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Then he comes up to me, presses his hands to the wall at my back, and brings his face within an inch of mine.
My eyes go wide, astonished, my back pressed to the brick.
“I like the way you talk to me, Connor.”
I swallow. “How do I talk to you?”
“Like I’m not some spoiled rich prick. Like I’m not an acrophobic idiot who lives on the seventeenth floor of a high-rise. Like I’m not me.”
His eyes drop to my lips.
There’s only one thing that can possibly be on his mind right now.
“I like you, Connor,” he says, “and I respect you. I need you to know that before I kiss you. Can I?” he asks suddenly, lifting his eyebrows to expose a bunch of cute wrinkles up his forehead. “Can I kiss you right now on this busy street?”
Energy crackles between us. My heart tries to leap its way out of my chest and into his.
I lean forward and touch his lips with mine.
They feel perfectly soft and pliable and full, just as I imagined them.
His tongue traces my lips, then gently teases its way between them. I open my mouth, inviting him inside. Suddenly my hands take hold of his hips, pulling his body against mine. All the downtown noises are drowned out by our crashing breaths.
I’m raging hard, and as evidenced by what I’m feeling with our fronts pressed together, I can tell he is, too. The desire between us is unmistakable.
He releases my lips with his eyes still closed, as if slowly savoring the last tendrils of a dream. Then he looks at me, passion swimming in his eyes.
“You are a very good kisser,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” A cocky smirk curls his lips. “Speak for yourself.”
With that, he pushes away from the wall. Then as natural as anything at all, he takes my hand, and we continue our way down the street of appetizing aromas and delicious fragrances flirting with our nostrils. I doubt the thing either of us hunger for is on any of these overpriced menus.
“I’ve never held another guy’s hand out on a crowded street,” I admit.
“Does it bother you? Is it too much? Too fast?”
“No.” I smile at him, then let our hands swing playfully between us. “I like holding your hand.”
“Good. Keep up, because I’ve got a few more surprises to show you, Kansas boy Connor.”
Our evening “bite” turns into a fun-filled night of ice cream parlors, fancy vanilla wafers, and melt-in-my-mouth chocolate muffins, which we playfully feed each other. I get some frosting on his nose. After we finally say goodnight at the subway station, I can’t wipe the smile off my face the whole ride home.
[ THE CHANCE ENCOUNTER ]
The quest for a paying job proves far more difficult for Connor than he realized, especially while being occupied by his internship six hours a day. By the end of his first week, he’s nearly ready to fall upon his last resort: begging his parents for some cash to cover his first month’s rent.
That is, until Brett approaches him with a strange request.
9
“Look, I wouldn’t normally do this, but seeing as we’re basically best buds now …” Brett starts.
“Can I get dressed first?” I ask, wide-eyed.
He kind of caught me in the middle of getting out of my business clothes from my internship. I’m down to a pair of tight black boxer-briefs and white socks, my slacks hanging from my hands.
Despite his insistence that my not having a lock on the French doors of my room wouldn’t matter, he never seems to knock before tumbling in.
“Of course, bro! Don’t let me stop you.” Brett leans lazily against the doorframe as he picks at a spot on his tight heather-gray athletic shirt, waiting.
I stare at him.
Okay, I guess I’m supposed to just accept being accompanied while changing, or else my roommate doesn’t grasp the notion of “boundaries”.
“So like I was saying,” he says after a moment, “we’re basically best buds, right?”
“Right!” I cheerily agree, going along with him as I pull on a pair of shorts.
“So I need a favor. You’re free tonight, right? I mean, once you finish changing,” he adds, glancing at my chest. “I have a hook-up at the gym around the corner, by the way. You work out? You look like you do. Dante and I lift there from time to time … when he’s in the mood. The fuck is this stain …?” He keeps picking at that same spot on his shirt.
I slip a tank top over my head. “You want me to go to the gym with you? That’s the favor?”
Brett’s eyes light up. “Yeah! Uh … wait, no, that wasn’t what I was wanting to ask.” He comes inside, plops down on my bed, and rubs a big hand over his messy hair. “Okay, I’m just gonna ask it straight. Have you ever been a wingman before?”
