“We didn’t come here to look at the building,” Mack says, snickering and reaching across the table to bump fists with Jones. “This place is creepy, but you should see the chick who works here. Damn, is she hot. And the tits on her….” He whistles.
He’s talking about Josie, but I don’t say anything. I just hope she isn’t here, or if she is, that they don’t say anything offensive to her.
“Brighton, how are you, honey?” I look up and see Mary Ann smiling down at me, and relief washes over me that it’s not Josie.
“Great.” Standing, I give her a hug. “How are you doin’?”
“Oh, just fine. Sure do miss seeing your handsome face every day, though. You want the regular?”
“Sounds great.”
“And what can I get you?” she asks Jay.
“Uh.” He stalls, looking down at the menu-less table.
“You gotta get the patty melt and fries. Best in town.”
“Sure,” he says, smiling up at Mary Ann. “Sounds good.”
She gives me one more smile and a pat on the shoulder before leaving.
“So if you’re working for these people and obviously eat here frequently, you must know the girl we’re talking about?” Jones says.
“Like he would notice a hot girl,” Mack says under his breath. I watch as Jay’s face goes tense.
“I know Josie really well,” I tell Mack.
“Yeah?” Jones asks. “What’s the deal with her? How old is she?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Is she into younger guys?” Mack asks because apparently now, not only am I capable of recognizing beautiful women, but I’m also interested in their dating lives.
“She’s not into sleeping around. Or guys who stalk her workplace.”
Jay laughs but Mack says, “Like you would know.” Again, not at me, but under his breath while he stares at Jones.
“Truly kid, you don’t have a chance with her.”
“Kid? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Calm down,” Jay says immediately.
“What? Are you defending the fag now? Why the hell are you even hanging out with him?”
I have a million responses to the use of that word stored up from years of hearing it, but I don’t say any of them. I just sit back, curious how Jay is going to respond.
“Truthfully?” Jay asks him.
“Yeah… truthfully.”
Chapter Three
Jay
SHIT. I knew this would happen. Mack’s acting like a total ignorant asshole proving that, yes, my friends are all a bunch of stupid jackasses. And yet I’m still terrified of what they’re going to think about me hanging out with Brighton. Not because I’m embarrassed about the fact that I am hanging out with him, but because I’m terrified they’ll see right through me. And at the moment, I’m about as transparent as I’ve ever been.
Hanging around Brighton is making it too easy to be myself. And myself is a scared-shitless kid who is definitely realizing that Brighton is not my role model, but the guy I want to jump on. Which means I’m not straight. Which means I’m, in fact, gay. Not that this is news to me but…. Where the hell did that straight kid run off to? The one who usually represents? It kind of feels like I left him on the doorstep at Brighton’s house, and he wandered off.
But that’s not the reason I give for hanging out with Brighton. I tell them the second half of the truth. “Maybe I’m sick of doing the same exact crap, having the same damn conversations, every day of my life. And really… ‘fag’? Who says shit like that anymore?”
Jones snickers, and I expect him to jump on the hater bandwagon, but he shocks the hell out of me when he says, “You know what they say, don’t you? It’s the closeted guys who are the biggest homophobes. You got a confession to make, Mack?” He laughs and wags his eyebrows.
“Fuck you,” Mack mutters.
“Is that a proposition? Because I don’t hate on Brighton or any gay dude. I’m totally cool with it because, sorry to break this to you, I’m straight.”
Mack leans forward and gets his finger in Jones’s face. “Say it. Say it one more time that I’m a fag like this queer, and I will tear your fucking eyes out.”
“Ahem.” I look up at the girl clearing her throat and holding plates of food. This is clearly Josie, the hot girl. She sets their food down and says, “Can I get you anything else?” The expression on her face is not service friendly.
“Yeah, actually—” Mack begins to say, but she cuts him off.
“Hey, Brighton,” she says with a flirty smile, running her long pink nails down his arm. “I’ve been missing you. You gotta second?”
“I’ve got all the time in the world for you,” he says in his deep voice.
He stands and wraps an arm around her, and the two of them walk to the small hall where the bathrooms are.
“What the hell does she want from him?” Mack mutters, his eyes glued to them, just like mine and Jones’s are.
“He’s got a way with women,” I mutter, which is so true it’s almost devastating—wasting all that swoon-worthy power on a gay guy. I mean, if he were using it on me, saying he had all the time in the world for me, that would be one thing, but he seems to wield most of his powers on the ladies.
“She must not know he’s gay.”
“I don’t think girls really care what he is.”
The two of them are talking to each other, and something about how close they are and the expression on her face feels intimate. I’m watching with something between horror and fascination as he wraps his arms around her lower back and walks her into the wall, pushing himself into her. You can practically hear her groan. Or maybe that’s just the voice in my head that I’ve been trying to keep under wraps all day.
She looks up at him, clearly turned on, and runs her pink nails through the back of his dark hair. I watch as, inch by inch, his mouth moves closer to hers. She cranes her neck to close the gap.
And then they’re kissing. Like full-on, shoving their tongues down each other’s throats kissing. And I’m pretty sure my jaw just bounced off the table. I watch each flex of his jaw as he works her over. Each tilt of his head as his tongue prods her mouth. The way his body conforms to hers like he’s claiming her. The way her hands are now digging into his broad shoulders like she’s about to lose her ever lovin’ mind. Holy fuuck.
I don’t know how long the kiss lasts. It feels like an eternity, but when he pulls away from her, I’m not ready to see it end. I don’t want to stop watching what he looks like when he’s kissing someone. She continues to look up at him and now she looks drunk, and I legitimately want to punch her in her satisfied face. I mean, I wouldn’t really do that obviously, but the word “bitch” is running through my head, and I’m seriously contemplating a cat fight. She wraps her arms around his neck again and stands on the tips of her toes to whisper something in his ear. He smiles at her and shakes his head before backing out of her arms.
When he walks away from her, I’m aware that we’re all staring at him, so I turn my eyes to Mack, who looks completely stunned.
Brighton sits back down in the booth but doesn’t say anything. Just kicks back, all relaxed like nothing happened.
“What the hell was that about?” Mack says accusingly.
“What do you mean?” Brighton says, like he’s genuinely confused.
“She’s… a girl.”
Brighton scrunches up his face and shakes his head like he has no idea why Mack’s confused. “And?”
“You’re gay.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I fuck guys….” He pauses, probably to enjoy the look on Mack’s face. “But I don’t hate on the ladies.”
“So you have slept with her?”
“You think I’m gonna talk about that with you?” he asks with a sarcastic laugh.
“Yes… please.”
“No,” Brighton tells him, the look on his face no longer amused.
“Well, if she’s getting it on
with you, then for sure she’ll give it up for me.”
“Listen, asshole—” Brighton starts, but Josie shows up at the table with a takeout bag.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind if I bagged up your lunches,” she says, looking between me and Brighton. “The clientele ain’t so good in here today, I’m afraid.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Brighton says, standing and taking the bag from her. “It’s like you can read my mind.” His spare hand is around her lower back now, and she practically falls into him.
“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?”
Jesus. Yes, I’ve noticed that. I’m not compatible with anyone I’ve kissed, and I’m pretty sure it’s because they’ve all been girls. “Yeah. I’ve never thought about it, but you’re right.”
I’ve been paying absolutely zero attention to the road, so when the truck stops and we’re at the river, I wonder how the hell we got here. “What’s this?”
“Our booth, I guess.” He grabs the take-out bag and opens his door. I get out and follow him down to the shore. “I love this place,” he says, plopping down on the sand and pulling out the Styrofoam containers that hold our sandwiches and fries.
Lounging beside him, I stare at the familiar water in front of me. “I love it here too.”
“Did you used to live in town?”
“In the country, actually.” After taking out half my patty melt, I chew off the corner. “Holy shit, this is amazing.”
“Told you.” Half of Brighton’s sandwich is already obliterated. “I can see that… you as a country boy.”
I smile at that thought. I’ve never been comfortable living in Folsom Hills. It’s a gated community ten miles out of town that has its own personal atmosphere that my lungs have never adjusted to. I miss the country. “That land over there”—I point to the other side of the river—“that was part of our property. I used to spend a huge chunk of my life on this river.”
I can feel Brighton staring at me, but I can’t look at him. It feels like I have the hormones of a pubescent girl today, and I can seriously feel tears pricking at the back of my eyes.
“So how the hell did you end up where you are now?”
I shrug and take another bite of my sandwich before answering. “Dad sold our twenty acres to developers and used the money to buy our house. I don’t know what he was thinking. What we had was so much better than what we have.” I remember Brighton’s earlier comment about the T-shirt, and before he has a chance to respond, I add, “I know what you’re thinking
: I’m a spoiled rich boy who doesn’t appreciate what I have.”
“No, not at all. That would suck going from that”—he gestures across the river—“all that space and freedom and land, to the suburbs. I mean, this is heaven. No matter how nice your house is, anything less than wide open air is a downgrade, if you ask me.”
I smile at that. He gets it. No one else does. “Exactly.”
“Well, the good news is that it’s not gone forever. You can come here whenever you want and breathe the same air that you grew up breathing.”
“Yeah. I should do that. I haven’t been back here since we moved.”
He’s quiet. I can see him slowly nodding in my peripheral vision. “Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know…. I guess it never occurred to me. And I mean, what would be the point? All it would do is piss me off.”
“Is that what being here now is doing? Pissing you off?”
I close my eyes, breath in the air, and soak in the moment. “No. Not at all. It feels damn good actually.”
When I open my eyes, Brighton is lying back on the sand, his hands propped behind his head, his eyes closed to the sun. I let myself stare at him. Mostly I’m staring at the thick red lips he kissed Josie with. I always thought the best part of his face was his light green eyes, that I now know he got from Max, and the way they contrast with his dark lashes, eyebrows, and hair and the golden color of his skin that came from Mickey. But damn, he’s got nice lips.
“I get that,” he says, and I have no idea what he’s talking about. I’m afraid he’s gonna open his eyes and see me ogling him, so I lie down and close my eyes and wait for him to go on.
“When I was in fourth grade, I bit it on my skateboard and split my chin wide open. Had to go to the hospital and get stitches. After that I was afraid of anything with wheels. It was a shit beginning of the summer. I would watch my friends on their bikes and boards, and all I could do was think about how bad it hurt when I fell and how scary that hospital was and worry they were gonna hurt themselves.
“Then one day my dad had had enough. He decked me out with every piece of protective equipment he could get his hands on. I was like a little robot once he was done with me.” He pauses to laugh again, and I smile, picturing him as a little kid, stiff with plastic covering his body. “Riding with all that shit on made it a hundred times harder, and my friends laughed at me, but I did it. I got back on my board and faced my fears, and it was like I had my own personal sunshine the rest of that summer.
Riding with Brighton Page 5
