I pulled back, feeling stricken.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighed and leaned back again. “I just… I’m not ready for that yet. I just need—” He stopped, bit his lower lip, and stared at the ceiling. “I know I have no right to ask you for anything, but can I just stay here for a bit? I just….” He took a shaking breath, “I just want to be here. Please?”
“Anything.”
So I turned on the TV, and we nursed our beers. We mostly talked football and easily fell back into our old banter—a little more awkward than before, but it still felt great. And I watched him slowly relax, layers of tension and sadness falling away, and he even smiled once, if only for a second. Eventually, he leaned back, and within minutes, he was asleep.
When I got up in the morning, he was gone.
THE next day, Ringo came into the back of the shop to get me.
“Jared, Mrs. Rochester is here to see you.” I knew by his voice he was concerned about it.
It took me a minute to place the name. “You mean, Alice Rochester?”
“I don’t know her first name.”
“The high school principal?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.” After the incident with the police, all but two of my students had returned with permission slips. But it seemed that wasn’t enough. Some parent had obviously called the school to complain. “Tell her I’ll be right out.” And then I spent a few seconds composing myself, getting ready for what I was sure was going to be an ugly confrontation.
Mrs. Rochester was in her forties. She was in good shape and had on a navy blue skirt and matching jacket. “Mr. Thomas!” She was smiling when she shook my hand. She had teeth so white and perfect she could have been in toothpaste commercials. “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met before.”
“Call me Jared.”
“Jared. You can call me Alice.” She was still smiling. “You may not realize what a buzz you’ve created at our school.”
I was annoyed at her cheerfulness but said, “I’m really sorry about that. I was just trying to help.”
She looked a little confused. “Why are you sorry?”
“You’re talking about the tutoring, right?”
“Of course. I know this is unexpected, but I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to meet with me and a couple of the teachers, just for a few minutes?”
“Shit.” Had I said that out loud?
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” I took a deep breath and made an effort to smile. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll come if you think it’s important.”
“Oh good,” she said with obvious relief. The toothpaste smile was back. “This close to Thanksgiving is crazy for everybody. How about the first Monday in December? Could you come to the school at three thirty?”
“Sure.”
When she was gone, Ringo asked, “What was that all about?”
“That was probably the end of our tutoring sessions.”
CHAPTER 20
TWO nights later, Matt was pounding on my front door hard enough to rattle the hinges.
“I broke up with Cherie,” he said as soon as he walked in.
“Oh.” I hoped the joy those words awoke in me wasn’t too evident in my voice. “Why?”
He glanced sideways at me, and there was anger in his eyes.
“Don’t! Don’t do that. You know why.”
“Matt—”
“No!”
I went silent, my heart in my throat. He was pacing back and forth, looking angrier with every pass. I was pretty sure anything I said would be the wrong thing, so I just waited. Suddenly he turned and drove his fist into the wall.
“Feel better now?” I asked.
“No.” He leaned against the wall with his head in his hands. There was blood on the paint, and the drywall was going to need to be patched.
Finally he spoke. “I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks.” It sounded like he might break into tears at any moment. “I’m so fucking tired. And I’m so confused. Part of me wants to kiss you, and part of me wants to just beat the hell out of you.”
I have to admit I was a little bit alarmed by that. “Do I get a vote? Because I definitely prefer one over the other.” He didn’t laugh.
“I wish I could stop thinking about you. I wish I didn’t miss you so much.”
“I miss you, too, Matt,” I said honestly. “I’d give anything for us to just be friends again.”
He didn’t answer for a moment but then said without looking at me, “You could be happy with just being friends?”
“It wouldn’t be my first choice, but yes, if that’s what you want.” It was the truth. Better that than to be alone again.
Another short silence, and then, quietly, he said, “I don’t know if I can do it, Jared. I wish I could. But I don’t think I can go back to that.” He took a deep, shaking breath and finally looked at me. “I miss you so much, but I wish I didn’t want you the way I do.”
“Why do you have to fight it, Matt? Why can’t you just accept that you’re as attracted to me as I am to you?” It was the wrong thing to say.
He grabbed my arms and slammed me against the wall. “You think it’s so easy! I’ve spent my whole life denying these feelings. I don’t know if I can accept them now. I don’t know if I want to accept them!” His face was only a foot away from mine. The look in his eyes was torture. It was pain, and fear, and loathing, and desire, all fighting for dominance. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t bear to see it.
But when I dropped my gaze, I stopped short. In looking down, away from his face, my gaze had inadvertently landed on his crotch. And I was surprised to see that he was fully erect. I could see the telling bulge inside his jeans. Knowing I was possibly making a huge mistake, hands shaking in both fear and anticipation, I reached out—he still had my arms pinned to the wall, and I could barely reach—and started to unbutton his pants.
He went completely still. I don’t think he was even breathing. Then, “What are you doing?” I didn’t look at his face. His hands were still on my biceps. He could easily stop me if he chose to.
“Taking a chance.” My hands were shaking a little less now, but I was waiting for him to step away, to yell, maybe even to punch me. The last buttons came undone and his erection, covered in the smooth black of his briefs, was pushing through the flaps of denim.
“I don’t think you should be doing that.” But his voice had gone low and husky.
“I’m sure you’re right,” I replied, and I brushed my fingertips lightly over the fabric that still covered him. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t move. I flattened my hand against him, felt the whole length of him against my palm, and squeezed a little. He gasped a little, then gave a small sigh of surrender, and took a last tiny step towards me, his forehead hitting the wall above my shoulder. His hands slid down from my arms to rest on my waistband. I rubbed him harder, pushing my fingers down inside of his jeans. I could tell by his breathing that he was becoming more aroused. Was he even leaning into my hand, or was that my imagination? I didn’t want to push him too far, and yet, maybe….
I stopped, wondering what exactly I was expecting. And then, barely a whisper, I heard in my ear: “Jared, please don’t stop.”
I didn’t hesitate. With one hand, I pulled the waistband of his briefs down out of the way. When my right hand closed around him, he groaned low in his throat. I started to stroke him, softly at first but then harder as his breathing quickened. His fingers were gripping my sides so hard I was sure I would have bruises. His head was resting against the wall next to mine, his face in my hair. Soft lips and sandpaper stubble both brushed my skin. He wasn’t kissing me. He wasn’t even moving, but I could feel his breath hot against my neck, and it felt wonderful.