Page 30 of Backward Motion

Sam crossed the room and took a seat on the couch. “Only now getting into it, huh?”Fleet Street, a British mockumentary-style comedy about the employees of a printing press, had made the rounds back when Sam was in college.

“I know. Like, a decade late,” Connor admitted, plopping down beside him. “I’ve always been crap about TV shows. Only finished watchingThe Sopranoslast year.”

The opening credits began to play, and the familiar riff reminded Sam of happier times. He’d been hesitant about accepting Connor’s invitation, but as he relaxed into the show, he felt as though a weight had lifted. He forgot about his sister’s dismissive remarks and his parents’ handwringing. It felt nice to be away from all that, with someone who’d known him at his least impressive and wanted to hang out with him anyway.

They binged three episodes in a row, and Connor couldn’t contain his laughter. The setup was pretty formulaic with lots of character play, and Sam had thought it fairly clever when he’d watched the show with his roommates in college. But for Connor, tears forming in his eyes,Fleet Streetmight as well have been the funniest thing ever made. Sam liked how he gave himself permission to enjoy what he wanted—the music, the books, somerandom TV show. He wasn’t caught up in being seen a certain way or making sure he liked the right things.

Early in his relationship with Felix, when Sam started spending nights at his place, he left behind the book he was reading as a small reminder of him—only to find it missing the next time he came by. After asking about it one day, Felix had called the book “commercial trash” and admitted to tossing it, saying, “I didn’t want anyone to think it was mine.” Sam hadn’t brought any more books after that.

Sam stared at Connor sitting beside him, bathed in the flickering light of the TV, and couldn’t stop the goofy smile that broke out across his face. At that moment, Connor turned his head, catching Sam looking. The heat rushed to Sam’s cheeks, and he averted his gaze back to the screen.

Connor picked up the remote and paused the show, the actors’ faces freezing midgag. He swiveled on the couch, and Sam had no choice but to face him. “I wanted to ask,” Connor said quietly, his forehead furrowing. “I guess it’s not really a question...” He let out a nervous laugh. “But I... can’t shake this feeling when I’m with you.” His eyes darted from Sam’s face to the screen and back again. “Am I way off base here?”

Sam felt it too—a closeness when they were together, the mutual attraction behind their innocent flirtation. He’d been numb for so long and hadn’t expected the tendril of desire that had unfurled, daring him to imagine the pressure of Connor’s hands on his body. The last time he’d experienced this heady flutter of anticipation, it had led him into a nightmare. But Connor wasn’t Felix.

Sam’s mouth moved on its own, betraying the truth. “No.”

Connor reached out and traced the contour of Sam’s jaw with his thumb, sending a surge of warmth to his stomach. “Can I kiss you?” he murmured.

Sam grasped at the sliver of hope Louise had given him, and with his heart pounding in his chest, he nodded. Connor tilted his headand leaned in, brushing Sam’s lips with his own. The kiss was soft and searching, tapping into a deep well of longing.

It was as if all those months of nothing had unleashed a flood. Sam took Connor’s face in his hands and pressed against him. Connor slipped his arms around Sam’s waist, one hand sliding beneath his shirt, warm fingers grazing bare skin. He smelled clean and comforting, and his mouth was hot and slick. Sam’s mind went blank, aware only of the two of them together, Connor finally his to explore.

And then the memory surfaced, words that pierced like pinpricks, letting the air out of the balloon: “Maybe you should consider why I’ve had to look elsewhere.”

Sam broke away. This was a bad idea. Here he was at his lowest—what could he expect to offer someone like Connor? He imagined bringing the man back to the squeaky foldout cot in his childhood bedroom, his mom hovering just outside the door.What a fucking joke.

“I’ve got to go,” he muttered.

Connor blinked, blindsided. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s just late. Things have been a little weird for me, and my mom’ll be worried if I’m not home.” Sam winced, hearing how that sounded. “Sorry, that’s embarrassing.”

Connor smiled. “It’s not.”

And still, Sam lingered, finding it impossible to pull away. He brought his face close, more tentatively this time, and Connor moved to kiss him once again. He leaned into Connor’s touch and let out a low moan when Connor slipped his tongue into Sam’s open mouth. He’d never felt like this before, hungry and wanting yet—safe.

“I really should go,” Sam said when they parted.

“Maybe we could, um, do this again sometime?” Connor said, his cheeks flushed.

And despite all his misgivings, Sam couldn’t bring himself to say no. “Yeah,” he managed. “Okay.”

Chapter Fifteen

Connor sat on a stack of storage boxes in the office, straightening out the kinks in a new roll of cable with his nylon jaw pliers. He would have done it in the workshop, but he couldn’t help himself—where Sam was, he wanted to be.

Across from him at the front desk, Sam was clicking away on the computer. Connor had been snatching furtive glances at the man for the past fifteen minutes. While Sam had been friendly—if not a little flustered—when he’d arrived at work that morning, a series of phone calls had pulled him away, and they hadn’t had a chance to speak about the events of the previous evening.

Connor had stayed up most of the night thinking about it—not so much the complexity of their situation but the way Sam’s tongue had felt in his mouth. Sam had pressed against him with an eagerness that made it difficult for Connor to think straight. When he’d finally gotten up to leave, it felt like Sam had been torn from Connor’s body by force.

Connor’s hand stilled, and he stared at the cable between his fingers. Whatever happened, he regretted nothing. Kissing Sam had affirmed something he’d suspected for the longest time, and he felt lighter somehow, almost relieved.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He glanced up to see Sam standing before him, his eyes fixed on Connor’s pliers andnot his face.

“About what?” Connor quipped. “How long I’ve waited to kiss you?”