“Can I?” he whispered, and Rye nodded and closed his eyes.
Jake didn’t hesitate, but he was still careful and slow as he cupped Rye’s cheek and let his thumb brush along Rye’s cheekbone. It was another perfect thing—how his hand fit right there so well, his slightly tanned skin contrasting with Rye’s paler complexion. He let his hand slide back a tiny bit more until his fingertips grazed low under Rye’s ear.
“Is this okay?” Jake asked, and when Rye nodded again, Jake breathed a quiet “Good.”
Rye settled his head back on Jake’s shoulder with another sigh that sounded contented and happy. Then he started caressing Jake’s forearm.
And god, it was almost too much.
Thiswasa date. The most perfect date in the history of dates.
But then Rye’s hand stopped.
“If it’s a date,” Rye said, a slight tremble to his words, “do we have to... do we have to kiss or—or h-have sex? Because I-I don’t want to do that.”
Jake frowned and immediately shook his head. “No, no, of course not,” he murmured, and very gently, he tilted Rye’s chin back so he could see Rye better. His deep blue eyes were filled with uncertainty and tension, and his lips, so soft and pink, were pursed with worry. Jake lifted his hand away from Rye’s cheek and grazed his fingertips along Rye’s forehead, brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen out of place. He shook his head again. “Why would you think that?”
“That’s what people expect . . . isn’t it? At least to . . . to kiss. But most expect . . . more.”
Maybe that was true in a way. Maybe most people would expect a kiss—or more, as Rye had put it. But that was definitelynotJake. He would love to kiss Rye, yes, and he’d thought about it, yes. But he had no expectations, no assumptions, no preconceived notion that they had to kiss—or more—for this to be a date. And he hated that Rye was worrying about it.
“Do you remember when I’ve told you that you can always say no?” he asked, and Rye nodded, but then looked away and buried his head back into Jake’s shoulder.
“I wasn’t allowed to,” Rye mumbled, and he shook his head once. “I wasn’t given any choice, for a very long time, I wasn’t given any choice. The man, he... he took what he wanted, when he wanted. He... did things to me, things that hurt. And he made me do things to him. He kissed me and touched me and... had sex with me. And it hurt. He never gave me a choice. He never... neverallowed me to speak my mind. So it’s hard sometimes to... to believe it, even when I trust you.”
Jake’s stomach clenched with the reminder, the words Rye had never really said until now. He probably hadn’t beenableto say them, and this was just another testament to how strong he was. Strong, brave, courageous. All those things.
Rye’s hand pressed into Jake’s elbow lightly. “I do... really like this... this closeness with you.”
Jake closed his eyes and rested his cheek back against the top of Rye’s head. “I do too.”
“I’m scared, though,” Rye said, his voice small. He seemed to shrink in on himself, curling up against Jake. “I’m scared because I don’t know whether I’ll...everwant to kiss or... or have sex.”
Jake frowned again, and he tightened his arm around Rye’s shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Why does that make you scared?” He almost didn’t want to hear Rye’s answer, but he knew he needed to.
Rye shuddered. “Because if I... if I can’t or if I never want to, what if you...”
Rye didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to, though; Jake heard the unspoken words. Two options, both equally awful.
...what if you get tired of waiting for me?
...what if you decide to take what you want anyway?
“Never, Rye,” he said, his voice both kind and firm at the same time. With a deep, slow sigh, Jake set his hand lightly on top of Rye’s and let his thumb stroke back and forth across Rye’s soft, pale skin. He wanted it again—to place the gentlest of kisses atop Rye’s head. But his desire was tempered now, knowing all of Rye’s reservations and finally having the clarity to understand where they came from. He really only wished he could show Rye everything he was feeling in his heart, all of his conviction and sincerity. So he kept stroking the back of Rye’s hand with as much tenderness as he could, and with a small smile that he hoped Rye could somehow feel, he said, “You can like me even if I snore, right?”
Rye’s body shook a little, like maybe he’d laughed. “Yeah.”
“So then I can—and Ido—like you, even if we never do anything more than what we’re doing now.”
“This does feel really nice,” Rye said, and Jake nodded into him.
“It’s incredible. Just like this. I could stay here forever, I think.”
Rye was silent for a minute, or maybe two. And when he spoke again, his words had become slow and stilted, like they were when he was struggling sometimes. “How... do you know? What if you... get tired... of this? Or—or whatif you get tired of me saying no? What if you ask to kiss me—a hundred times, a thousand times—and... and I’m... not...everready?”
Jake took a deep breath, not because he was unsure, but because he wanted the right words to come with the right conviction, and he wanted Rye to hear it. Softly, he said, “Then I’ll keep waiting until you’re ready. And if that’s never, then I’ll be happy just like this.” He let his fingers drift slowly, just up to Rye’s wrist, just to where he’d been given permission to touch and no farther. “This is already so much more than I ever thought I’d have.”
“Yeah . . . me too,” Rye said.
