Page 70 of Dead Boys Club

Once Parker is no longer confined to his own house, he spends a lot of time at Zach’s. The empty house becomes a refuge. They retreat from the biting February chill and from the watchful eyes of their friends. After school, they spend most days in Zach’s room, where Zach reads Parker’s English homework out loud to him. Sometimes, Parker sits in silence with him while Zach does his homework and those moments are so good too. Special. Fleeting.

Sometimes, they forget about studying altogether. It’s easy to get lost in one another. Zach thinks about it more and more, these days—sex, and things to do with sex, and more importantly, sex with Parker. Or sex-like things with Parker. It drives him to distraction with both desire and worry. Because he wants to know what it would be like to do those things with Parker. But Parker has done things before—things like sex. He’s more experienced. Zach volleys between imagining all of the ways their bodies could fit together and worrying he’s going to embarrass himself if he tries.

What if Zach is, like, bad at it? What if he has no idea what he’s doing? There’s no way that he can live up to whatever experiences Parker has already had.

Jerking off, before dating Parker, had been more like standard maintenance, like getting your oil changed. His body needed it so he would do it. It felt good, but that was it. Now, it’s become almost a nightly thing, driven entirely by how much every little thing about Parker turns him on. He’s become some kind of fiend.

They finally go beyond kissing one unassuming day in February. The house is quiet and empty. The air outside is so frigid that it wages war with the hot air blowing into the room from his floor vents. Zach and Parker retreat to Zach’s bed, burrowing under the blankets to try and thaw from the biting winter chill. Parker’s breath ghosts against his cheek as they whisper together. And then, suddenly, all at once, they’re not talking at all.

It’s Parker who initiates, his enthusiasm for Zach so overwhelming that it runs over any worry he had about Parker’s experience and not being good enough for him. Parker’s hands, firm and soft, pushing up under his clothes, over Zach’s own skin—the feel of Parker’s muscles, his body, moving against him, in entirely new ways.

“Is this okay?” Parker murmurs. “It’s okay for me. Is it okay for you?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Really—really okay actually. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”

A soft breath of a laugh. Parker’s mouth against his jaw. A grin pressing into Zach’s skin. Everything is exciting and scary and wonderful, all at once. Parker’s body is solid under his hands. Just like he’d imagined he would be.

“Are you sure? We can stop whenever you want.”

“I am so incredibly sure. Like—top five things I’ve ever been sure about. I really, really want this.” Zach pauses, face hot. He forces himself to be brave when he says: “Show me?”

Parker sucks in a breath. His skin shivers under Zach’s hand.

“Fuck yeah.”

The air beneath the blanket becomes humid. Parker’s mouth is warm and slack against his when they try to kiss. Their clothes get caught beneath their bodies, around their arms and ankles. When they’re naked, Zach looks between them both, between their bellies and hips. There’s giggling. Zach never imagined there would be giggling. He likes the feel of Parker’s shaking laughter against him. He likes when Parker tells him how to touch him, and what feels good.

Parker feels like a burning star beneath him. Zach’s skin prickles with sweat and his world lights up, sharp and bright and so good that he can’t help but chase after it. It’s strange, but in a good way. After it’s over, he feels entirely different but exactly the same.

Winter marches on.

They study for exams. Even Parker, who’d all but given up on school, spends hours trying to squeeze in an entire year’s worth of learning into the last half of the semester. The rest of them rally around him: Isaac lets him copy his Physics homework and Bea makes flashcards for his History and Social Studies. Paige edits one of his essays for him. Parker is a perfectly fine writer as far as Zach can tell; he just doesn’t care. Paige painstakingly adds commas and full stops where required.

There are so many moments where Zach stops and thinks, If I’d stayed on those train tracks, I wouldn’t have this.

On the Friday before Valentine’s Day, the student council hands out roses bought by other students for five dollars. When Zach sees Paige in the hall right before his lunch period, she’s carrying an entire bouquet, presumably purchased for her by George. Zach grins, watching the way her olive cheeks flush with pleasure.

“Are you doing anything nice for Valentine’s Day?” Bea asks the three of them at the lunch table.

“It’s a corporate holiday,” Isaac says, in a voice that doesn’t really sound like he actually believes what he’s saying. “It was made up to sell chocolate and greeting cards.”

Bea cuts her eyes at him. “I wasn’t really asking you.”

“Ouch,” Isaac says, tossing a French fry across the table at her.

“He’s right,” Parker says, chewing on his thumbnail. “It’s dumb. George is taking Paige to some really expensive restaurant or something. We’re not going to be wasting our time. Right?”

Zach hadn’t given it any thought. “Right,” he says, shrugging.

“Ugh,” Bea says, shaking her head. “I hate hanging out with boys.”

Except, the next day Parker shows up on Zach’s porch, kicking the screen door instead of knocking because he has a huge, potted plant in his arms. It’s a real one, the kind you get from a nursery instead of some place like Home Depot or something.

“Is that a fiddle-leaf fig?” Zach says, holding the door open so Parker can come in.

“I can’t believe you have, like, zero plants,” Parker says. He sets it down in the living room, hands on his hips.

Zach slides his arms around his waist, pulling him close with a laugh. “I thought you said you weren’t getting me anything for Valentine’s Day.”