Riding With Brighton(16)
“I always know what you want.” She reaches up and strokes his jaw, and he leans down and kisses her softly on the lips. I’m so close this time, standing now too, that I have a clear view of how his lips grasp on to hers and how that action makes her whimper quietly. Bitch. Bitch, bitch, bitch. Oh my God, I need to simmer the hell down.
When he pulls away from her, he cradles her face. “Make sure your mama handles their table, okay. This one”—he stares Mack in the eyes—“isn’t thinking about you in the right ways.”
“I’ll walk you out,” she says with a smitten smile.
I raise a hand at Mack and Jones before following Brighton and Josie. He’s got a protective arm wrapped around her, and she’s leaning into him. At the door she tells him, “Come see me soon, okay?”
“Of course,” he promises before walking out the door.
I look back at Josie, who looks like a lovesick puppy. I’m scared shitless that I look the same way.
“Mack is a complete douche. Jones is a good guy,” he tells me with a smile as we head down the sidewalk.
“What?” I ask, trying to get my head back into reality.
“Your friends. Mack is definitely an ignorant meathead, but Jones is a good guy.”
“Right. Yeah, I guess I already knew that.”
“That got kind of fucked-up, but if you’d had a chance to actually talk to Josie and Mary Ann, you could have added them to your list of interesting people.”
I stutter a laugh. “The whole thing with you and Josie was more than interesting,” I say, and then internally stomp on my brain because my voice just sounded way too bitter.
Brighton gives me a crooked smile, flashing half of his perfect teeth. “She’s protective.”
I nod and continue to follow him around the building and to the small lot we parked in. After we’re both in the truck, I ask him, “So…, you’re into girls too?”
He starts up the truck, then reaches an arm around the back of my seat so he can crane his head to back up the Bronco. I clear my throat. Jesus, this day has been stressful. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, or feeling, or what I’m supposed to say. One minute I want to rip his clothes off, then I’m thinking, Hell no, that would mean I’m definitely gay, and then I internally slap myself for being such a prick and tell myself to get the fuck over it, and then I’m thinking who gives a shit if part of me is still in denial—Brighton wouldn’t be into me anyways, and then I’m depressed. And then, of course, I’m thinking, Shit—I’m totally gay. And the damn internal thoughts just keep on spinning and spinning and spinni—
Once he has us back on a forward trajectory, he says, “Naw, I’ve never been attracted to women.”
“So what the hell was that about?”
“Mary Ann heard them talking about her daughter and Josie heard what Mack said to me, so she thought it would put them in their place if she made out with me.”
“And maybe it was an excuse for her to finally get a piece of you.”
Brighton looks at me and smiles knowingly. Shit. I keep saying things like that. Things that I wouldn’t say to my straight friends. Or at least the tone of my voice would be different.
“Maybe,” he says with a smile before slipping into a comfortable silence. He seems to have a knack for that—throwing in silent reprieves just so I can do a mini-assessment of my life. This time I’m using it to itemize all the stupid things I’ve said and done already today.
When I first showed up at the park, he said I’d be surprised by how many random people wanted to hang out with him. I acted oblivious, but I got his meaning. I’m pretty sure he was saying I wasn’t the first confused guy that’s sought him out, and I’m also pretty sure he was trying to ditch out on me two minutes after I got there. I told myself I wasn’t going to be that asshole. And I’m not. I mean, maybe part of me has been wanting to get close to him because I knew I was gay and I wanted to ask him questions and just talk about it, but that’s no longer the case.
I don’t even know if it’s men. It’s totally possible that it’s just him. That comment he made about guys stalking his Instagram…. Inside I was totally curled up into a ball of shame because I’m one of them. I obviously don’t follow him or leave comments, but if you quizzed me on the minute details of all 208 photos, I can guarantee I’d pass with flying colors. Boatloads of shame—seriously.
“So what’s that like for you—kissing a girl?”
He cocks his head like he’s thinking about it. “Nice, actually. Kissing’s my thing, though. I fucking love it. Just the feeling of another person’s tongue moving against yours; the rhythm, or lack of rhythm, that two people naturally have with each other; the feelings that it can ignite in your entire body if it’s done right… it’s all great. Jesus, I could kiss all day every day. Her lips were soft, and her tongue was warm and pliable. If that mouth had been on a guy, I probably would have been a douche just like Mack and wanted to have sex with her right then.”
Oh shit. I’m hard. I’m fucking hard. Because I’m thinking about kissing him. And because his words are so wrong, yet sexy as hell and… I’m totally hard. I bend my left knee and clear my throat.
“That’s true, by the way,” he carries on after my lack of response. “When you kiss someone and it just clicks, your mouths communicate well, and when he’s ready to lick, you’re ready to lick, when you need to be sucked, he’s already sucking—obviously in your case you can insert the word ‘she’—it’s so telling as far as your compatibility goes. Have you noticed that?”