Page 43 of On the Edge

Atlas

Havinga conversation with Henri takes twice the amount of time it would take with anyone else. He doesn’t say a single thing without thinking about it first. I wait him out, already used to this in the weeks we’ve known one another. When his fingertips brush across the top of my hand and up my arm, I know he’s come to a decision.

“Maybe we could try kissing again,” he says.

“Come down here,” I tell him, and wait as he immediately slides down until he’s lying flat beside me.

Rolling up onto my side, I prop my head up on a hand and look down at him. He looks a little less perfect than usual: hair sloppy and damp, cheeks flushed, and shirt crinkled. I like it. I like it better than the perfectly coifed and polo-shirted version.This is a terrible idea. This is the worst fucking idea you’ve ever had, my brain screams at me as I reach a hand out and touch gentle fingertips to Henri’s cheek. The scruff is nice. The scruff isreallynice.

He doesn’t move as I trace my fingers along the line of his jaw, but keeps his eyes on my face. I’m not planning on going after anything below the neck, but I’m not sure he’d stop me if I tried. The way he’s watching me is almost clinical, like he’s cataloguing each thing I do and his own reaction to it. Same, Henri, same.

“Don’t just lie there without moving,” I instruct him, pressing my thumb to his bottom lip so he knows what I’m talking about. “Keep your mouth relaxed, and don’t worry about using your tongue unless you’re feeling it.”

Instead of laughing—which any other sane person would after hearing those instructions—Henri nods solemnly and says, “I understand.”

As though to prove he’s a good student, the moment I lean down to touch my mouth to his, he opens. I keep my hand relaxed on the side of his face, fingers cupped around his ear. I’m trying to keep it gentle and let Henri lead, but kissing him is apparently some sort of magical dick-raiser, because I can already feel myself getting hard. This isn’t even a good kiss, for fuck’s sake.

Scooting my hips back so he won’t feel it if my semi turns into a full-on boner, I melt into the kiss a little bit, trying to let him lead while also moving things along. I told him not to worry about using his tongue, but damn if I don’t want to use mine. I want to know what every inch of his mouth tastes like.

After a few minutes, I pull back enough to look at his face. He hasn’t once moved his hands from where they’re linked together on his stomach, nor has he made a single sound. I honestly can’t tell if he’s enjoying himself or not. Luckily, Henri’s particular brand of honesty doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

“I like this,” he says, and smiles up at me. My stomach makes a strange swooping sensation, not unlike what it was doing when I was last here and wasted. Goddamn this guy for being so goddamn cute.

“I honestly wouldn’t have been able to tell if you hadn’t told me,” I admit. “Most of the time when someone is into it, there are hands and noises involved.”

“I wouldn’t mind touching you,” he says baldly, eyes tracking over my face and down my neck. “But I don’t need you to touch me, if you are not wanting to. What noises?”

“Well, you know…sex noises.” I almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation—me explaining sex noises to a virgin while I teach him how to kiss. “Moaning and stuff.”

“Oh. You were not making noises,” he points out.

“Fair. But I’m also trying to focus on going slow and not eating your face. Also, I don’t need sex noises to prove I’m into this, my dick is doing that for me.”

I watch as his gaze lands on my crotch and ping-pongs back to my face. A slow, satisfied smile crawls across his face.

“You like me,” he says cheerfully.

“No, I don’t like you. I like kissing and hot guys,” I correct, but it does nothing to wipe the smile off of his face. He can tell I’m lying. His own dick has remained dormant, I notice, but I’m not surprised. I don’t consider myself an expert on asexuality, but I’ve got a pretty good read on Henri at this point. A few minutes of lip-lock isn’t going to be enough to raise his flag.

He shrugs, still looking mighty pleased with himself. “I am thinking you like me a little bit.”

“I am thinking you’re getting a little ahead of yourself for someone who kisses like a fourteen-year-old,” I counter, making him laugh.

“I will get better with practice. I am very teachable—Coach Mackenzie has told me so.”

“Oh my god.” I shake my head, unable to hold back a small chuckle. This guy. This fucking guy. “All right, Henri. Let’s keep practicing.”

I givemyself a stern talking-to on my way home from Henri’s. I actually am starting to like the guy, despite desperately trying not to. He’s just so damn eager and ready to please. I bet he’d be a damn dream in bed—pliable and willing.Do not go there, Atlas. Fucking is where you need to draw the line,I mentally chide myself.This guy needs to stay firmly in the friend zone, and it’s my job to keep him there. Sleeping with virgins is an emotional mess, and I don’t do emotions or messes.

By the time I get back to the house, it’s barely past ten and I’m starving. Per usual, the only edible things in the kitchen are junk or frozen foods. I opt for the junk and bring a half-eaten bag of chips up to my room.

When I get to the top of the stairs, I’m just deciding to poke my head into Nate’s room when my phone rings. Thinking it might be Henri, I pull it out of my pocket with more excitement than I’d care to admit. The name on the screen isn’t Henri, though. It’s Dad, which goes to show that anybody who plants an expectation, reaps a massive disappointment.

I consider sending it straight to voicemail or ignoring the call completely, but I still love my dad and miss him, even though it makes me the biggest idiot on planet Earth.

“Hey.” I pick up on what would probably have been thelast ring, and try hard to modulate my tone. Dad hates it when I soundpetulant. Whatever the hell that means.

“Hey. Just calling to check up on things. How are classes?”

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