“I called a helpline the other day,” he continued, the words tumbling out like he needed to say them before he lost his nerve. “An LGBTQ helpline. Because I needed to talk to someone about what I was feeling and I didn’t know who else to ask. And they told me it was okay. That being confused was okay. That having these feelings was okay.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Kent had called a helpline. About me. About us.
“What about Brittany?” I asked, trying to put the pieces together. “What about all those girlfriends you ran through in college?”
He just shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that whatever I felt with them is nothing compared to how I feel around you.”
“How you feel…”
“Look, I don’t expect you to forgive me for how I treated you,” he said, his voice rough. “And I don’t expect anything from you at all. But you said we needed to talk, so I’m talking. I’m telling you that when you hugged me, it was the best I’ve felt in months. Maybe years. And I know that’s fucked up and complicated and probably wrong, but it’s the truth.”
I crossed the distance between us before I could second-guess myself, closing the space until we were inches apart. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths.
“Say something,” Kent whispered. “Please.”
Instead of speaking, I reached up and cupped his face with one hand, my thumb brushing along his jawline. His skin was warm, slightly rough with stubble. He leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for just a second before opening again to meet mine.
“I hated you for so long,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I know.”
“But I don’t hate you anymore.” My other hand found his waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his t-shirt. “And that terrifies me.”
“Me too,” he admitted, his own hands coming up to rest on my hips. The touch was tentative, like he was afraid I might disappear if he held on too tight.
We stood there, suspended in that moment, both of us too scared to move forward and too far gone to step back. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, could count every breath he took. My mind was screaming that this was wrong, that we shouldn’t be doing this. But my body didn’t care about should or shouldn’t. It only cared about the magnetic pull drawing me closer to him.
“James,” he breathed, and the way he said my name, soft and desperate and full of longing, broke something inside me.
I closed the remaining distance between us and pressed my lips to his.
Chapter 14
James
The kiss was nothing like the one I’d given Trevor at the coffee shop. That had been for show, a performance meant to prove a point. This was raw and real and so intense it made my knees weak. Kent made a sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening on my hips as he pulled me flush against him.
I’d kissed plenty of guys before. Had memorable nights and forgettable hookups and everything in between. But nothing had ever felt like this. Like jumping off a cliff in the most blissful way possible.
Kent’s lips were softer than I’d imagined and his stubble scratched against my skin as the kiss deepened. Then his tongue swept across my lower lip asking for permission I was all too eager to grant.
One of his hands slid up my back, tangling in my hair, and I pressed closer, eliminating any space left between our bodies. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. And I could feel his cock thickening against my own. Clearly, he was interested.
When we finally broke apart, both of us gasping for air, Kent rested his forehead against mine. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and his lips were red and slightly swollen.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” I agreed, because coherent thought was beyond me at the moment.
“I’ve wanted to do that for days,” he admitted, his thumb stroking along my hip bone through my shirt. “Maybe longer. I don’t know anymore.”
I pulled back just enough to look at him properly. “This is crazy. You know that, right? This whole situation is completely insane.”
“I know.” He didn’t look away, didn’t try to minimize it. “But I don’t care.”
“Our parents?—”
“Aren’t here. And frankly, after the way my dad acted at dinner, I don’t give a fuck what he thinks.”
