Chapter 11 Brin #2
“I spent six weeks going into the city as much as I could, looking for him. I skipped school. I checked shelters. I talked to the university, the police.”
Even though I know that Marco finds him, and they live together until Joe’s death, I’m nervous and tense. How could Marco’s family splinter like that?
“When I finally found him he was living in the Meatpacking District in a loft with, like, six other people. I was so goddamn happy to have found him. And I was so mad at my parents, so I ran away and went to live with Joe. Of course, it ticked my parents off even more, but I could see that Joe needed me. He’d been kicked out of leases, lost jobs; he was too nice. ”
I smile against his chest. Marco is always telling me I’m too nice, just like his brother.
He continues. “We found our place here in the city. We found our people.” Marco jerks his head back in the direction we came from.
“How can our world be so divided that some people are teaching their kids to love and accept everyone, and yet my parents can’t even be in the same house with their own queer son? ”
I squeeze him. I don’t have an answer. To me, this world we live in, where our families can’t see past their own bigotry, is unexplainable.
“Thank you for being here with me,” Marco says, and I feel the press of his lips on my hair.
“You’re welcome. I’m here for hugs and art projects and kisses under the mistletoe.”
I feel it in my bones when he lets out a small laugh. “You mean our terrible first kiss?”
And then underneath my arms Marco freezes.
I pull back and look up at him. “Our first kiss?” My lips curl up and I tease him, my heart beating faster in my chest. “Are there going to be more?”
“Come on.” He huffs a laugh, looking away. The snow’s still falling around us in light little flakes, enough to add a wintery sparkle to the air. “You don’t want to kiss a guy like me.”
“Well, it was a pretty terrible first kiss,” I drawl. “Why would I want a second one?”
Marco’s eyes meet mine, sharp now, narrowed on me. “That was a terrible kiss because we were rushed and being watched by complete strangers. Being filmed.”
“You don’t think it’s because we’re two completely incompatible heights? Fundamentally unable to kiss comfortably?”
His gaze drops down. Somehow, despite the obvious height difference, our faces have gotten closer.
“No, I don’t. We may be incompatible in other ways, but it’s not your pocket-sized stature that holds us back.
” He takes a breath, and I feel it all over my body, from the expansion of his ribs to the warmth unfurling across my cheeks.
“In fact, I don’t think there’s anything physical about us that’s incompatible. ”
My heels are off the ground, my toes pressing into the dirt.
He doesn’t stop. His eyes, always dark, are half-lidded black pools. “I think if we wanted to, we could have an exceptional second kiss.”
I swallow, and my eyes drop to his mouth.
“If we wanted to,” I agree. I lick my lips and his gaze follows.
This is bad. Everything I’ve ever felt, all the yearning and pent-up frustration, is overriding all the reasons why I shouldn’t be risking my living situation, the tiny amount of financial security that I have right now, like this. All I know is that I want to kiss him.
A flare of a memory from earlier today pops into my head: Marco looking for a reason not to kiss me under the mistletoe. The way he was quiet and reserved afterward.
“You didn’t want to kiss me this morning,” I say.
“No.”
Our noses are almost touching. I’m having a hard time focusing on anything but his lips.
“Why not?”
He gazes at me, studying my face, while I look up at him. When he speaks again, his voice is rough. “Because I wanted our first kiss to be something more like this.”
It’s so soft, at first. His lips barely brush mine, and my eyes flutter closed.
His kiss gets firmer with each pass, our lips not even breaking apart.
There’s no end, just a continuous roll of our breaths mingling together, my mouth softening under his.
His tongue teases with a gentleness that makes my knees weak.
Marco’s arms slide down as I open to him, pulling me up, pressing me harder against him.
I’m barely on my toes and Marco’s arms, his body, curl around me.
And then it’s deep and plundering. I let out a moan and Marco answers. Fire flicks up my insides, my whole body responding to his. I can feel him hard against my belly and I press my hips forward, purposefully grinding against him.
Marco groans again, one hand banding me to him and the other in my hair, holding me to him. I’m bent back, my hands inside his jacket, wrapping around his back and clawing at him, desperate for more contact.
Simultaneously, our phones buzz. Marco’s is in his jacket pocket, so it vibrates against my shoulder, while mine is in my purse against my hip.
We pull back, my feet hitting the ground, and cold air rushes between us. Marco’s lips are swollen, and I swallow hard. I let go of him, raising my fingers to my lips to feel their matching tenderness.
Have we just jeopardized our friendship, our living situation? If Marco knew how much of a mess my life was, he wouldn’t be kissing me. He probably wouldn’t even want to be roommates with me anymore, because I’m one lost job away from drowning, from needing more of his charity.
And that’s something I’ll never let happen again.