The second glass of wine isn’t helping things. My inhibitions are dulling slightly, and I’m not so worried about who sees this lust in my eyes.
We’re at the Italian Stallion a few nights after the Sven double date—which Jodie has gushed about at least four times a shift. This time we’re eating fettucine alfredo and talking about things like liabilities and assets. I know, sexy, right?
But dammit, a man who speaks business, a man with goals—it freaking turns me on. And Reed Wilder in his tight shirt and designer jeans turns me on. And maybe it’s just been too long because God, I need to keep it all under control.
Staring at him as he talks about new tax laws and all sorts of other financial lingo, I simply gaze at his mouth, his hands, and the way his eyes drink me in. I bite my lip, wondering if he feels it too.
When we finally leave the restaurant, heading toward the bus stop, I get my answer.
His hand yanks on mine, pulling me into the alley beside the restaurant we’ve just emerged from. He shoves me playfully against the crumbling brick wall. There’s a dumpster not far from us, and the smell of garbage leaches out, surrounding us.
But I don’t care.
His lips on mine, his hands propped up on the brick wall on either side of my head, I’m his. I’m all his.
The alley ambiance is far from the thing of dreams, and this isn’t romantic. But with Reed’s lips moving on mine, I know what I suspected that first night he wandered into Midsummer Nights with his button-up shirt.
I’m crazy about him.
We kiss for a long time, the glow of the streetlight and sound of cars whirring by fading into the distance. When he finally comes up for air, I smile at him, yanking him onto the sidewalk as we head for the bus stop, breathless and floating.
On the sidewalk, I lace my fingers with his, not letting his hand go to his pocket like it so often does. He glances around, a few crowds of rowdy teenagers wandering near us. I inhale, glad the scent of garbage from the Italian Stallion is behind us.
Reed’s still wearing his signature button-up shirt—but the top two buttons are undone. He walks with a smoother air of confidence these days, and I’ve seen him smile a lot more.
Still, there’s a reserved nature about him. There’s an “I need to kiss in the alley if there are people around” kind of mindset.
I could be irritated with it. I feel like our kissing, the way he stares at me, and even the way he talks to me say he’s crazy about me. Just as crazy about me as I am about him.
Nonetheless, there’s this tentativeness, this hesitancy. It’s like he’s always looking over his shoulder, always protecting his heart when we’re out. Looking at Reed, I see a man on the brink of breaking free, of going a little wild, of unbuttoning a few more buttons. But every time I get a glimpse of him, he seems to pull back.
“So ask him what his deal is,” Jodie said yesterday when we were chatting about it.
“I can’t just ask him why he’s not making out with me in public. Don’t you think that would be weird?”
“Not any weirder than a grown man who is afraid to hold hands in public. It’s just… odd. But then again, who knows. Maybe he didn’t grow up confident in who he is, you know?”
I’d studied her. “Do you really think that’s it?” I know not every man grew up as confident as me in who they are, but still. It seems odd that a thirtysomething would be so reserved, so afraid.
Jodie just shook her head. “You know, Lysander, not everyone’s world is as rosy as yours was growing up. Isn’t that what you told me not so long ago?”
I’d sighed. “You’re right. I’m just paranoid, I guess. I’m just worried maybe it’s me.”
In many ways, I always knew I’d been sheltered. While I’d heard horror stories of others’ struggles, coming out had never been even a thing. In fact, I really couldn’t pin down when I’d “come out.” Jodie jokes I never went in to come out. I’ve just always been me. My family was always proud of me. My sexuality never had anything to do with defining who I am.
But, as we get on the bus, still breathless and reeling from the kiss in the alley, I realize maybe Jodie’s right. Maybe Reed’s past wasn’t so rosy. Maybe there’s a reason for alley kissing, and maybe it has nothing to do with how he feels about me.
Maybe it has everything to do with how he feels about him.
So, I let it go. For right now, as ridiculous as it sounds, I’m okay with alleyway kisses and secret lustful moments. I’m okay with keeping what I think could be more than just a torrid love affair private. I’m okay with keeping this whole thing a bit of a secret, at least to the public eye.
Because, sitting beside him on the bus, listening to him talk animatedly about the color scheme at the Sand Dollar and the new girl he hired to help him run the place, I feel the spark between us. We don’t need super obvious public displays of affection to know it’s there. We don’t need public declarations of who we are together.
Even this early into things, I know, I just simply know, this thing between us can’t stay a secret for long. Sooner or later, Reed Wilder is going to unbutton more than just the top buttons. He’s going to let go of this tightened version of himself, of this mask he’s putting on to show the world. Sooner or later, I’ll get it to crack and I’ll get to see who he really is.
Something tells me when I do, I’m going to really like what I see.