Page 28 of Small City Heart
Patrick had never been kissed so thoroughly in his life. He pressed forward, trying to get closer but stymied by the constriction of the front seat. Charlie trailed his lips down Patrick’s throat.
“You taste good,” Charlie mumbled. “Like sweat and ice cream.”
Patrick groaned and yanked Charlie back to his mouth. They kissed until their lips were swollen. Until Patrick was weak with need, and Charlie was shaking.
Charlie tugged on Patrick’s ear with his teeth, nuzzling into the hair that had escaped Patrick’s hair tie. “I want you to be happy. You deserve all the happiness, Patrick.”
“What makes you happy? Youarehappy here, right?”
“Yes.” Charlie pulled back and rubbed his thumb over Patrick’s lips.
“You said you were scared to come out in a small town, but you’re not scared anymore.”
“No, I’m not.” Charlie grabbed Patrick’s hand and held it. It was such a simple gesture, but it stunned Patrick. It felt so sweet and so right.
“What changed?”
“I got angry. Defiant. I decided the small-minded assholes in this town could go fuck a fence post for all I cared. I wasn’t going to let another opportunity at happiness pass me by. Some people suck, yeah, but I get a sick joy out of knowing I thrive in spite of them.”
“You’re courageous.”
“Nah. Pissed and lucky, I’d say.”
Patrick smiled and turned back toward the windshield, looking down the sweep of plains and hills. “It’s pretty up here.”
Charlie stared straight at him. “It is.”
“It’s probably time to leave. If we don’t leave now, we’re gonna fuck in your truck.”
A few minutes later, they pulled into his mom’s driveway.
Charlie turned the truck off and twisted toward Patrick. “If you could shape your life, mold it into exactly the life you want, what would it look like?” He cupped Patrick’s cheek, and Patrick, embarrassingly enough, had to blink away the heat that gathered behind his eyes.
He leaned in, touched his mouth to Charlie’s, and let his lips linger sweetly.
When he pulled back, Charlie said, “That felt like a goodbye kiss. I don’t want it to be.”
Patrick felt the prick, the pain of Charlie’s words, deep in his chest.
“I want a home that’s safe, and to find a place where I fit.”
Patrick kissed away Charlie’s response. Then he got the hell out of the truck, running away again.
The storm door slammed behind him as he rushed into his mom’s house, and he cringed when he realized she had already gone to bed. He should follow in her footsteps, take his hits on the chin and keep his head up. He’d learned from the best, and he was in awe of her strength, but instead, he settled in for a good wallow.
His sadness wasn’t Charlie North’s fault. This town had been a stricture around his throat during his teenage years, and for a minute, he’d thought it could be a balm instead.
Hello, unreal expectations. Meet reality.
He stole one of his mother’s beers, grabbed his laptop and his camera, and settled into a metal chair on the back patio. Sunflowers danced in the darkness along his mom’s fence line, and lightning bugs flickered among her flower beds. She’d decorated her yard with antique farm equipment that she’d turned into flowerpot stands and birdhouse holders. It was homey and cute and added to the pressure in his chest.
Thirty minutes later, he had the photos from his camera downloaded and was stuck on a particular image—the one he’d taken of Charlie in front of Minky’s Bar. His expression was cheerful but tempered with a shyness that made him seem sweet and approachable.
Patrick scrolled through the pictures until he found one of Charlie on his back in bed, the morning sun striping his body and the crisp white sheets contrasting with his tan skin. But it wasn’t Charlie’s body,which was impressive, that held Patrick’s attention. It was his face. In the picture, Charlie’s mouth was open on a laugh, his cheeks flushed from orgasm. His features, from the crinkling of his nose to the wrinkles around his eyes to his wide smiling lips, were like joy incarnate. Joy distilled.
Patrick itched to crop and edit. This photo rivaled his best portraits. It exemplified what he was known for—drawing out the emotion on a person’s face, drawing out one moment into a perfect story.
His mind was racing with possibilities, with a need to create.
