The Book of David (15 page)

“Yeah, man. You can see the dam from here. Pretty cool, huh?” I heard the water running and Jon brushing his teeth. I
stood there, staring out the window. I could see the faint glow of my own reflection in the glass and then the lights along the river beyond. I took deep breaths and looked at my own eyes shining in the glass.

Who are you? Why does this feel so dangerous?

“Left a new toothbrush on the sink for you if you want it.” Jon's voice startled me, and I almost jumped out of my skin. “Whoa! Sorry, man. Didn't mean to sneak up on you.”

“It's cool.” I tried to laugh it off.

Jon's smirk came unfurled like a flag across his face. “Usually, you're the one lurking out there in the dark.”

“I didn't mean to lurk,” I said. “I just heard the music—that's all.”

Jon pulled open a drawer and tossed a piece of clothing my way. “Shorts if you want 'em.” He unbuckled his belt and kicked off his sneakers at the same time. I practically ran into the bathroom, hearing his jeans come off behind me. All I could see was that image of his boxer briefs in my mind. I didn't want to get caught staring again, but part of me was disappointed I hadn't seen him take his jeans off.

I brushed my teeth, staring into my eyes in the mirror.

Just be you. Just be you. Just be you.

I rinsed and spat and hesitated.

Who am I?

I took a deep breath and ran a hand through my hair. It was sticking up every which way—sort of spiky the way I liked it. Monica says it looks like bed head. I pulled off my polo and stood in front of the mirror. I flexed my right arm and let my eyes wander over my biceps and down my abs. I had those lines that ran into the waistband of my jeans like those guys in the big black-and-white ads at the clothing stores in the mall. Monica would always giggle and wrinkle her nose when she touched my stomach.

Why did I care so much how I looked? I turned the water back and splashed some on my face; then I blotted it dry with a towel. I slid out of my jeans. I stood there and took one more quick glance at myself standing there in my boxers.

Should I put on these shorts? Is he wearing shorts?

I grabbed my clothes and the shorts Jon had given me and took a final deep breath, then opened the door and walked back into his room.

Jon was propped up in his bed, shirtless, on one elbow, tapping something into his phone. I tossed my clothes onto the chair, pulled back the sheet and comforter, and slid into the gigantic bed before I thought about it too much.

“Is it totally gay that we're sleeping in the same bed?” I asked.

Jon didn't answer right away. He put his phone on the nightstand and reached over to turn off the lamp by the bed.
I saw a flash of his lats as he did.
Swimming must be the best workout in the entire world.

“Do you know any gay people?” My eyes were adjusting to the dark, but Jon's voice sounded like it was coming from far away. This bed was huge. There was no danger of us touching, but something about his question made the air thick in the room. I felt that familiar weight on my chest that I felt so often when I was alone with him. I rolled toward my side of the bed and hugged the pillow, punching it a couple of times.

“Actually, I do know one,” I said. “Monica's uncle. Brent. He was at dinner at her place on Sunday.”

“Huh.” The lights from the bridge over the river floated in through the windows, turning Jon's room a dark blue. I saw him roll onto his back and put his hands under his head. “What was Brent like?” he asked.

I told him a little bit about Brent, but it was hard to breathe. I was lying in bed in my boxers talking to a dude about a gay guy I'd met. I was lying on my stomach, and I made sure to keep my left leg against the very edge of the mattress. I didn't want Jon to think I was trying to cuddle up.

“He actually seemed really . . . normal,” I said. “He was funny, and way into baseball.”

“Was he handsome?”

The minute Jon said this, my stomach did a somersault. All
of a sudden I was totally turned on. I couldn't move. I could barely speak. It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. I squirmed against the sheets and finally choked out an answer. “I guess so. I mean, if you . . . Yeah, he's a good-looking guy.”

Jon glanced over at me and smiled. The silence was killing me. I squeezed the pillow under my head to make my hands stop shaking. Why were my hands shaking? I had to keep talking. “He said he was having problems finding somebody to date. He had these hilarious stories about these guys he'd gone out with and how lame they were. He said the last one kissed like a weed eater.”

Jon rolled onto his side, facing me, his arm bent underneath his head, his biceps and shoulder creating a pillow on top of his pillow. “Have you ever kissed a dude before?”

“No.” My heart leaped into my throat. It felt like there was a power surge in the sheets, static flying through the air. I felt like I might explode. “Have you?” I croaked.

Jon just looked at me for a split second, and then somehow, he was right beside me, his hand on the side of my neck, his thumb resting on my jaw just like that one night at his Jeep when he was leaving. Only this time, he didn't turn away. He gently pulled my head toward his, and I felt his lips pressed against mine.

My whole body tensed, then relaxed into his. His mouth was firm and strong and warm against mine. The hum that seemed to flow through the sheets shot through my whole body, and Jon brought us closer together. I felt his leg and hip pressed against my leg and my hip. His tongue searched out mine for a moment, warm but not wet or sloppy. Sometimes when I kissed Monica, I felt like I was going to drown, but kissing Jon was so different. After a second he broke away, his hand still on my neck and jaw where it had been, his forehead against mine.

My eyes fluttered open. My breath was a ragged gasp. I wanted to lean forward, to kiss him again. For a moment we were frozen there—and then I realized what had just happened, and I felt my heart rate rocket like I'd just sprinted from one end zone to the other. I pulled away and jumped up out of the bed like I was being chased by a pack of rabid dogs.

“Jon!” I yelled his name. “I'm not gay.”

Jon popped up and slowly swung his long legs over the edge of the bed, his hands out like I was holding him at gunpoint. “Hey, man. It's cool. It's cool.” His voice was so calm. My heart was pounding. I could barely breathe. I glanced down at the front of my boxers and grabbed a pillow to hold it over myself.
Dammit.

I backed up against the wall and slid down to the floor. Tears filled my eyes, and I buried my face in the pillow. “I'm
not gay,” I said over and over. Suddenly I was crying. “I can't be gay. I'm not gay.”

Jon was silent, but even with my head buried in the pillow, I could sense him near me. After a minute I ran a hand over my face, brushing the tears away. I was so embarrassed, I could barely move.

When I dared to look up at Jon, he was staring straight at me, and the look on his face was so kind, and so warm, and so . . . him. When he caught my eyes, he spoke: “Nobody said you were gay.”

I gave a short, bitter laugh. “Uh. We were just kissing in your bed. I think Tyler would say that's pretty fucking gay.”

“Yeah, but Tyler isn't here, is he?” Jon's voice was steady and soothing. He smiled and rolled his eyes. “And who made Tyler the grand high poo-bah of everything? Who says he gets to decide what's gay and what isn't?”

I was quiet for a second. The bourbon and the crying made my head swim a little. I rubbed my eyes and looked back up at Jon. “It's just . . . I can't . . . I mean, if Tyler ever found out, I just . . .”

“Who's gonna tell him?”

Jon slid off of the bed and sat next to me on the floor. His white boxer briefs glowed blue in the light from the window. I felt his shoulder touch mine. After a minute he bumped my knee with his.

“Nobody's saying you're gay. Nobody's saying I'm gay. We're just two guys kissing.”

I turned to face him. “It's not that simple. I—”

“Maybe not.” He cut me off. “But it could be.”

We sat there for what seemed like a long time, my head racing to match my heartbeat:

This is who you are. This is who you are. This is who you are.

All at once, I realized why I was really scared—not of people finding out, or What It All Means; I mean, I am plenty scared of that, too. But in that moment, I got terrified Jon might get up and never try to kiss me again. All I knew for sure was that I couldn't risk that.

But how did I tell him I wanted to kiss him again? How did I tell him I wanted to take him up on his offer to just be two guys messing around?

What were the right the words?

Before I could find them, Jon sighed and stood up. He looked so freaking tall standing over me like that. I let my eyes drink in what I hadn't dared to see before: how amazing he looked in his underwear. It was like he was a Greek god chiseled out of blue marble. I was afraid to move, afraid that if I said one more wrong word, he'd toss me my jeans and tell me to go home.

Instead Jon reached down and offered his hand. I took it, and he pulled me up. He didn't let go. Neither did I. That's how
I told him, with no words at all, our hands locked together between our chests, our noses so close I could feel his breath on my cheek.

“I don't wanna freak you out,” he whispered. “I just wanna kiss you.”

There was something so honest and so open in his eyes at that moment, I made a decision. It wasn't a decision to come out of the closet or be gay for the rest of my life, or anything like that. I just decided to trust him. I didn't even have to think about it—like being on the field and just knowing, seeing the whole spread in front of me and not taking a moment's hesitation before cocking my arm back for the pass. I knew exactly what my move was.

I pulled him toward me and kissed him again. I put both hands up to his face, and as I did, I felt his arms slowly wrap around my waist and draw me tightly against him. I'd never been held like that before.

Ever.

He pulled me down onto the bed, and our legs and arms and lips were all tangled up. We were breathing at the same time, the same air. There was a pulse between us in a way that I had never felt with Monica, or any of the other girls I'd kissed. Sure, I'd gotten turned on when I'd made out with girls. It's just that this was different from simply having a hard-on. That was
just friction. This was like my brain and body and thoughts and heart all ran together with Jon's and I lost myself completely in this moment. It was like I'd been dying of thirst and finally felt myself falling headlong into a pool of the coolest, sweetest water I'd ever tasted.

At first I was scared to move my body at all. I kept my hands on his face and moving through his hair while he held me tightly against him. After a while he broke away from my lips and looked into my eyes, smiling.

“Damn. You're good at that.”

I blushed. I didn't know what to say. He kissed me again, lightly on the lips. I was out of breath and panting a little. My whole body felt lit up like a carnival ride at night. I could barely look at him. We were pressed together so tightly. I knew he could feel what was going on in my boxers as clearly as I could feel what was going on in his. Finally I forced myself to bring my eyes to his eyes.

“Jesus,” I whispered.

“What?” he asked.

“You're trouble.”

He smirked. “Right here in River City.”

All I could do was stare into his eyes as I let my hands wander down to his shoulders and across his biceps. I ran my fingers over his pecs and pulled away from him a little as my
hand trickled down his abs to the waistband of his boxer briefs.

He grabbed my wrist. “Wait.”

I looked back up at him and felt my cheeks go red.
Did I do something wrong?
“Sorry. I just—I mean, I was . . . ,” I stammered.

He brought my hand up to his mouth and kissed it, then pressed his body into mine again.

“It's cool,” he said. “I just think . . .” His voice trailed off. “Maybe we should take it slow?”

We made out for a while longer, until I felt my mouth getting a little raw from Jon's stubble.

I laughed. “My lips are getting chapped,” I said.

He smiled. “Yeah. Mine too. Hazard of kissing guys, I guess.” He rolled over and opened the drawer of his nightstand. He applied some lip balm, then handed it to me and jumped out of bed.

“Jesus, dude.” He pulled at the front of his underwear. “You got me all riled up.” He left the bedroom, and I heard him run down the stairs. A few seconds later he was back with a bottle of water. “I gotta get some shut-eye so I can sing tomorrow.”

We took big gulps of the water, passing the bottle back and forth. Then I put it on the floor next to the bed. When I rolled back over, Jon was under the sheets, propped up on his elbow. He put his hand on my chest.

“You okay?”

An old panic returned when he said that. I reached up and grabbed his hand. “You can't tell anybody.”

He pulled a pillow over toward my side of the bed, slid an arm under my pillow, and wrapped the other one around me. “Tell anybody what?”

“About . . .
this
,” I said.

He yawned and settled in next to me, closing his eyes. “I don't even know what you're talking about.”

“And I'm not your boyfriend.”

“Uh . . . you have a girlfriend. And I have . . . Amy.”

“I just—”

“Dude.” He interrupted me and squeezed me really tightly to get my attention.

“Yeah?”

“Nobody's gonna hear about this from me. Got it?” He pecked me on the cheek. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”