Chapter Twelve Out
The next morning, I tried to talk to him. He was folding the blankets on the couch.
When he saw me, he said, “Look, I’m still mad. I’m mad because nothing’s changed since the day I moved in.”
“Are you breaking up with me?”
“I can’t break up with you, because we’re not dating. Are we?”
I couldn’t answer him, because I didn’t know. “What’s gonna happen? Are you gonna leave?”
“I don’t know yet. I have to think. I’ve got a meeting about a job. I won’t be back till late. Don’t wait up.”
He left before I could say anything. He didn’t take his backpack. That meant he wasn’t leaving for good. Yet.
He’d said he wasn’t coming back till late, but I took another personal day from work and stayed home, just in case. I had too much energy I needed to burn off, so I cleaned the apartment, reliving last night the whole time.
Truth was, I wouldn’t have minded if he’d touched me at home. I would have liked it. But in front of people he knew? No way. I wanted him. I really did, but touching him in public would have meant something more than it did in our apartment.
I couldn’t talk to Bexley or Ben about it because they didn’t know he existed. And I didn’t want to watch a DVD, because that would remind me of why we’d had our fight. I noticed he’d put the Wanton Town DVD away.
I made lasagna from scratch, and then I baked some brownies, and then I didn’t know what to do, so I sat on the couch and ruminated.
It was eight o’clock when he finally came back. He didn’t look angry anymore, just tired and serious.
“Did you have time to think?” I said.
“Look, something happened at this work meeting.”
“What?”
“You remember that director Cub and Andy were talking about—Jack Lawson?”
“The hot director? That’s the guy you met today?”
“Yeah.”
It was like he took a sledgehammer to my heart. “Did you—? No, Eddie. You didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t sleep with him. For fuck’s sake, Craig.” He sounded offended.
“You said something happened.”
“He asked me out.”
“What did you say? Did you tell him about me?”
“What was I supposed to say? That we’re dating? We’re not. It’s really clear when I’m asked a simple question about what my ‘situation’ is, I have no fucking clue.”
I didn’t have an answer for him. Just a question. “Do you want to go out with him?”
“Well, why would I want to go out with a guy who wouldn’t have a problem with me touching him in public, when I could hang out with you instead and pretend we’re just buddies? Buddies who never touch each other for any reason.”
He was mad again. I looked at the carpet, rubbing my foot back and forth over it as hard as I could. Static popped under my toes. Time to fish or cut bait, but I didn’t know which.
“Craig, look at me.” He counted on his fingers. “We’ve been sleeping together for months, but we’ve never fucked. I can’t call you my boyfriend. We’re not dating, but I’m not free to accept when someone else makes me an honest offer. So what have we got here?”
“I don’t know.” How the fuck should I know? I’d never been in a situation like this before. He had. He should know.
“You still haven’t figured it out,” he said. “You’ve been stringing me along for five fucking months.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“Why the hell do you think?!” he shouted. “I’ve never waited this long for anybody in my life.”
Oh.
“Are you saying...what I think you’re saying?”
“Now you’re getting it,” he sounded exasperated. “Finally.”
I flew up off the couch and seized him in a hug—a real, no-holding-back, squeezing-as-hard-as-I-could hug. Then he was hugging me back, tight.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
So, he was all mine.
I pulled back just enough to kiss him, and I was sloppy as fuck, but I didn’t care.
This was me saying it with my mouth without words.
I buried my hands in his hair. I’d been wanting to for so long.
He’d been growing it out for me, and it was soft as cornsilk.
I could hardly breathe. I had to stop kissing him before I passed out.
I stood there heaving like I’d finished a marathon tap number.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
Like I hadn’t made it obvious.
“You.”
I wanted all of him. I wanted to take all of him in.
I didn’t know where to start. I pressed my face into his shoulder and inhaled that caramelized sugar smell.
Then I pulled back, and I stroked his skin above the collar of his shirt like I’d just discovered clavicles, my thumbs riding along the bone, and then I slowly pushed my thumbs into the hollows of his shoulders like I wanted them to sink inside him, my body entering his.
Then I went crazy, touching him through his clothes, and I was touching another man, but it was him, and he was brilliant, and he felt fucking amazing, and I felt him respond, panting, and it was like a competition to see who could breathe faster.
“What you’re doing,” he said, “feels good.”
“You feel good,” I whispered, because my voice wasn’t working. I pulled him close and said, “You’re so good to me.” Because he’d waited so long.
My arms went around him again, and I felt him up, my hands sliding into the hollow between his shoulder blades, lingering and caressing him, and he felt so wonderful, then I moved my hands down his sides where his ribs were filling in, and then I kissed him, deep, and pulled him against me, and I was moaning into his mouth, and I cupped his hip and moved a little lower and...
I couldn’t breathe, and every part of my body that was touching his felt more real, defined by my contact with him, and it was like I’d been living with something dislocated inside me, then he happened, and this, and everything clicked into place, and it felt so right and so good that it was like crying without sadness, just, everything I’d been holding back, everything that had been piling up just burst out of me, and I broke the kiss with a gasp and—fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I rested my head on his shoulder because I couldn’t look at him. It got all quiet, like the sound of debris settling after an explosion, just the two of us breathing hard.
“I shot myself,” I said. I shut my eyes. “Sorry.”
“I figured you did. It’s okay.”
Then, all the strength just drained out of me, and my knees buckled, but he caught me and held me up, and he moved me backward to the couch, and I collapsed onto it.
Then the aftershock hit, and I shook uncontrollably, and he clasped my hand all the way through it.
Once I calmed down, he got up and walked away.
Less than a minute later, I felt him sit beside me again and pass me a glass of cold water.
I had to hold it with both hands so it wouldn’t spill, and I drank all of it.
I put the glass down. I felt shivery, like my nervous system was randomly popping fireworks.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Why?” he said quietly. “Seems like you needed to do that.”
“Yeah, actually,” I said. “I haven’t jacked since you moved in.”
“That’s five months! Fuck, Craig. Why did you wait so long?”
“I knew if I did it, I’d be thinking about you, and I wasn’t ready for that.” I sighed. I was still processing what had happened. “Guess I am, now.”
“Was it good?”
I laughed, but it came out like a cough. “Yeah. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. I never dreamed it would be that good. You’re fucking incredible, Eddie.”
“You’re not bad yourself.”
“I’m a fucking mess.”
“It happens.”
He was being nice. If that had happened with one of my girlfriends, she would not have been that nice about it.
“Guess this means I’m bi, huh?” I looked at him, expecting his I-told-you-so face. But he was looking at me with soft eyes, all golden brown around his pupils and a smile coming off him like sunshine in winter. Like he loved me.
“But you didn’t get anything out of that,” I said.
“Are you kidding? I have never in my fucking life been felt up like that before.”
“Is it always this amazing when a guy makes you shoot?”
“No.” He smiled. “You just had a good first time.”
Just like he’d promised five months ago.
“I never shot this hard in my life. My fingernails hurt.”
“You want to go to bed—to sleep?”
“I’ve gotta have a shower first.” I had to push myself off the arm of the couch to get up. I still felt wobbly and leaned against the wall on the way to my bedroom. I grabbed clean clothes and went into the bathroom.
I had to sit down in the shower because my legs wouldn’t hold me up. I felt like I’d been hit by a bus but in the most amazing way.
He was in the bedroom waiting for me when I went in. I dropped my laundry into the basket, then I face-planted onto the bed. Before I passed out, I felt him put his hand on my back, steady and warm.