Page 248
Paul
Clint kicks off his shoes when we enter the front door and looks back at me. His smile is still trying.
“Relief or regret?”
Neither. Both.
Relief to be home, with him, and away from entitled assholes who can’t see past age and clothes and humongous cocks swinging in their faces. Regretting that I brought him into that world in the first place.
I’m a terrible guide through gaydom. My experience is clouded by Renny. As long as I was in his orbit, everything was fine. The Albys and Brads of the world weren’t important, as long as Renny was beside me. I can’t offer Clint the same protection. I’ll never be a Renny.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Clint’s smile fades. “For what?”
“Them. Wet. The…” I wave a hand, because if I say naked boy lineup, I may actually die. “All of it.”
“It was a lot.”
“I should have known better.”
“Probably.” He starts unbuttoning his shorts, because the house rules still apply. “At least I had my papi there to save me.”
His grin returns as he walks past me into the living room. He’s teasing, but I don’t think either of us really thinks it’s funny.
“I wanted us to be able to go somewhere,” I say. “As us.”
Clint pauses with his shirt half-open. His shorts are on the tile.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”
I hate how young he looks for a second. Not because he is young, but because the night made me see him through their eyes, and now I can’t scrub it out fast enough.
“I don’t want to be that,” I say.
“What?”
“The guy who—” Buys. Keeps. Shows off. Protects until protection becomes another kind of ownership.
I can’t say any of this.
Clint steps closer, shirt open, chest bare, eyes steady.
“It’s okay. I won’t let you.”
A laugh breaks out of me. He takes my hand and puts it against his chest.
“I think,” he says, “I need to reclaim my dominance after tonight.”
I don’t breathe. The joke is there in his eyes, but so is the offer underneath it. For the first time since we left the house, I feel the roles slipping loose.
I almost make a joke about it.
Almost.
“Good,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “Yeah?”
