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I nodded again while his fingers moved away from the button, settling against my hips as his mouth traced another slow kiss across my skin. It felt good. That was the horrible part. It felt good enough that my body relaxed even when my brain screamed at me.
My hand slid into his hair. He kissed beneath my ribs. Then licked my abs. And I couldn’t breathe when he got to that hollow beneath my throat.
A sound slipped out of me. I think it was a moan or maybe the noise a dying cat makes. Embarrassing.
Omar smiled against my skin. “See? I can make you feel good, Alvin.”
“Shut up and don’t stop doing that thing with your tongue.”
He kissed me again. My head tipped back. But…
Suddenly it wasn’t Omar standing here. And I wasn’t in the showers anymore. It was a dock beneath my back. A mask to one side. Hands gripping me. Dee’s mouth against mine after years of wanting something I had convinced myself I would never have.
I felt the kisses beneath my jaw, soft hands exploring the hem of my pants, and I was lost. I’d wanted this for so long. His tousled, wavy hair was in my grip. I wasn’t letting go of this man. He was mine. He was mine. He was…
“Mmm. Fuck, Dee…” I breathed out.
Everything stopped. Like a bullet breaking through glass and shattering the world around me. My eyes flew open to see Omar lifting his head and pulling his hands away from my shorts.
“Fuck…”
Omar visibly stepped backwards. I wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole. Preferably violently.
“Omar—”
He lifted a hand to stop me. I continued anyway.
“I didn’t mean to—”
He gave me a knowing look. “You absolutely meant to, Alvin.”
“Not like that, I didn’t.”
He stared at me. I shut my eyes. I used to be convinced I could become invisible if I squeezed my eyes tight enough as a kid.
“Alvin.” Omar sighed.
I opened my eyes and looked at him again. I was being a chickenshit for nothing. He wasn’t even angry. God, I almost wished he were. I deserved it. Right now, though, he just looked disappointed. Maybe a little sad.
“I can’t compete, can I? No competing with first love.”
My throat closed in on itself. “I...”
Omar raised an eyebrow.
“I hate him,” I said.
“No, you don’t.”
“I could.”
“Probably not.”
I grabbed my wet shirt from the bench. Omar watched me wrestle to get it back over my head to no avail.
“He’s an idiot, you know.”
I paused, my face hidden inside the fabric that refused to go back on properly. “What?”
