One thing I’ve always been good at, ever since I was old enough to throw a bone, is knowing when someone wants me.It’s like a secret language.All these signals that are clear as day.That was never hard; what’s hard—what I’m still learning—is that it’s not a great idea to make that the only thing you feel good about.When someone wants you, I mean.The other thing I’m learning is that you don’t have to fuck somebody just because they’re asking for it.
On the other hand, nothing about tonight feels real.Like I brought the dream with me.And like tomorrow, I’ll wake up, and none of this will have happened.
He’s not quite leaning in, but he’s so close that it doesn’t matter.I move my arm so that the screen door starts to fall shut, and I bring my hand up, cup the back of his head, draw him closer.And I kiss him.His mouth is soft.His lips are almost as dry as his breath.He kisses back, kind of.And then I let him go.
His eyes are huge.
“I’ve been wanting to do that,” I say.The silence swallows up the words.“You’re so sweet, Sammy, and—and I wanted to do that.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he swallows, and his Adam’s apple moves.
And then I say, “Oh my God.”
Somehow, he squeaks, “It’s okay.”
“Oh my God.Oh my fucking God.”I catch the storm door’s latch with my elbow, and somehow I stumble out into the chill.“Shit, Sam.I’m sorry.I didn’t—”
“No, no, it’s okay.”
“I am such a fucking idiot.I didn’t mean—oh fuck!”
That’s partly for my own idiotic behavior, and partly because I’m not looking and I almost go ass-over-ankles down the steps.I come down wrong, and I feel it in my ankle, but I keep moving—mostly because the adrenaline of having oh-so-epically shat where I eat is keeping me moving.
“Gray,” Sam calls.
Somehow I make it to the sidewalk, but I can’t go very fast because my ankle is starting to throb.I’m pulling out my phone to call an Uber when Sam’s steps whisper against the concrete.And then he’s in front of me, blocking my way.
I can’t quite meet his eyes when I say, “Look, I’m in a really weird place, and I know that was crossing a line, and I said I was sorry—”
He leans forward and kisses me.It’s kind of like being punched, and that’s kind of the kiss and kind of the delivery, because Sammy’s moving fast when our mouths connect.
When he pulls back, my mouth has this pleasant ache.
He wraps his arms around himself.It’s hard to tell in the dark, but he looks like he’s lost all his color.
“You don’t have to—” I say.I try to think my way to something—a wild laugh wants to rise up in me, because I’m thinking,something safe, sane, and consensual.I end up saying, “You don’t have to do that.”
He makes this noise like something’s trying to get out.And then he says, “Iwantto.”And then, if it’s possible, he somehow looks even worse.“I just don’t know how.”Another pause.“Because I never…”
The way he trails off leaves a lot of open ground.
But it also feels like an opportunity to meet him halfway.Because I know I’m not wrong about what I feel between us, what I see in his face, the way he moves around me.And because he ran out here after me.And because this is Sam taking a huge chance.And because he’s Sam, because he’s kind and dorky and actually, I’m starting to realize, pretty much perfect.
“I know,” I say.“I know.”
“No,” he says, and he sounds like he’s about to cry, but then he laughs.“I mean, I’m a virgin.”
15
Gray
I don’t laugh even though—I mean, I don’twantto laugh.But it’s there, bubbling up, because there is no way any of this is happening.
Some other, better part of me seems to be in control, though, because I say, “Oh.”And then somehow I’m smiling, and I say, “That’s okay.”
Sam shakes his head, and his eyes are shining.He makes a noise that isn’t words but isdefinitelydisagreement.
“Why don’t we go back in the house?”I ask.
