me.” I pulled him toward me again.
He camealmostwillingly.
Slowly, we eased closer, our eyes locked on one another, until I could feel his breath on my face. I closed the final inches between us, just ghosting my lips over his on the first pass. I saw his Adam’s apple bob nervously. So I was gentle when I cupped the back of his head, pulling him in. I pressed my lips to his, tasting musk and beer.Mmm…My kiss was slow. Appreciative.
