Page 16 of You Are Not Me

Alone in my room the night before, after I’d shaken the embarrassment of finding my mom’s note and the gay sex pamphlet, I’d sat for a long time at my desk, studying an old photo of Daniel. The first picture I’d ever taken of him. I’d tacked it to my bulletin board the same afternoon Adam left for Rome.

As I’d stared at his blurry figure, I’d embellished it with the memories of our walk in the woods—the sound of his voice, the glisten of sweat on his skin, the way his eyes had glowed with amber flecks in the dying light. I’d let myself imagine kissing him in my car, instead of watching him get out and drive away.

My dick had been so hard, sitting there at my desk imagining his warm lips on mine, that I’d allowed my fantasy to shift to the backseat. I’d imagined the scrape of our clothes as we rutted together, tongues sliding wetly, my hands shoving up under his shirt. Him ripping open my shorts to get my cock out. It hadn’t taken more than a few jerks before I’d clamped my mouth tight on my shout, coming hard.

Remembering, I fanned myself with one of Robert’s old water bills. All my blood rushed south. My pulse tripped excitedly. If Daniel was at the club tonight, maybe we’d dance together. His firm body against mine, his big hands on my hips…

He might kiss me. For real this time.

And if he tried, I’d let him.

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. Enough of all of that.

It was summer, and I was almost nineteen years old. I didn’t have to sit around pining for anyone. I filed a receipt for makeup and high heels, then shut the cabinet drawer with a bang.

Leaving the office and turning off the light, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror Robert had hung in the hallway. I was taller than I’d been a year ago, still thin but filling out a little. I looked more mature. My beard had started coming in a bit patchy, so I had to keep it shaved or risk looking even more dorky. But I did have those soulful gray eyes Robert had called mysterious, and a mess of dark, curly hair that made me look like I didn’t give a damn. My nose was longish, but nicely shaped. Maybe Iwaspretty.

My heart stirred with courage.

Leaving Robert and Barry’s house, I let the windows down in the Volvo to cool it off faster. The wind in my hair felt like freedom as I drove. This was my summer. My break. I was no one’s property, and I could make my own choices. I could make new friends.Gayfriends.

And I would.

Starting tonight.

Chapter Three

‡

Tilt-a-Whirl made myears ring—that much hadn’t changed. Neither had the wall of smoke smacking me in the face when I walked in. I steadied myself, scanned the room, and threw my shoulders back, determined not to be intimidated. I was gay, and it was a gay club. I had every right to be there.

A remix of “Suicide Blonde” by INXS throbbed while perspiring bodies writhed to the beat. Guys of all shapes and sizes filled the lower floor and dance area, along with some girls who looked like guys, and some girls who looked like girls. I blinked in the darkened room, making out exposed abs, sweat-slick backs, tight T-shirts of all colors, and an assortment of jeans and cargo shorts.

I’d dressed to impress in a brand-new green, short-sleeved, button-down shirt and crisp chinos. My mom had bought the outfit for me a few weeks before graduation, saying that I’d need something to wear over the summer that wasn’t a cut-up and repurposed high school uniform.

As I tried to blink the cigarette smoke out of my eyes, I spotted the stairs leading up to the second floor with the drag stage and the bar Barry worked. Hoping I didn’t look as terrified as I felt, I rabbited across the room toward them. Just as I reached the middle of the throng of people, a loud bell rang. The crowd around me turned into a tide of bodies, all headed for the bar. I tried to dodge and weave around them, but got nowhere, pulled along by everyone around me.

Someone’s shoulder slammed into mine. Wincing, I called out, “Sorry,” and forged on. I’d made it only a few more steps when I was bodychecked hard enough to fall flat on my ass. Beer sloshed onto my new shirt. I gasped, wet and shocked, staring up at the handsome guy who’d slammed into me.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” the guy yelled over the music, bending down to offer me a hand up. “Holy crap. I’m totally sorry. Are you okay?”

The crowd pressing past us looked down on me with mild curiosity, checking to see if I was hurt or just a loser.

“I’m fine,” I said, letting the guy help. His hand was solid and his grip firm. Releasing me, he patted me down, brushing away dirt from the floor and grimacing when his hands hit the wet fabric.

“Damn. I’m so sorry, man. It’ll dry eventually?” He had a country twang that was extra charming with his contrite tone.

The crowd had thinned where we were now, having gathered over by the bar. I took a breath as the heat in my cheeks stung. “It’s fine. I’m okay. It’s just beer.”

He squeezed my shoulder and smiled at me with a modest warmth. His dark blue eyes shone in the low light, and his wavy, almost-black hair had poofed up from the humidity in the room. Mine had to be in the process of doing the same.

“You new here?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“I thought so. I’d remember a face like yours.”

And I’d remember a face like his. My palms went sweaty as I stared at him. He seemed to shine like a jewel. To say he was movie-star handsome wasn’t even the half of it. He looked like Tom Cruise inRisky Business, only taller, with curly hair and a stronger jaw. My eyes slid down to his red, full lips that looked made for…yeah. Okay, nothing like Tom Cruise at all really. He was way more gorgeous.

---