First Kiss, Page 2

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  After school, Noah goes home to an empty house. There’s a note on the fridge from his mom saying she ran out to the store to get something for dinner. Why they can’t keep food in this house, he doesn’t know.

  As he searches the cabinets for something to snack on, the front doorbell rings. He groans—it’s probably Melissa, back to pester him again. Why the hell does she insist on tormenting him?

  Maybe if he doesn’t answer, she’ll give up and go away. He holds his breath and waits, but five seconds later the doorbell rings again, longer this time, persistent. Whoever it is knows he’s home.

  Damn.

  Noah waits for the third ring before he flings the front door open, pissed all over again. “What the hell—”

  The rest dries in his throat when he sees Doug Hathaway filling the door frame.

  Noah takes a step back. “What,” he tries again, but there’s nothing after that and his mouth hangs open, forgotten, until he realizes how stupid he must look. So he clears his throat and hopes he sounds casual as he stammers out, “Doug. Hey.”

  “I’m collecting for the paper,” Doug tells him.

  The unnerving way Doug looks at him makes Noah self-conscious, and the faintest hint of a smile tugs at one corner of Doug’s mouth.

  “Collecting what?” Noah asks.

  The smile strengthens. “Money?”

  Noah simply stares at him. “For what?”

  “The paper?” When Noah doesn’t respond, Doug flashes him a quick smile that kicks his hormones into overdrive. “I came to get your payment for the newspaper.”

  “Oh.” Of course, the paper. Noah gets it now—he should’ve known. The man of my dreams is a bill collector. His voice trembles slightly when he admits, “My mom isn’t home.”

  Doug watches him, silent, waiting.

  The heat on his nape is back, and Noah’s cheeks flush as he adds, “Um, she has the checkbook with her. She should be here soon, if you want to come back—”

  Doug cuts him off. “Can I wait?”

  “What?” Noah’s heart skips a beat. “Here?”

  With a shrug, Doug says, “If you don’t mind.”

  “No,” Noah assures him. “You want to come in, or something?”

  He stands aside to let Doug into the living room—he’s here, Noah’s mind whispers. He breaks into a thin sweat at the thought. In my house, here with me, ALONE. Suddenly his skin feels two sizes too small and he shoves his hands into his pants pockets just to keep them to himself.

  As Doug takes a look around, Noah searches for something to say, but all he comes up with is, “Are you thirsty?”

  With a shrug, Doug turns that smile his way. “What do you have that I might like?”

  Noah’s mind goes blank. “I don’t know,” he says, which makes Doug laugh, a delicious sound Noah wants to capture and listen to again and again. “I’ll go see.”

  When he moves toward the kitchen, he trips over his own feet like a dork but a strong hand catches his elbow before he can stumble. “Careful,” Doug says with a grin. “I haven’t been here two minutes and you’re already falling for me.”

  Oh jeez. Is it that obvious?

  Noah tries to pull away but Doug holds on tight, steadying him. “I’m fine,” Noah mumbles as he tugs against Doug’s grip.

  Doug’s fingers sear his skin and he wonders what would they feel like on his face, his chest, lower? Like a lit match, Noah thinks, and his flesh would go up in flames. What a lovely way to burn.

  Doug won’t release his arm. He’s looking at Noah, willing him to meet his gaze, but Noah keeps his eyes downcast and doesn’t dare look up. Softly, his voice low, Doug asks, “Noah?”

  He knows my name, Noah thinks. The moment stretches between them, unreal. Then those fingers loosen and Doug rubs his hand up under Noah’s shirt sleeve and back down Noah’s arm to squeeze his wrist. “So no Homecoming dance for you, eh?”

  Noah tries to jerk away but Doug doesn’t relax his grip. So that’s what this is all about. He could kill Melissa. “Very funny,” he growls. “Let go.”

  Doug’s hand slips into Noah’s; their fingers lace together. “It’s sort of my fault,” he admits.

  Noah twists his hand in Doug’s to break free and isn’t surprised to find he can’t. The guy plays football, for Christ’s sake. “What?”

  Doug gives him a sympathetic smile. “I’m really sorry.”

  “How’s it your fault?” Noah asks.

  Outside he hears a car pull into their gravel driveway—the engine idles for a few seconds, then shuts off as a door creaks open. Noah’s all too aware of the hand in his and the sweat slicking his palm. In a barely-there whisper, he says, “My mom’s home.”

  Talking fast, Doug tells him, “Last Friday, after the game? The whole team went over Matt’s to celebrate because his parents weren’t home, the cheerleaders, too. At some point the guys sort of divvied up the girls and snuck away until it was just me and Melissa sitting there staring at each other like idiots.”

  “What, did she hit on you too?” Noah asks.

  He hears his mom outside, messing with those flimsy plastic bags she gets from the grocery store. He tries again to pull his hand from Doug’s, but it’s a half-hearted attempt and he doesn’t succeed.

  “Let me finish.” Doug’s thumb rubs along Noah’s wrist, a tender touch Noah wants to fall into, but he won’t let himself enjoy this moment just in case it turns out to be some sort of joke.

  Out in the driveway, his mom hollers for him to help out, but when his gaze flickers up to meet Doug’s, he can’t move, can’t look away.

  Seizing on the moment, Doug whispers, “Yeah, she hit on me.” It takes Noah a second to remember they’re talking about Melissa here. “I told her no. Told her why.”

  Why? Noah wants to know.

  Before he can ask, Doug adds, “You know why.”

  Suddenly Noah gets it and nods—he knows. It’s the same reason he himself turned down the prettiest girl in the school, and why, at this moment, his heart thuds in his chest like a furious bass line because Doug is so damn close. Why Noah’s liked this guy for the past two years, an eternity in high school, and why he’s dreamed of this moment over and over again, a million different scenarios that would lead to something Noah hasn’t quite dared to think about yet. It involves more than Doug’s hand in his, though, and God knows his mother isn’t in it.

  Another step—they’re so close now Noah can smell cherry-flavored bubblegum on Doug’s breath.

  On the sidewalk leading up to their porch, his mother calls his name again, strident. When she draws breath to holler again, her voice brightens. “Melissa!” she calls. “How nice of you to give me a hand.”

  “Did she freak out?” Noah asks. Another moment and she’ll be in the house, he can ask her himself, but he wants to hear it in Doug’s voice. “What’d she say?”

  The hand in Noah’s tightens. “She said she knew,” Doug tells him, flashing that smile again. “Said my secret’s safe with her, but only if I told her who I liked like that in our grade. When I mentioned you, she was all, ‘No way!’” Doug’s voice raises an octave in eerie imitation of Melissa’s Valley Girl shriek.

  Noah laughs, which makes Doug’s smile linger, and his foot bumps Noah’s when he moves nearer.

  “She said you weren’t like that, she should know, she’s lived next door to you since kindergarten, and I said I thought she might be wrong. I hoped—”

  “She’s wrong,” Noah breathes.

  Something in his chest loosens at the admission—it feels so good to tell someone, finally, someone who understands. Someone who feels the same.

  In the kitchen, the screen door squeals open and Melissa’s loud voice drifts toward them like a cloud. “It’s no problem, Mrs. Jackson. You know I like to help.”

  From the corner of his eye Noah sees her, framed by the archway separating the living room from the kitchen. She looks just like she did when
she leaned against his locker, not a hair out of place despite the grocery bags she’s carrying. Noah’s mother is still outside, struggling with the screen door. When Melissa sets the bags on the kitchen table, she senses something that makes her turn.

  In that instant Doug leans in and presses his lips against Noah’s with a sweet, damp crush. If it weren’t for the hand holding his and the arm suddenly around his waist to hold him close, Noah would melt to the floor.

  He barely hears Melissa’s frustrated cry as the world falls away with Doug’s first kiss.

  THE END

  * * * *

  ABOUT J. TOMAS

  J. Tomas is an author of gay YA romance who lives in Richmond, Virginia, with two very spoiled cats. She publishes adult gay fiction under a pseudonym. Her first novel, Without Sin, is now available in print and e-book formats. More information can be found online at j-tomas.net.

 

  ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

  Founded in 2010, JMS Books LLC is owned and operated by author J.M. Snyder. We publish a variety of genres, including gay erotic romance, fantasy, young adult, poetry, and nonfiction. Short stories and novellas are available as e-books and compiled into single-author print anthologies, while any story over 30k in length is available in both print and e-book formats. Visit us at jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!