Page 27 of Never Stay Gone
Senior year was a dream, perfect days and nights rolling on and on. He worked on his budgets and his plans in secret, printing out brochures for apartments and job listings that he hid in a folder inside his history textbook. What started out as a fantasy became something real when a handful of the ranches he’d emailed told him to come on by when he was in town and they’d be happy to talk to him, see about starting him out with some day labor before taking him on full time.
Spring arrived, and then senior prom. Shane was born to be prom king, and, of course, he was. His queen was the class valedictorian, a sweet brunette who wanted to go to the University of Texas and become a veterinarian. They made a good-looking prom court, even though they weren’t dating.
Big Bend High’s graduating class was never more than sixty kids. Small enough that they all knew each other, but large enough that you didn’t get tired of everyone all the time. Shane and what’s-her-name were friends, taking AP history and econ together, along with all the rest of the kids who were going places.
Prom was held on the football field, of course. Chaperones sat in the stands and kept an eye on the kids. Balloon arches rose at the end zones, and folding tables draped in donated tablecloths and covered with potluck dishes lined both sidelines. It didn’t matter what year your kid was in, every mom brought a dish to the Big Bend High prom.
The school’s wooden picnic tables were brought over from campus, and the seniors ate and danced beneath the stadium lights. Country hits and whatever was popular that year pulsed through the night, filling the town, rolling up and down Main Street.
Junior year, Dakota had sat with Shane on the curb outside Jo’s Diner, drinking root beer floats as they listened to the music coming from the stadium. Shane had tapped his toes on top of Dakota’s sneakers in time to the beat. It was the closest they’d ever come to dancing.
Neither Dakota nor Shane brought a date to their prom. Shane told everyone who asked—and they askedall the time—that he was too focused on getting good grades and a football scholarship to have any time left to treat a girl right. The ladies of town would swoon and ruffle his hair, and Shane usually got about a week’s reprieve before someone would ask again.
No one ever asked Dakota why he didn’t have a girlfriend. He wasn’t considered a catch like Shane was.
No girl on his arm at prom, but that didn’t matter. Dakota knew his real date was Shane. They took a picture in front of Shane’s truck, both of them in suits—Dakota’s dad had saved three dollars a week for six weeks to pay the rental fee for his—and beaming, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. Dakota hadn’t been able to buy a boutonniere, so he went out to the desert and plucked some black-eyed Susans, and one of the chaperones pinned the yellow flowers to their lapels.
Shane danced with every girl in their class, even the shy ones, pulling them out to the fifty-yard line and dazzling them for a song or two. He was the gentleman, the town hero, the favorite son. Back then, farm trucks drove by with Shane’s jersey number painted on their tailgates, and all the stores on Main Street had pictures of him throwing a pass under those stadium lights in the corners of their shop windows.
After every dance, Shane came back to Dakota.
It was toward the end of the night when their song came on. Dakota was sitting on top of a picnic table, sipping from a Dr Pepper, when the first notes of “Cowboy Take Me Away” thrummed over the speakers.
He searched the field, wanting, at least, to see Shane during their song. Dakota couldn’t dance with him, of course, but maybe if they smiled at each other, they could share the moment.
He watched Shane cut across the field and walk toward him, and it was like every sappy love scene in every sappy movie he’d ever seen. Nothing existed but Shane, and the lights, and the field. The music, and how Shane was looking at him. The glow in his eyes, the smile curving up his lips. For a moment, Dakota thought—pleaded, yearned, begged, wished—that Shane would take his hand and lead him out to the field, that they would dance together and, finally, everyone wouldknow.
But no. Shane did the next best thing, though, which was clamber onto the picnic table and sit so close to Dakota they were touching, from shoulder to hip to thigh to ankle, close enough Dakota could feel the heat of Shane’s body through all their layers. Shane turned down three dance requests in twenty seconds before he turned to Dakota.
“I asked for this song,” Shane whispered. “I know we can’t dance together, but I thought, if it played, we could…” He shrugged. “I dunno. Do this.” He gestured between them, how close they were.
The chorus started then, Natalie Maines belting out her dreams for her and her true love. Dakota whispered the words along with her, staring into Shane’s eyes. He and Shane sang the second half of the song under their breath, only loud enough for each other to hear. Shane was a horrible singer, off-key. Dakota couldn’t have cared less.
Dakota was dancing on starlight for the rest of the night, so fucking happy he thought he’d float away. He and Shane stayed after to help clean up, and when they finally pulled off their jackets and bow ties and made a break for Shane’s truck, it was after two in the morning.
Shane left rubber in the stadium parking lot and a rooster’s tail of dirt behind his tires when he turned into the desert. Then they were at their spot and in the truck bed, kissing, laughing, undoing each other’s dress shirts and wriggling out of boots and pants and underwear as fast as they could. Dakota’s ring around Shane’s neck dug into their chests. The metal was warm from being nestled against Shane’s skin all day, all year.
Dakota wanted more. He broke their kiss before he lost his mind and his nerve, bracing himself on his elbows above Shane. “It’s our prom night.”
“Yeah.” Shane grinned. “I noticed.”
Dakota bit his lip. Watched moonlight reflect in Shane’s eyes. “I wanna go all the way,” he said. “I wanna, you know. Do it. With you.” God, he was uncool. How ridiculous could he sound? His heart was beating faster than a hummingbird, though, and he didn’t know how to be effortlessly smooth like Shane.
Shane’s eyes went wide, and his fingers dug into Dakota’s waist, short fingernails nipping at Dakota’s skin. “Are—are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’ve thought about it. I really want you to—”
Shane kissed him and kissed him, and Dakota almost forgot what he had planned, but Shane asked, breathlessly, “How? I mean, what do we—” and Dakota remembered the lube he’d bought at the truck stop, hidden in a purchase of Mountain Dew and Doritos. He fumbled for his jacket and pulled out the small bottle.
He’d done enough research at the school library to figure out what to do, putting the pieces together through encyclopedias and medical websites and whatever wasn’t blocked by the school’s IT department. He’d spent some time playing with himself too. Figuring out how to do what he needed to do when it mattered.
Shane’s shaking fingers followed his, and when Shane pressed one long, thick finger in, alongside Dakota’s own, Dakota whimpered and pressed his forehead to Shane’s. He kissed away Shane’s fumbling questions about whether he was hurting Dakota or if he should stop. “Never stop,” Dakota whispered against Shane’s lips. “Never, ever stop.”
He held Shane’s hands as they joined together. As he sank down onto Shane’s cock, so fucking hard it was like rock—and bigger, it seemed, than it had ever been before. He threw his head back and groaned, almost screamed, digging his heels into Shane’s sides until he was all the way down. Panted, and trembled, and cursed as he squeezed Shane’s hands. Shane looked up at him with fallen stars for eyes, his mouth open, his own breath coming hard and fast.
They kissed like there was no future, no past, nothing but that moment. Shane whispered his name and wrapped strong arms around him and ran his big, calloused hands up Dakota’s back, all the way into his hair. Dakota clung to his shoulders and sank his fingers into the meat of Shane’s chest, burying his face in Shane’s neck and biting down when Shane gave his first, tentative thrust up into him.
Heat, and Shane, and shooting stars. Forever and always and Shane’s voice on the night wind. Shane inside him, Shane around him, Shane holding on to him and breathing Dakota’s name. Their first time was a blur, not enough oxygen, too much passion. Dakota came all over Shane with a shout, and Shane followed, holding Dakota to him as he groaned and thrust and said, “Dakota, Dakota…”
