We sit while the car idles. His hands still twisting a death grip over the steering wheel. “I don’t think I’m ready to drive.”
“It’s okay. We’ll try another time.”
Kicking himself, the look of disgust written all over his face. We’ve spent enough time together for me to know he never wants to appear less than or inferior to anyone else. Especially with the way his mother treats him like a child.
“Rid, it’s okay.” I remind him again.
“No.” He won’t look at me. “You drive. I’m a man Leif. Just like you, but older.”
“No one’s denying that. Of course you’re a man. Someone had to teach me.”
“My mom will use this against me.”
“Babe. We won’t tell her. I promise before the end of the summer you’ll be ready to get your license. Okay?”
“I’m a man.” He mumbles. Over and over again, he mumbles, “I’m a man.”
Not knowing what else to do, I lean over the center console, grab both sides of his face and plant a big, wet kiss on his lips. I feel him relax and allow him to take over the kiss. A risky move, anyone could see us making out hot and heavy in my front seat. But right now, I don’t have two shits to give.
I’m in love with my boyfriend.
“You should drive us home,” he murmurs with his lips still pressed against mine so I feel every word.
“Don’t want to stop kissing you,” I murmur in response. Not lifting my lips either.
“No. No.” Leave it to the autistic guy to be practical in this situation, pushing back from me. “We won’t have to stop when I’m at school with you.”
Both of us only capable of shallow breaths, Ridley waits a couple long minutes before he even attempts to finger-comb his hair, so he doesn’t look like he’d spent his commute between work and home making out with his boyfriend. I wouldn’t mind marching him in that house and pointing out his swollen lips and messy hair to his mother so she could get off his back. But he’s right, it’s not time for that yet.
“You’re a stronger man than me, Rid. I didn’t have the strength to push you away.”
Before we switch seats, he leans over the center console one more time to rub his thumb over the skin by the corner of my eye. He hasn’t said the words yet, but that one touch makes me feel more loved than I have any other time in my life.
“You called me a man.” Then he presses his lips gently where his thumb had been just a breath before. It wasn’t even on my lips, but that kiss lit up something inside me that even people who had experienced this feeling before us lacked the words to communicate.
Chapter Five
When we pull into the driveway at Rid’s house, we see his mom peer out from behind the curtain in the window of the front room with her face pinched in a hard-set glare. Very telling, she’s not too happy to see me, or more precisely, my car.
Knowing full well she expected Asshat Trucker to be bringing him home, and knowing full well he sees his mom and her face just as plain as me, he squeezes my hand. A move she wouldn’t be able to notice from her vantage point.
“A few more weeks, Leif,” he offers. “That’s it. Don’t…please don’t give up on me.” I watch him close his eyes and breathe in and out slowly, partly defeated and partly resigned, as if he honestly believes I could let him go.
What the hell?
“Give up on you? Ridley, I love you.” Well here’s to making that giant admission for the first time. I didn’t mean to tell him like this, on a shout, even if I wasn’t actually shouting at him but at the situation starting to get the better of the both of us.
We’re spiraling out of control, love has a habit of causing that to happen. But I know he needs us to hold on, so that’s what we’ll do. And I give his hand one more squeeze.
“A few more weeks,” he says out loud. It’s enough to lighten the mood and get me to laugh instead when he turns to me, “I’m reminding myself now.”
“Oh my god, Rid. Move your butt now or your mom’s getting a show she’s not ready for.”
“I can’t wait to get to school with you,” he casually throws over his shoulder as he opens the door climbing out, and leaving me to think of babies crying and dogs barfing then eating the barf back up. Anything to get my mind off of Ridley and the damn boner he’s left me sporting.
Clearly Mama McAllister wouldn’t take kindly to that after seeing me get out of the car with her son.
Rid noticed. Oh hell, Rid noticed. Right before he’d thrown his “I can’t wait to get to school with you” over his shoulder and climbed out, he’d given that a squeeze too.
Now he waits for me on the stone walk leading up to his front door despite his mother’s encouragement to come inside.
She looks annoyed as all hell with me. Only me. Because how dare I have gotten out of that car? It’s written all over her face, in her body language. I can read people pretty well. But you could be partially blind and see through her wide eyes and hands on her hips what she thinks of me crashing the party. I want to tell her frowning will cause wrinkles but I have the feeling neither she nor Ridley would appreciate that much. Yay for dinner with Ridley’s mom.
This should be fun.
Cordiality, Leif. Remember, cordiality.
“Hey, Ms. McAllister,” I call, jogging up next to Ridley, shooting her the chin lift. The one known far and wide as the one all dudes use in lieu of a handshake, which I know she’d refuse.
She lets Rid pass but stops me at the door before passing inside. “Thank you for bringing my son home, but we’re having company. You understand.”
“Sure I do. I’m part of the company. Rid invited me.”
“I invited him,” Rid agrees, pulling me through the threshold of the door and knocking his mom out of the way with my shoulder in the process.
Their dinner guests, Amy Rigby and her mom, already sit on the couch in the living room.
Amy’s mom nudges her shoulder urging her to stand, she does, hopping up.
“Ridley,” she says. Not looking him in the eye, or any of us, for that matter. A telltale autism sign. “Hi.”
“Hi, Amy. Good to see you,” he says diplomatically, code for no emotion in his voice. I know him. He’s not trying to be a dick, he just doesn’t want to lead her on.
From that point, things just downgrade from diplomatic to straight-out awkward as Rid’s mom does everything she can to place them together and freeze me out.
When the pizza comes, she arranges Amy next to Rid, Mrs. Rigby next to her and me stuck down at the foot of the table, a lonely island.
Amy likes Rid too. Doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out. Her body language remains stiff and uncomfortable. She avoids focusing on him even more than the rest of us.
Courtship or friendship, no matter which you choose, it’s a dance. For Ridley, a waltz he’s trying like hell to politely keep his arms tight and their bodies that hypothetical balloon width apart, while his mother seems hell bent on forcing the lambada. At each of her “aren’t they cute together?” or “She sure is beautiful, isn’t she Rid?” I hiss or grunt or laugh under my breath.
Ms. McAllister isn’t wrong, the girl is pretty. Really pretty. Long, wavy brown hair she keeps pulled back in a ponytail and a trim, curvy figure. Stunning blue eyes the color of ice. Maybe if he actually like liked girls, he’d like like her. Though, she seems to fall a little lower on the spectrum scale than he does.
When I reach for a third slice of pizza, Rid pins me with a pleading stare to get me to shut up. He and I have been “friends” long enough for me to know his mom is looking for any excuse to keep us apart. And although he’s a grown man, she’s still his mom, the woman who raised him—alone—and even more, I don’t think he’s ever truly disobeyed her in his life. But I can’t stop acting like a jealous idiot. I’m in love with the guy. He’s my boyfriend. Mine. None of that matters though when I’m not allowed to claim him the way any guy wants to shout from the rooftops when he’s in love.
> Guys flirted with Amanda all the time. She was and I’m assuming still is a knockout. But she’s a girl and no matter how much I cared about her, and I did, if some other dude stole her from me, what did it matter?
But Rid?
Jealousy’s not a good look on me.
It’s not his mom he needs to worry about. She stays locked up tight in her denial closet. Mrs. Rigby, though, she watches our byplay. She watches us closely volleying a silent communication back and forth.
While his mom prattles on, I see the moment Mrs. Rigby gets it. I see the light click on in her eyes and then dim. No judgment that I can read, but what I can read is that she was hoping her daughter would catch the eye of someone as great as Ridley.
Abruptly she looks down at her watch. “Look at the time. Amy and I have to get home. We’re getting up early tomorrow. Going out of town to meet my other daughter’s boyfriend for the first time.”
Ms. McAllister cuts in, “Oh that should be nice.” Although using chipper words, she doesn’t hide her disappointment.
“Yes. She seems different about him. Different than she’s ever been about a guy before. I think he’s a keeper.” Her eyes shoot to Amy, then to Rid. She looks disappointed too.
It has to be hard, seeing one daughter move ahead in life. That has to be a fear of all parents of, I hate to even think the term, special needs children. Will they have a normal life? Dating, marriage, maybe even kids of their own one day?
It’s just, there’s nothing “special needs” about Ridley. Sure he has some difficulties. But I’d never call him special needs.
She’s just given me the opportunity I’ve been waiting for all night. We’re getting out of here, Ridley and I. “It was great to meet you. Since you have to go Rid and I are going to see the new Marvel movie opening tonight.”
And before I can stop myself, I tug up on the fabric at his shoulder, a universal sign for let’s get going.
Rude much?
Yes.
Oh well.
There’s an overpowering need behind my erratic behavior. A driving force to be alone with him driving me out of my mind. And I know that if I don’t get some of that quality alone time out of Rid soon, his mother’s wakeup call will mean she really won’t be able to deny her son’s sexuality any longer.
Deep down, though, I know if I keep up my actions, it will come back to bite us. I mean, when she no longer lets him around me, I’ll have no one to blame but myself, and Rid will have only me to blame. Which will suck.
I sense his growing conflict. He knows my actions could come back to bite us too. Instead of making this dinner easier on him, I caused him stress. I love him. I’m supposed to take care of him but I caused him stress.
The rocking in his seat increasing and becoming more pronounced, he’s one more smart-assed grunt away from total meltdown. His eyes turn glassy and his teeth clench so tight he’ll probably end up needing caps. Not what I want for him. Never what I want for him, so I decide to bow out gracefully and let him have his night with his mother.
I look to him, “Call me later.” Then I nod to his mother and bid my “good night, thanks for dinner.” As I head to leave Ridley stays behind, still rocking, though it’s slowed considerably.
It guts me to leave him behind, even for a night. My few hookups, my ex-boyfriend, if I saw them, I saw them. Jesus, the intensity of my feelings for Rid kind of freaks me out. Is that kind of intensity healthy?
In the driveway, behind my wheel, I take a moment to collect myself as it feels like I should be rocking in my seat too. I’d spent the whole day with the man and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough. Mom’s a social worker, she counsels people for a living. Maybe she could help me figure all this out.
The house door opens and light shines from inside illuminating the people standing on the stoop. With the front door wide open, I watch as Ms. McAllister says goodbye to her guests. My cue to leave, as I shift into reverse I’m surprised when my passenger side door opens and slam on the breaks. I never saw him leave the house.
“Hey,” Ridley says, sliding in next to me.
“Hey,” I say back. The air awkward as hell inside the car.
We both pop out with, “I’m sorry” at the same time.
His response confuses me. So as I back out I ask him, “Babe, what do you have to be sorry about? I was the one being a jealous ass in there.”
“I’m sorry my mom was a jerk and you had to listen to her try to pimp me out to Amy.”
“Did you just say ‘pimp me out’?” I throw my head back to laugh heartily.
“Are you going to break up with me?” he asks in all seriousness, which cuts through the lighthearted atmosphere he’d brought only moments before.
My laugh dies in my throat. “No. I’m never giving you up. Not until you want to be given up and then I’ll fight to make you want me again.”
He stays quiet, staring out the window while I drive. Leaving with me tonight could not have been easy for him. He’s pushing boundaries, and I’m so damn proud of him for that. Though I’m worried he’s pushing them if not too far, too fast. We have the whole summer. That’s what I should have been reiterating at dinner tonight, not letting my hormones get the better of me and acting like a jealous fool.
A glance over to Rid with his face pressed against the glass, I know exactly where to drive, and it’s not the movies. Out of the residential section of the city, up the street running parallel with the boardwalk and thus, the ocean, we keep driving until there’s no more boardwalk or people, only expanses of beach and water as far as my eyes can see through the dim headlights.
Because of the dark, if I hadn’t been here so many times it would be easy to miss the turnoff. I don’t miss the turnoff, parking out on the solid packed sand, not the loose stuff closer to the water which would get us stuck when we tried to leave.
Finally able to take his hand, I relish the feel of it in mine while walking with him in the blackness toward the jetty. Hardly a star in the sky to light our way, a light, warm breeze blows in off the ocean tonight. The briny scent of saltwater surrounds us. The sound of the waves lapping against the jetty.
I love everything about this place. I love it more with Ridley at my side. Once we reach the isolated rocks, he turns on me, capturing my face between his hands. Ridley leans in kissing me hard and rough. Not the hard like the first time he kissed me, this hard is intentional. And I’m lost to the sensation that’s all him. My arms wrapping around his waist tight, pulling him as close as two separate bodies can stand. The proof he’s a man silhouetted through his shorts and pressing infuriatingly against my own.
Rid ends the kiss by moving back enough so he can rest his forehead against mine. Heaving breaths. Heart beating rapidly. “I love you,” he whispers. He’s never said it before, so god does it feel good to hear. Pulling his lips against mine again, I feel his tears streaking down his cheeks and my cheeks. And he whispers again, still pressing against my lips, “What if she won’t accept me? What do I do? She’s my mom.”
I fall back to sit on the rock behind me, tugging him along to sit on my lap. Never letting go. Holding him the way he needs to be held. Not like a lover, but like he’s loved.
“Babe, I can’t tell the future so I can’t give you a guarantee. But I know she loves you. Honest to goodness loves you from the bottom of her heart. Your dad left and she stayed. She raised you by herself, stayed by your side through all your ups and downs. I think… I think it’s just being a gay man is still a tough road, and you’ve been walking a tough road your whole life. It’s not that she won’t accept you, it’s just she doesn’t want your road to get tougher. Does that make sense?”
His forehead moves up and down against mine. And I hope what I’m telling him is the truth. I mean, I believe it, I have to believe it, otherwise how else do I get him through this? But there’s always that niggling fear I’m wrong.
“When you’re ready, you’ll come out to her again. I guess you keep doing it
until she understands this is really you.”
Clearly, I’m talking off the cuff here because my experience was so different. His tears fall harder and I hold him tighter.
“Hey,” I say. “Even if she doesn’t get it at first, if she’s the woman I think she is, she will. She’ll get it and she’ll accept you. Because I cannot imagine that woman spending the rest of her life without you in it.”
Somehow that must be what he needed to hear. The tears taper off and his hold on me shifts, forcing me to relocate my hands on him to the point they no longer comfort, but touch him in a highly sensually suggestive way. Rubbing. Caressing. Drawing my fingers through his thick head of hair.
His lips find mine again, willing and wanting every press, nip or lick he gives. He’s become so bold since the first time we kissed out here on the rocks. It’s still the perfect setting. The warm breeze blowing in off the water lapping against the shore and the rocks sprays us with water droplets. Though the spray feels good, it does nothing to cool our heated skin. I know what might help. Thank the good lord Rid has the same thought.
“Take your shirt off,” he says as he kisses the curve where my shoulder meets my neck, then nips the skin there tugging it between his teeth.
He tugs his shirt up over his head at the same time I do mine. Genetics might have been a bitch to him in some respects, but not as far as his body is concerned. He’s a specimen of beauty. Not because he has an overly sculpted gym bod. But definition formed naturally when the boy fills out, starts becoming a man. And he’s all man. Creamy, smooth skin.
I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of feeling that expanse of skin beneath my fingers running over his broad chest and shoulders. The sharp ridge of his collarbone. Well-defined dips and plains of pecs and abs. Biceps developed by manual labor. Back muscles, the same.
Ridley has a spattering of chest hair and a thin trail of sandy blond starting just below his navel and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts that feels so good rubbing against me. I’ve never been a hairy man. So I never thought I’d want a man with any. He’s definitely changed my mind.
Summer of the Boy Page 5
