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“Why haven’t you opened them? What are you afraid of?”
Nick shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Adam hesitated. “I don’t think that’s true. You know.”
He was right. Nick did know. Opening those letters would force him to make a choice. A decision about where his life was going.
A decision about staying or leaving.
“It’s so different for you,” Nick said. “You know you want to be a dancer. You know you’re good at it. I want—I—I don’t know.”
“I don’t think it has anything to do with what you want, and more about what you don’t want. You don’t want to disappoint your brothers.” A pause. “Isn’t that the same reason you don’t want to tell them about you and me?”
Nick looked away, but Adam kept a firm grip on his hand.
“I’m not chastising you. I understand it. I know I’m disappointing my parents every day. But you know what? I can’t live my life for them. I have to live my life for me.”
“You’re disappointing your parents?”
Adam scoffed and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Please. You think they want their only child to be a dancer? My dad is always asking if I’m sure I don’t want to take a few pre-med classes. Me. Pre-med. I can’t even slice into frogs in biology.”
“What does he do?”
“He is a doctor.” Adam smiled. “Wait, ready for some irony?
He’s a gynecologist. Mom tells him that he’s looked at so many vaginas that I came out predisposed to avoid them.”
Nick burst out laughing.
“There.” Adam whipped out his phone and snapped a picture. “I needed one with your smile.”
“You’re incorrigible.” But Nick snatched the phone and took another picture—of Adam trying to get it back.
They wrestled for it, laughing, rolling, a tangle of limbs and mock fierceness. Then Adam’s lips found his, his body trapping Nick on the bed, the hand that had just been grappling for the phone stroking down the length of his chest, finding the hem of his shirt and sliding underneath.
For the first time, Nick didn’t hesitate at his touch. Maybe it was Adam’s admission about his own insecurities, maybe it was the fact that they were here, in his room, in his space. Maybe it was the time limit, knowing this could be cut short at any moment if his brothers came home.
Maybe it was Adam’s tongue drawing at his.
A thumb brushed his nipple and Nick gasped, feeling it all the way through his body. He grabbed the hem of his own shirt and broke the kiss long enough to yank it over his head.
Adam grinned. “Someone’s feeling more comfortable.”
“Someone’s liking the feel of your hands.”
“Just my hands?” Adam’s mouth descended on his neck, trailing lips and breath and teeth along Nick’s skin.
Nick sucked in a breath—then held it when Adam kissed a line down his chest.
Brown eyes flicked up to meet his. “What do you want?”
Adam whispered.
You.
But he couldn’t say it.
Adam brushed a kiss against his lips, then shifted off the bed.
