“She seems upset,” Will says as we make our way to the house. “Everything okay with you guys?”
My emotions are like a two-sided coin spinning around on a flat surface. One side feels like a weight has been lifted. Now that she’s gone, I can focus on Will and block everything else out of my mind. But the other side wants to chase after her and tell her that I’m sorry. That she is a good mom. That love is not wasted on her.
“We’re fine.” Fuck it. The coin lands on Will. I’m going to run from Mom’s begging, screaming eyes just like we ran from Richard’s begging, screaming house. “So how was last night?”
“It was fun.” He chuckles to himself. “Actually, no. It wasn’t. I just read my book while Shayla and Robbie had quality ‘couple time’ in the other room. And I kept thinking about what happened on the boat. I’m sorry I freaked out. I didn’t mean to make you feel weird.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I should be the one apologizing.”
“I do feel a connection with you,” he offers. “If we had been in… you know… a more private setting… I might have been totally into it.”
He opens his big wooden door and motions me inside the house. My gaze immediately zeroes in on the wagon — still hanging on its two remaining chains like an ICU patient who somehow manages to cling to life despite their vitals being irreversibly down.
“I still can’t believe I turned your wagon into a death trap,” I say. “God. I’m such a worthless piece of shit.”
“Dude, it was an accident.” Will grips his hand around the back of his neck. “Even Shayla has gotten over it by now. Last night we came up with a new plan where neither of us will have to get in trouble.” He smiles. “We’re going to leave it as is and not say anything… and then act totally surprised when we come back up with my dad in the summer. Like it mysteriously happened when no one was here.”
“Or you could tell him the truth now,” I say. “Before you become so entangled in a web of lies that your every waking moment is infected with the debilitating fear of being caught.” Am I projecting right now? Perhaps. “Just kidding. That would be insane.”
He crinkles his brow and smiles. “Yeah, I’m not sure the situation is quite that serious.”
“Of course not.” I turn my attention away from the wagon and directly to Will’s messy bedhead and dimply stubble. I came here for a distraction, not a reality check. “So… I really want to make out with you. For real this time.”
“Well, then.” He moves in closer. “Now that we have some privacy, I might be open to that.”
I lower my face to his and start kissing him — softly at first, and then furiously. He matches my energy and digs his hands into my lower back. I gently bite his lower lip in response. Our mouths and tongues are going at it like a pair of pro wrestlers. His mouth is minty — it’s very clear he just brushed his teeth — and I love it. This is exactly what I need.
We ride the wings of our sexual chemistry straight to the nearby couch, where I straddle him and feel him get excited through the thin cotton fabric of his pajama bottoms. There is a zero-percent chance we’re not hooking up today.
“Wait, Joey.” He jerks his head away. “Stop.”
This shit again. Seriously?
“What?” I ask.
He points up and across the room. I can feel his heart thumping through his shirt. Mine starts doing the same as I realize we’ve now placed ourselves closer to the wagon. It looks massive from this angle — all thick wooden planks and spokes. The spot where the two remaining chains attach to the ceiling seems ready to explode — one of them is half-detached already.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Will squeaks.
I peel myself off of him — carefully, so as not to inadvertently stumble into the area directly below the dangling beast. “Yes, please.”
We evacuate the danger zone and make our way through the wagon-themed hallway into the bear-themed bedroom. (This fucking place.) I notice Will’s book on the nightstand and have the distinct feeling that decades have passed since the last time we were locked in here together.
“That was a close call.” He locks the door behind him and I jump onto the king-size bed in the middle of the room. The décor might be all woodsy and bear-filled, but this is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever had the privilege of laying on. It makes the twin-size bed up in Marco’s loft feel like a giant slab of uncooked lasagna.
“This is what you’ve been sleeping on all week?” I ask. “No wonder you always look so well-rested and pretty.”
“Pretty? Take it back.” He walks from window to window and adjusts the blinds until they emit nothing more than a few thin lines of diagonal light. “How’s this?”
“Dark,” I say. “Perfect.”
“Isn’t life crazy?” Will plops down onto the bed with me. “Shayla just dragged you in here the other day — totally out of the blue — and I haven’t been able to think about anyone or anything else since. It’s almost like…”
Don’t say fate. That would be so corny and Nice Guy–ish.
“… fate.”
I force what I hope is a sweet, non-disgusted smile.
“Or we’re just two horny gay guys who happen to be stuck in the woods together surrounded by straight people,” I blurt and immediately regret.
“How romantic.” He forces a small laugh but it’s not like his other ones. “Who hurt you?”
“I’ll write you up a list,” I blurt, and regret my words once again. “Oh, God.” I flinch and cover my face with my hands. “This is coming out weird and sarcastic. I’m sorry.”
“It’s cool.” He leans back against a pillow. “I was just trying to say that I like you, Joey. I think I would still like you even if we weren’t stuck in the woods together surrounded by straight people.”
“Thanks.” I need to get this back on track, so I slide across the bed and position myself directly on top of him.
“I like you, too. Genuinely.” I kiss his mouth. “I mean it.”
He kisses me back.
Now we’re getting somewhere.
It doesn’t take long before Will and I trade positions and he’s the one taking the lead. He must have finally realized that I like it better that way. I close my eyes and center my mind on the sensation of his touch. Our clothes disappear within seconds.
Ever since I saw that piece of flaming wood expose itself through Richard’s melting bathtub, I’ve had this omnipresent sense of dread lurking in my body. When I saw the selfie of Mom and me on the news earlier, it became malignant — spreading through my every pore, hair follicle, and nerve ending. But Will’s hands on my bare skin are like magic erasers.
I kiss him harder. Something comes over me. I decide to get back on top. Fuck it. There’s a first time for everything.
Will lets out a long, heavy sigh as he adjusts to my weight on top of him. His hands stretch out behind his head. I’m not sure why, but I grab his wrists and pin him down. Who even am I right now? Eventually he moans in pleasure — I hope it’s pleasure — so I take it further and further until there’s nowhere left to take it. I’m going hard, fast, feral.
Soon he protests and tells me he’d feel more comfortable if we traded places. I oblige and try to relax into his touch, which is quite literally the opposite of mine. Soft, slow, gentle. It’s nice at first, but something about his tenderness makes me feel hyperaware of the fact that we have nothing in common. He’s an emotionally healthy rich kid from Manhattan; I’m a severely damaged felon from New Jersey. No amount of fucking can make me deserve a guy like him.