“Whoa,” I say.I’m trying to grab his hands, but he’s like a snake.“Hey.Hold on.”
“Fuck, this is so fucking hot.God, I wish you could fuck me, but my stomach is so messed up tonight.”
“Slow down,” I say.
But he’s got my waistband open and my zipper down, and he moves on to himself, unsnapping the little button on the front of his shorts.He’s not wearing underwear, so when he skins himself out of the shorts, his dick juts out.He’s shaved down here too.The first thing I think is that his dick is cute, and that’s a new thought too.It’s not as nice as Gray’s, but it looks good on Maverick, and he’s got a little bead of pre on the tip.
“Hey,” I say, and I look around.“Hey, we’re in public.”
“Yeah,” he says, trying to slither off my lap.“Yell at me.”
“I’m not—” I grab his arm.“Stop, okay?I’m not doing this in public.”
“What?”
“Let’s stop.Why don’t you come back up here?I liked kissing you.”
He stares at me.And then he says, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
It’s unreal, like I have to explain something, but I don’t know why I have to explain.“Somebody could see us.”
“You stupid piece of shit.Wasting my fucking time.”
“Hold on.”
But he’s pulling the shorts back up, swearing at me.“Fucking closet case motherfucker.”He leers up at me.“Sorry to break it to you, buddy, but you got hard enough to drill when you were grabbing my ass.You’re a faggot first fucking class.”
“That’s not—wait a second, nobody said—”
He knocks my hand away from his arm.And then he shoves me hard enough that I bounce off the back of the seat.He shoves me again, and then he yanks open the door.He’s carrying his shirt in one hand.As loud as he can, he screams, “This guy is a fucking faggot!”
And then he slams the door.
I sit there for a while.
Then I button my khakis and get out.I can’t help looking, but there’s nobody on the street.The bouncer didn’t come running, which I guess is a good thing.I get in the driver’s seat, and I head home.
When I get there, Dad’s truck is parked out front, and the garage door is up, and Gran’s Caddy is up on a jack.I check the clock.It’s after nine.
I don’t know if I believe in God.I don’t think about it much.
But it sure seems like somebody out there likes coincidences.
I don’t rush inside, though.I sit there for a while.And at first, I’m just sitting.But then I start thinking.And then I can’tstopthinking.I’m thinking about Gray, and what it felt like the first time I kissed him.And how I shot in my shorts—it’s not quite as fun remembering this part, but there’s a part of me that can look back now and think maybe it was a little hot too.I’m thinking about what it felt like to be touched after a long, long time when nobody touched me.I’m getting hard again—or partway there, anyway—thinking about it, and that makes me mad at Gray and mad at myself and embarrassed, like the time we ran the hundred-yard dash in sixth-grade PE, and Mr.Sanderson told me to take down the flagpole.But I guess that’s what it’s like, having a dick.It’s got a mind of its own.
And now it’s like I’m running over everything again in my mind, and it feels almost the way it did when I was getting ready for the Greek Life outreach, or when I’m studying for a tactical course, or when I was getting my notes in order to talk to Chief Peterson.Like I’ve got to check everything one last time, like I want to put my hands on every piece of it to make sure it’s there and it’s in the right place and I didn’t miss anything.Because now I’m thinking about Maverick, about his long, tan legs, and about his ass in those shorts.I’m thinking about his mouth, and how his kisses were different from Gray’s, how he tasted like candy, and he had that soft body and that cute little cock.And I’m still hard.
I’m thinking about all the things I never let myself say before, or think, or admit.I’m thinking about the morning after that first night with Gray, and how I felt.He’d expected me to freak out, but I didn’t feel freaked out.I just felt like me.Likemoreof me.More myself, I guess.And that feeling hadn’t gone away.
I think about Maverick yelling,This guy is a fucking faggot.
And I think about how much I hurt, too.That big, bottomless ache that’s been there ever since the fight with Gray.And I don’t know a lot about relationships, but I don’t think anything can hurt that much if it’s not real.If some of it isn’t real, at least.
I think about my dad, sitting inside Gran’s house.And about the guys I grew up with.And how much of my life I’d wasted because I wanted them to like me.
I think about why I said yes to Gray, when he asked me to pretend to be his boyfriend.How I thought I didn’t know why I was saying yes.But maybe a part of me did know.I guess I know now.
And that was it.The end.Like I’d got all the pages in my workbook filled out, or like I’d lined up the edges of a stack of papers.That restless thing prowling around inside my chest curls up finally.And there’s a feeling, too.Not quite words.But it makes me think of the way it feels when you tighten a nut on a bolt, the threads lining up, everything turning and locking into place.
