“You believe in things, don’t you?” It comes out of me impulsively. “The kinds of things people are supposed to believe in.”
He gives that some thought. “I don’t really care what other people believe in.” He takes a step toward me and he’s so close, I catch the scent of his soap. Something melony and fresh. He puts a hand on my chest.
I can’t take my eyes away from him. “I didn’t think you would.”
“But I guess I believe in stuff. Some stuff. Stuff I can see.”
“Like what?”
His tongue grazes his lower lip. He leans in, arms sliding around my neck, and his lips are against mine. I think the Soviets could drop the big one and it wouldn’t tear me away. I think I wouldn’t even notice. Piece by piece our surroundings disappear and we’re just floating in nothing. It’s not as hot or hungry or hard like before. It’s like we’re speaking to each other in a language that only exists right now. We just made it up. My tongue slides against his, and his tongue slides against mine, and it’s back and forth, a discussion, telling a secret.
Anybody else, I’d want to stop this. Anybody else, I’d want to get him in bed. Get a naked body under me and get my dick inside him.
But it’s true what I said.
He’s not just anybody.
“You asleep?”
“No.”
I tilt his chin up. We’re lying side by side on the sofa, his head laying on my shoulder. We just sort of ended up here. I don’t even know when or how.
I ask, “Do you want to be asleep?”
“Nah.”
I smile and he slips a hand under my T-shirt. I haven’t turned on a single light. But there’s a streetlight that comes in through the window. I hadn’t even thought to pull down the shades.
I stroke the side of his face and he slides a leg in between my legs, his blue jeans rubbing against the creases on mine. My mind feels empty, calm even. It’s peaceful, it’s nice, with him lying here beside me.
He puts an arm around me. “Do you want me to go?”
“Not if you don’t want to.” I reach for my smokes on the coffee table and the lighter. I take a long, hard-won drag.
He props his chin up on my chest and looks at me. I have a filthy desire to see his face when he comes, his eyes. Not tonight, though. Maybe next time. The thought gets me hard.
“What did my aunt say to you?” he asks.
“Hm?”
“Earlier. What did she say to you?”
I flick ash off my cigarette into the ashtray. “She just asked me to look out for you.” I brush a finger over his lips. “I said I would.”
He gives me a long stare, then says, “She didn’t say anything else? Like, why I was there?”
“She said you had some trouble. A couple months ago.” I try to stifle a yawn, and I can’t see the clock from where I’m lying. “Nothing else.”
He presses his lips together, his expression faltering. “I got into a fight. With my father.”
I take a drag and sit up a little. “Like afightfight?”
“Yeah, I mean...” He glances down and back to my face. “My mother died last year. So, it’s been hard. On both of us.”
I sit up all the way and he does too. “What happened?”
“She had cancer. Her liver.” He looks away. “That’s all I’d rather say about it right now.” His eyes flicker to me. “Okay?”
