Page 52 of The Kiss Principle

And of course, because it was consistent with everything else in my life, it was about the most excruciating boner of my life. It happened slowly, my dick fattening, lengthening, even though I was screaming at it to stop. The baseball on TV didn’t help. Running sales pitches in my head didn’t help. Zé’s breath whispered against my neck, and my dick kept going. Worse, the way it was trapped by my jeans meant that it didn’t have anywhere to go, and the discomfort added to the intensity of the experience.

I don’t know how long I lasted. Then I gave up. I lifted my hips, adjusted myself, and settled back onto the sofa. Zé moved with me, his head rocking as I jostled him. And then his breathing changed.

Maybe, I thought.

But I didn’t know maybewhat.

Maybe.

Maybe he’ll go back to sleep.

His breathing was slow and even. The Dodgers went to commercial. Car insurance. They were driving around all over the place, which I guess was supposed to show you—

Zé raised his head and kissed me on my neck. It was barely more than pressing his mouth there. Even the movement of his head was tiny. His breathing continued soft and slow. Then his hand came up to cup the side of my face. Rough hands, I thought. A man’s hand. He was still nestled against me. He kissed my neck again. And then, slowly, he sat back and looked at me. He was still cradling my cheek.

“Zé,” I whispered.

That windswept hair had fallen in his eyes, but he didn’t brush it away. He didn’t do anything.

“You’re having a hard day.” I cleared my throat. “You’re hurting, and you’re vulnerable, and you’re not thinking about this.”

“I am thinking about this. I’ve been thinking about this since the day I met you.”

TV voices filled the empty air between us.

“I can’t,” I finally said.

He leaned forward. He drew me toward him with that hand still cupping my cheek. He was strong, but at that point, I couldn’t have fought him if I’d wanted to. His mouth brushed me, and then his lips parted, and he kissed me.

My first jumble of thoughts was impressions: the scrape of stubble, the softness of his lips, the taste of his mouth. And then comparisons: he was so much bigger than any girl I’d been with; in those relationships, I’d been the bigger one, and it felt strange to have that reversed. The calluses on his hand. Even how he tasted. But even as my brain was processing all of that, my body was responding. My mouth relaxed, and I kissed him back.

It didn’t last long. It lasted forever.

When he broke the kiss, he pulled back. His eyes were that deep, endless brown, and they left me no place to run as he said, “I want you to hear me when I tell you I want this. I want you. You’re kind, and you’re funny, and you’re smart, and I am so attracted to you that the last four weeks have been killing me.” That slow smile spread across his face, and he touched the corner of my mouth with this thumb. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. But I think you do. I hope you do.”

It took a long time for him to get himself upright, and all I could do was sit there, as useful as a box of dicks. He gave me a final, considering look, and then he took a limping step toward the hallway.

“Zé,” I said, and my voice cracked like I was thirteen years old. I swallowed. “Your cane.”

That made him laugh. He grabbed it, and he made his way down the hall. The door clicked shut.

The Dodgers won.

I turned off the TV.

I made my way around the house, shutting off the lights. I caught a glimpse of myself in the window over the sink. Again, in the glass of the sliding doors out to the deck. Where I had seen him all those weeks ago, the broad span of his back, the definition his body, that intense resolve as he made his way through the poses. I stood in the dark in the kitchen, alone with my ghosts.

When I got to my room, I shut the door behind me and stood there. I knew what would happen. I’d climb into bed. I’d try to fall asleep. I’d find a video, as close as I could come to the real thing, and I’d rub one out. And tomorrow. And the next night. And then, maybe not anymore, because I remembered how it had been before Zé came. The stress. The weed. The feeling that everything in my life was winding me up like clockwork, and I was too numb to get hard, too numb for anything. Because they need me, I thought. I love you, I told Zé inside my head, but they need me.

It wasn’t Zé who answered me though.

You’re going to be here forever. That voice sounded like mine. You’re going to be here forever, doing this forever, taking care of Mom forever, bailing Chuy out forever. It’s never going to get better. You’re never going to get away. I could see it: the endless days stretching out into the future. The impossible days. A whole life of impossible days.

Before I could think about what I was doing, I stepped out into the hall. I walked the short distance to Zé’s door. I stopped.

And that was as far as I could go. My face was hot. My legs were shaking. I was, a part me realized in a high-altitude observation, about to cry.

Selfish, I thought. This is selfish, and it’s not fair to him. I’ll go back to my room, and—

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