I kiss him.
Soft.
Barely there.
Just my mouth against his, one breath, one second, the smallest possible version of the thing that has been stalking us since the moment we got too close and haven’t stepped back since.
For one second, he doesn’t move.
Then his hand fists in my waistband and he kisses me back.
No longer confused.
Desperate for it.
Like the second he lets himself have it, there’s no slow way to want me. He pulls me in so hard my shoulder hits his chest, and I make a sound against his mouth likefinally. His other hand comes up to the side of my neck, rough and shaking, holding me there like he’s afraid I’ll disappear or worse, as if he’s afraid he won’t be able to make himself let go.
Holy fuck.
I press him back against the lockers and he goes, helpless, a quiet sound breaking low in his throat. His mouth opens and the whole thing catches fire fast, too fast, like smoke with nowhere to go, it’s suffocating. I slip my tongue inside his mouth, tentatively, and he opens up more for me, chasing me back. His fingers dig into my skin. Mine slide to his waist.
We're in the locker room where anyone could walk in, but I can't stop, not when he's making sounds like that, not when his tongue is meeting mine, furious and hungry and exactly what I've been wanting to taste. He’s hot everywhere, shaking with it, and I know, I know, this is too much, too soon, too dangerous.
We’re both gone, lost in this moment, clinging onto each other.
Then something crashes in the hallway.
A door. A voice. Someone laughing too close.
Jamie tears away from me like he’s been burned.
He stumbles back, eyes wild, mouth swollen, chest heaving.
Like his brain caught up to what he was doing.
I reach for him without thinking. “Jamie—”
“No.”
One word. The Jamie who just kissed me completely gone. Already backing up from me. He grabs his shirt off the bench with shaking hands. Yanks it on. Inside out. Doesn't notice or doesn't care. Doesn't look at me either.
“Jamie,” I say again, softer.
He flinches. Actually flinches.
That stops me cold, but his face twists like he hates himself more than he could ever hate me.
“I’m not fucking gay,” he seethes.
Then he grabs his bag and leaves.
Not walks.
Runs.
The door swings shut behind him and the sound of it echoes through the empty locker room. And I can’t believe I did this to myself once again.
Chapter 14
