Riding With Brighton(10)

“Yeah. Exactly the kind of girl you’d expect someone like me to be with.”

“I don’t really have any expectations of you,” I say with a laugh.

“You know what I mean.”

“Is that a problem? That your type is pretty, popular cheerleaders?”

“Who else would I date, right?”

I don’t comment.

“What about you? You with anyone?”

“Naw. It’s pretty hard to start any kind of serious relationship when I’m the only gay guy in this town.”

“So… what? You’ve never been with anyone?”

Whoa. That seems personal. Not the type of question straight guys are usually comfortable asking me. They don’t want specifics about guy-on-guy action. “Of course I’ve been with guys. The whole online thing is all right, and I got friends in the city. I tried the relationship thing once, but between school and work, the opportunities to actually be with him were sparse.” I leave out all the crucial, ugly details of why it didn’t work. “I wish I could have that. Do the whole normal relationship thing—go out to dinner and a movie, chill out and listen to music in my room, bring a guy to dinner with my family as long as Mom’s not the one cooking, go to a school dance—you know. But sadly, most of my relationships last for one night.”

“It’s like that, huh?” He smirks at me. “You’re a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of guy.”

“I’m not proud of it, but yeah. I gotta get laid every once in a while.”

He sits back up on his elbows so he can turn and look at me. He takes his baseball cap off, runs his fingers through his hair, but doesn’t put the cap back on. He drops it on my bed instead, and then there’s a moment when we’re staring at each other, and it feels like a thousand thoughts are being exchanged. Questions mostly, I guess.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the school-dance type of guy,” he finally says, breaking the silence.

“I totally am. I love a man in a suit, and, you know, I got moves I wanna show off. Dancing is sexy as hell. The best foreplay there is.”

He smiles his crooked, beautiful smile. “I’ve always hated dancing. It’s totally awkward.”

The word awkward makes me ask, “You not comfortable with your body?”

He scrunches up his face. “I’m totally comfortable with my body. It’s the best thing I got.”

I laugh at his cockiness. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s the foundation of my whole life, right? I’m good at playing sports and getting girls. The body game’s gotta be on point.”

“Okay. That’s not really what I meant, though. Maybe you’re not comfortable in your body… or moving your body.”

“I think it’s you who’s thinking too much now. I’m just not comfortable dancing in front of people.”

“What about with people? That’s the best part of dancing. The flirting and the touching. Your bodies moving together.”

He turns away again. “I guess.”

“Sounds like you’ve never been danced with properly.”

“Maybe not,” he says with a quiet laugh.

We fall into a silence then that feels more tense than comfortable. With him on my bed, talking about dancing and his body, I can’t help but let my mind wander. I’m picturing him, right where he is, undressing and showing me just how on point his body game is. Shit.

“You ready to get out of here?” I ask, standing up and heading to my dresser.

“Yeah.”

I can hear my bed creak as he stands, but I don’t turn and look at him. Instead I open my drawer and pull out a pair of jeans. “You need a shirt?”

“Sure.”

I open another drawer and grab a T-shirt. “You good on underwear?” I turn to look at him.

He laughs, which is good. He’s not freaked out by a gay guy asking him if he wants to borrow his underwear. “It does kind of feel like you’re my mom picking out my clothes.”

“Please don’t tell me your mom still picks out your clothes and underwear for you?”

“She probably would if I let her.”

That comment has all kinds of connotations, but I don’t go there. “Bottom drawer, if you need them.” Handing off the jeans and T-shirt, I head out of my room, closing the door behind me.

While he’s changing, I head into the bathroom to take a leak. When I’m done, I brush my teeth and reapply my deodorant, fully aware that I’m doing it for Jay. That I’m letting myself keep the he might be gay door open. I take a minute to run my fingers through my thick, dark hair, trying to make the long part on top fall correctly. I even run my thumbs over my eyebrows in case there’s a hair out of line. I stare into my eyes, undoubtedly the best part about my face. It’s the first thing most guys notice—my eyelashes and the odd shade of green of my irises. I wonder what Jay thinks when he looks at me.

I look at the studs in my nose and ear cartilage. They’re all small, hardly noticeable, but around here it makes me different. I wonder if this is all he sees: a kid who doesn’t fall into the normal category like 90 percent of the guys at my school. A kid he can hang around with for a day to take a break from his boring, vanilla life. That’s basically what he’s been alluding to, isn’t it? That he just wants to expand his horizons.