I gulped. “Thank you...” And I gulped some more.
“Don’t leave my sight in the juice joint again.” It came as an order I was willing to obey.
One of Jay’s hands tucked the flask back in his back pocket, and the other stayed near my chin.
“Why are you bossing me around all of a sudden?” I asked.
“Because you’re mine,” he said.
I felt one step away from breaking down. Or my longing had completed its circle with mutual desire. Or both. I felt undeserving when he cupped a hand behind my neck, and then deeply important when he kissed me.
The kiss commanded us to lean in, and then we started speaking to each other that way—with our lips. I told him silently that I understood his pain.
He told me that he knew how grief marked my bones like spit stains in the sidewalk, like fingerprints on door handles. My grief built more grief like construction workers built buildings to put this city’s nature into an early grave. He didn’t get it, not quite, but he’d support me through it.
When I kissed Jay back, all my sorrow had somewhere to go.
And when he pulled away, he said, “You’re mine.” Once more for emphasis. He leaned into my face, so my head was cupped between his shoulder and chest. “Okay?”
“Okay.” His chest swallowed my words so they landed in his aorta, right where they should be—right where I aimed them.
Okay. I would give into his little kisses and orders. Because with him, Clumsy Nick was more than just a weakling, more than just a mistress, and more than just a friend! Nick Carrington, edition three, was not another cog in the machine. Because Jay saw something extra in me. Something in my personality that dazzled like elegant jewelry, and it was so rare, so untouched that even I couldn’t see it!
But I had this pretty boy’s attention! The boy whose beauty was as vibrant as the alleyway’s gaslights. That meant that I was enough, with all my fractures and hitches, all the ways that I tripped, and all my confusion too.
We went back to Jay’s place when we finally got off our butts. We had to tiptoe into his ensuite bathroom because his father was home, and this was the second time we’d been beaten up this year, so now we’d really be in trouble, even worse than last time.
Jay turned on the bathwater to let it run, undressed, and left his clothes in the shape of a Christmas tree skirt at his feet. “I have a lovely house, don’t I?” he said. “I’ll miss it when we take off.”
Jay opened the balcony doors and angled his golden telescope at the house across the way, watching Buchanan’s. The boat lights from the lake outlined the tower of his backside as he rolled a marijuana cigarette on the railing.
I joined him, standing slightly behind him, and we watched the lake. The room felt like an oasis on the Mediterranean Sea or the most important room in a palace. So far away from everything I’d started with. If we lived together, I’d want a little wooden swing hanging from the tree out front to remember the countryside I came from.
I swayed some in the breeze and asked, “Are you a homosexual?”
He laughed, as if amused. “What? I don’t like that.”
“What don’t you like?”
“The word.”
“Why?”
He took a drag from the cigarette. “Because... what’s the point? It’s supposed to be describing an identity, but it’s got the wordsexualin it.”
I truly hated the smell of smoke. I wished he wouldn’t do it anymore.
“The way you held me tonight...” I began.
“You had just been beat up and you were in pain.”
“You kissed me.”
Jay turned around harshly, as if I’d struck him. “So? I held youas anyone who’d just been beaten in the streets ought to be held.” His voice was strong and defensive. “Is that bad? Did it make you uncomfortable?”
“No. I’m just thinking about it.”
He took a breath and softened his expression. “Keep thinking. I like that about you.” Jay looked like his father when he closed the balcony doors. More like a man.
