Riding With Brighton(65)

He peeks up at me and a cute smile comes over his face. He leans in and gives me a deep kiss that leaves me twitching. Pulling off of my mouth he tells me, “Yeah, Brighton, I do. I’ll be right back.”

When he’s gone I adjust myself, then stand and take a closer look at his room. He’s right—it’s like the blueprint for the all-American straight kid’s life. Which is fine, if it’s fine with Jay. I don’t really want him changing. He’s pretty damn perfect just the way he is.

He comes back in with a black trash bag and hands it to me. I get it open and follow him to his bookshelf. He starts clearing out the books and dumping them in the bag. He gets to a shelf of what looks like photo albums and takes one out, opening it up and laughing. It’s a scrapbook.

“Oh my God, you’re so damn cute,” I say, looking at the little kid with white hair and big blue eyes, in his little baseball uniform, holding a bat that’s as big as him. “And you look really happy.”

“I’m sure I was.”

“You think there’s something that kid would have rather been doing?”

He shakes his head. “Naw. Playing sports has always made me happy. Even when I’m depressed, all I gotta do is go outside and shoot some hoops or throw a ball around, and I can forget about it for a minute. I don’t think this part of my life has anything to do with my mom or my grandpa. It’s part of me. Before you came along, it was the only thing that really made me happy.”

“That and the Internet.”

“That, and your Instagram account,” he says, closing the book and smirking at me.

“Please,” I tell him. “You don’t have to pretend like I’m your material of choice.”

He raises his eyebrows at me and nods toward his computer.

“What?”

He reaches over and moves his mouse so his screen comes to life and sure as shit, my Instagram account pops up.

“Wow, Jay. You’re such a stalker.”

“I’m the hugest creeper. And I’m not the only one. You got a lot of random guys commenting on all of your pics.”

“Do I?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

“Like you don’t know. And most of them are you know… pretty good-looking. You ever talk to them?”

“I don’t know. I guess I have. Like I said before, it’s not like I can just flirt with guys at school. And I like to flirt.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” he says, his nostrils flared.

“Are you jealous?”

“Naw. Think I’ll start my own account… post a lot of shirtless pictures. Your friends seem to like those ones the best.”

I laugh. “That’s not a bad idea. You should do that. But maybe we should just post it on my account. I’ve never posted a picture of a guy I was with.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. Why is that?”

I shrug at him. “I guess ’cause the only guy I’ve been in a relationship with wouldn’t let me post pictures of him.”

“Sounds like a total asshole. I’m all up for letting you post pictures of us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Get your shirt off.”

Without any hesitation, he pulls his hoodie and T-shirt over his head. I stare at him. I can’t help it. “Maybe this is a bad idea,” I say, mostly to myself.

“You don’t want people to know you’re hanging out with someone?”

“You’re gonna get hit on to no end. On my page.”

He smirks at me. “If you’re scared of a little competition….”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you open to competitors?”

He shrugs like he’s thinking about it. I can feel my face tense. He laughs then. “Good to know you’re not writing me off as a complete goner.”

“Why would I do that? You could probably have anyone you want. There’s no reason for me to think it’s gonna be me.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “It’s you. I believe one of the first things I told you was that even if all the guys in the world were gay, it would still be you. And now I want you to show all those stalkers that it’s me. For now, at least, it’s me.”

“Getting territorial?” I ask, taking my phone out of my back pocket.

“Yep.”

I open my camera app and point my phone at Jay. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and the band of his boxer briefs is showing. His cut body is intimidating. The look on his face gets me worked up instantly—those eyes that are looking like he wants to fuck me. Shit. I snap the picture. I don’t know if I’m gonna be willing to share it, but God knows I’ll spend hours looking at it.

I snap a few more, but then I can’t handle it anymore. I go to him, wrap one hand around his waist, and pull him to me. He lunges at my mouth, and he kisses me like he did the first time—all need and desire and frustration and lust. I blindly snap another picture of us. This is something I want to remember. He finds the hem of my T-shirt and pulls it off me, then puts his mouth back on mine. He grips greedily to my chest and neck. I snap more pictures. He turns me and pushes me into the wall. He’s growling and he’s needy. He shoves his crotch up into mine and bites me. I snap another picture and grab on to his ass with my other hand, pulling him harder into me. His mouth moves from mine, and he bites hard on my neck. I snap a picture. His lips and tongue move down my body. He bites and sucks, and I watch him through the face of the camera, so turned on I don’t know if I can handle it. He undoes the button on my jeans….