AFTER A GOOD BURGER AND FRIES, I feel more optimistic about humanity than I did before.
When the hockey team party breaks up, I take Graham’s keys and prepare to drive his family Subaru back to the suburb where we grew up. “Should we call your parents and give ’em a heads-up?” I ask in the parking lot. “Your mom wasn’t expecting a guest.”
Graham shakes his head sloppily. “They’re out tonight. And she won’t mind at all. Think she was half expecting you to turn up, anyway.”
I groan. “Hope she put money on it, then.”
“How bad was it?” my boyfriend asks, dropping onto the passenger’s seat and pulling his door closed.
“Well…” I toss my suitcase in the backseat and then get into the driver’s seat. “My dad wasn’t the problem. He’s been surprisingly cool. But he hasn’t done a good job of corralling my mother. She invited that bigot of a pastor over tonight to try to talk me into therapy.”
Graham twists toward me so fast his knee bangs into the stick shift. “No shit?”
Nodding, I start the engine. “I just walked out without saying anything. My father is probably gonna be in the doghouse for weeks for driving me over here to meet you.”
“He can take it,” Graham argues. “If he wanted you home so bad, he should have made sure she wouldn’t do that.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. But for the first time I feel a little sorry for my dad. It had almost been easier to hate both of them equally. I back out of the parking spot. “Okay, don’t laugh. Which way do I turn? I never really drove around downtown before.”
Graham flinches. The neighborhood where I’d gotten beaten up is probably less than two miles from here. That awful day had happened right after I got my license. “Turn left. We need the highway entrance.”
“Okay,” I say after a minute. “This looks sort of familiar. It’s trippy. Like I know this place, and I don’t.”
“Sorry I got so drunk,” he says quietly. “Didn’t mean to.”
My hand crosses the gearbox to squeeze his knee. “It’s not a problem. I’m proud of you for coming out to those guys. That must have been scary.”
He shrugs, not wanting the praise. “I’m getting better at it.”
“I know you are.”
Walking into Graham’s house is like walking into my past again. Only this time I don’t mind. There’s the kitchen table where we used to eat a whole package of cookies in one sitting. And there’s the door to the basement where we used to go to play video games and make out.
“I’m putting your bag in my room,” Graham says, his hand on the bannister. “Let’s watch a movie. I need to sober up.”
“Okay. In the den?” I don’t know where Graham watches his TV these days.
“On my bed. I’ll be right back to look for popcorn, unless you want to do it.”
“Sure.” I’m not hungry, but I open Mrs. Graham’s cabinet above the toaster. Some things don’t change at all in seven years. The microwave popcorn is right where it always was.
All the best parts of my early teenaged years had happened in this house and on the ice rink a mile or so from here.
Humming to myself, I put the popcorn in the nuker and throw away its plastic wrapper. I check my phone and find a text message from Trevi, the Harkness team captain. My sister knitted me another pair of socks for Christmas. Want to bet on whether Big-D calls them gay?
There’s a photo attached, and it makes me laugh. The socks are a painfully bright orange.
I’m sure your sister loves you. But she hides it well, I reply.
No kidding. DJ got socks in a nice, soothing navy. How’s your vacation?
Standing in G’s kitchen right now making popcorn. It could be worse. As I tap this out, I realize it’s true. Even if the day has been an emotional shit show, I’m going to be okay. You?
Heading out to a pickup hockey game.
Have fun!
I dump the popcorn in one of Mrs. G’s bowls. Then I grab two cans of Coke out of the well-stocked refrigerator and carry everything upstairs. Graham’s room isn’t very familiar to me, because we’d always hung out in his basement when we were young. His room is also a shrine to high school, I notice. There are hockey trophies on the bookshelf, much like the ones in my Vermont bedroom.
I make myself at home on the bed and turn on his TV, wondering what we should watch.
Graham emerges from the bathroom a minute later, wiping his face with a towel. “You pick something?”
I haven’t. “Diablo?”
“We looked at that one before.” Graham frowns. “Weren’t the reviews terrible? You’re in a Scott Eastwood mood, huh?”
“I might be.” I look down at his serene face. His eyes are closed even as he argues with me. “I don’t care what movie we watch. I just want to sit here with you and think about nothing.”
He opens one eye. “That’s all you want to do?”
“Well…” I chuckle. “I can think of some other fun activities I could get up to with your big drunk self. But your parents could show up at any point, right?”
“Yup.” He sighs, relaxing against me. “Pick a movie. You don’t even have to tell me what it is.”
The warm weight of him feels great against my chest, and I sift my fingers through his dark-blond hair. Then I choose a movie.
“What the fuck?” Graham sputters a minute or so later when he realizes that I’ve picked The Longest Ride. “This is a chick flick.”
“Scott Eastwood riding bulls, though.”
He laughs so hard he gurgles into my abs.
“Breathe, dude.” I rub his back. “It’s not that funny.”
“It is!” He wraps his arms around my waist and howls.
“Mmm. Lower,” I encourage.
Still chuckling, he kisses the fly of my jeans. Then he does it again, the tease.
“Kiss me, fool.”
His smiling mouth lifts to find mine. And—drunk or not—Graham’s kiss is sweet and hot. He presses his delectable hips against mine and tilts his head. “Mmm,” he breathes as his lips make the perfect connection.
Indeed.
I open for him, sliding my tongue between his lips. He tastes like toothpaste and comfort. His big hands grip my body as our kisses grow deeper. It isn’t frantic, though. When we were teens, making out was a sweaty dash to the finish line. Our sixteen-year-old selves were too desperate to get off to savor each kiss.
But we’re older and wiser now. Both rhythmic and lazy. This is the good part, too.
With my arms around Graham, I roll us to the side. Our bodies line up so perfectly and our movie is forgotten. Hands skim and caress. My dick is pretty excited about bumping against Graham’s, but the rest of me is more relaxed than I’ve been all week. Everything is finally okay.
I love you, my kisses say.
I know, is his reply. And then Graham’s kisses slow down, his body lolling against mine.
“You’re falling asleep kissing me, aren’t you?”
“Not all the way,” he mumbles.
Laughing, I tuck him against my side, the back of my hand stroking his drunk face. He lets out a contented sigh.
We have all night. So I turn my attention back to the movie. Scott Eastwood and the earnest little college student spend a lot of time staring into each other’s eyes.
It’s a little dull, to be honest.
“Hey,” I say, jiggling Graham a little when there is finally some nudity. “Scott Eastwood, naked. Shower sex.”
“Mmrrhb,” Graham says. But then he shakes himself awake. He glances at the screen and perks up even more. “Now we’re talking.”
But he doesn’t watch. He moves the bowl of popcorn off the bed, and then lifts my shirt. Two seconds later his lips are teasing the skin just below my belly button. And his hand is fumbling with the button on my khakis.
“Well, hello to you, too,” I say happily. Since I’m still holding the remote, I pause the movie and concentrate on what’s really important—Graham’s mouth near my cock. He’s teasing me a little—kissing my stomach and slowly unzipping me. Even when that’s done, he only strokes me over my briefs, his fingers teasing me through the cotton.
I push my fingers through his golden hair and sigh. My hips roll eagerly and he chuckles.
“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”
“Yep,” he says between kisses. “S’nice.”
Yes, it is. I reach down and adjust myself, which has the benefit of making the tip of my erection visible.
Graham takes the hint, lapping at me with his tongue. But he’s still making me wait for more, because he knows it makes me crazy.
Really, things could be worse.
“Michael? Are you still up?” The sound of Mrs. Graham’s voice cuts through my happy, horny reverie.
I’m basically stunned like a deer in the road. But Graham reacts, sitting up fast, grabbing the popcorn bowl and planting it squarely over my unzipped crotch. The jerky movement flings a few kernels of popcorn overboard, though.
As her face appears in the open doorway, I grab the remote and try to look innocent.
Her eyebrows lift in surprise at the sight of me on the bed with Graham. “Johnny!” she whispers. “Hi, honey!”
“Hi, Mrs. G!” I give her a big, awkward smile.
Her eyes flit toward the screen, where Scott Eastwood’s wet, naked body is frozen in HD. “Good movie?” she asks, and I can hear the humor in her voice.
“Eh,” I say. “It has its moments.”
“I was fixing to have cookies and tea, if anyone’s interested,” she says. “I just need to take off these heels.”
“Great plan,” I agree sheepishly.
As she disappears, I think I can hear her chuckling.
Downstairs, I dip pieces of a chocolate chip cookie in milk while Mrs. G asks me questions, first about myself and then about Graham, who declined to come down with us. “You’re sure he’s okay?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“His old friends weren’t awful?”
“Didn’t seem like it. A little surprised, maybe.”
She stirs her tea, a worried expression on her face. “This town doesn’t make it easy. As much as I’d like to have Michael nearby after graduation, I understand why he’s applying for jobs in big cities.”
“That’s where the jobs are,” I point out.
“I hope this interview in D.C. works out for him.”
“D.C.?” I know nothing about this.
She winces. “He just got the email. Hasn’t even set a date for the interview. I’m sure he was going to tell you about it.”
“Sure,” I echo lamely.
D.C. is awfully far from Harkness. I keep hoping he’ll get something in New York, which is just a commuter-rail trip away from Harkness, Connecticut. Visiting him next year could get expensive.
Ah, well. No point in worrying about it yet.
“How was your Christmas?” I ask, steering her from the topic.
She tells me about the pageant at her new church, with the live donkey for Mary to ride. “The sanctuary smells like a barnyard now, but it was quite impressive.” She smiles at me. “Honey, you look tired. I should let you go to sleep.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” I admit. This day needs to end right away. “Okay if I take Lori’s room?”
“You can do that, or stay in Michael’s room. Whatever you want.”
That’s nice of her to say, except for one problem. “He’s a roller, though.” And that bed in his room is only a double. At school we have two twins pushed together into a makeshift king-sized bed. But even a queen-size is dicey with Graham.
“Still?” She cackles. “When we went on family vacations, we’d flip coins to see who had to share a hotel bed with him.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” I say, getting to my feet and gathering up my milk glass and used napkin.
Mrs. G corners me near the sink where I’m putting my glass into her dishwasher. “I’m so sorry your visit didn’t go smoothly, honey. I would do anything to make it easier for you.”
I close the dishwasher and turn around. “It’s really okay,” I say quietly.
“No.” She shakes her head. “It really isn’t.”
“But I’m okay,” I clarify.
She doesn’t argue. She just hugs me.
