Page 4 of Pages of My Heart

Charlie nods. “Truth is, I ain’t okay with it,” he says. “But every now and again, I gotta indulge myself. You know, scratch the itch. Got myself a girl and all, but when I’m here, I like to forget about all that and just enjoy myself.”

Thomas’s stomach sinks, the heavy weight of disappointment settling in. Charlie’s got a girl. He doesn’t know what to say, so he picks up his glass and finishes his beer. A new song starts up, “The Man I Love,” and he looks across the room at the singer. It’s one of his favorites.

“You wanna dance, Red?” Charlie stands and offers out his hand once again, palm up this time.

Thomas hesitates only for a second, then takes it and allows Charlie to lead him onto the dance floor.

Thomas is tall—much taller than most men, standing an impressive six feet.

Now that they’re no longer sitting he notes that Charlie is a good head shorter than him, and he finds he likes that very much when he takes Charlie into his arms and they begin to sway to the music.

His body is still too hot, and he tries in vain to calm his pounding heart.

At first, Charlie’s hands are high around his waist, then one slips low, settling into the curve of his ass.

Thomas tries to suppress a shudder. Never in all his days did he think he would ever slow dance with another man.

It feels dangerously wrong and dangerously right all at once.

After a few minutes, Thomas finally begins to relax and enjoy himself, and with a surge of courage, he pulls Charlie to his chest. The blue-eyed beauty comes willingly, and there is an instant response, heat pooling low in Thomas’s gut, arousal blooming.

Frightened at the prospect of Charlie feeling his growing hardness, he pulls away.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, trying to hide his fluster. It means he won’t have enough change to ride the train home, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye just yet.

Charlie studies him, head cocked to one side, eyebrows raised high. Charlie might have the most expressive face Thomas has ever seen.

“You wanna get outta here instead? Go for a walk down by the docks?”

Thomas’s heart gives an almost painful kick. “It’s pretty late . . .” he hedges.

“I’ll protect you, Red. Besides, it’s real secluded down there at night.”

Thomas considers it only briefly before he’s agreeing. “All right, then.”

It’s well past midnight when they make it to the docks, but Charlie was right—there isn’t a soul in sight.

They sit down at the water’s edge, legs swinging over the lapping waves.

Charlie offers him a Lucky Strike, which he takes and brings to his lips.

Charlie lights it for him, his hand coming up to protect the flame from the breeze.

Their fingers brush, sending goosebumps up Thomas’s arm, but he cannot bring himself to lift his eyes.

When Charlie lights a second cigarette for himself a moment later, his face is briefly illuminated by the flame, and Thomas marvels at its contradictions.

There is the prettiness of his ice-blue eyes, flickering from gentle to cocky and back again.

The ruggedness of his wide-set jaw offset by his slim, delicate nose and lips so plump and perfectly shaped that Thomas cannot take his eyes off them.

He dares to shuffle a little closer, settling near enough that he can feel Charlie’s body heat as they smoke in silence. Thomas chances a few glances out of the corner of his eye, his heart thumping so loud he fears Charlie must hear it too.

“You gonna tell me your last name, Charlie?” he finally blurts out.

“It’s Miller.” Charlie flicks his cigarette into the water, then relaxes, leaning back onto his hands, eyes coming to rest on Thomas’s face. “O’Reilly, right? You Irish?”

“My paternal grandparents came from Ireland. Only my sister Maggie and I have the red hair, though.”

“How many brothers and sisters you got?”

“Bridget is the eldest. She married Eddie a few years back, and they have a little boy named James. He’s three.

Then there’s my brother, Michael, who’s a year older than me, and my sister, Maggie, who’s only fourteen.

” Thomas takes a final drag from his smoke and tries to let go of his lingering nerves on the exhale. “What about you?”

“Got a sister, Evie. She’s eighteen, same as you, and a brother Donnie, two years older than me.”

“What church do you go to?”

“You ask a lot of questions, Red.” Charlie gives him an appraising look before continuing. “Family belongs to the Protestant church over on 12th Street, but we don’t go too often. My old man doesn’t like it.” He hums, mouth quirking into a teasing smile. “Bet you’re a good Catholic boy.”

“Bridget makes us go, but I try to get out of it if I can.” Thomas hesitates, then asks, “You believe what it says in the Bible about . . . about people like us?”

Charlie frowns, then tilts his head up to the stars. “That we’re sinners? That we’re going to hell?”

“Well, yes. The Bible says . . .” Thomas stops when Charlie turns his gaze on him, eyes darkening with anger.

“Go on, then, what does the Bible say?”

Thomas takes a deep breath, ignoring Charlie’s simmering resentment, then recites from memory. “Leviticus, chapter twenty, verse thirteen: ‘If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination and shall be put to death.’”

Charlie nods, then picks up a loose stone from the dock and tosses it into the water, his anger seeming to sink with the stone. “I told you, Red. I got me a girl, so I don’t think too much about that shit. Come on, let’s keep walking.”

He stands, and Thomas scrambles to follow.

They haven’t gone far when Thomas bumps his shoulder against Charlie’s, shocked at his own brazenness.

Soon, Charlie’s hand is brushing his own, their palms aligning, then their fingers entwining.

Thomas holds his breath. Their pace slows to a leisurely stroll, like lovers on a warm summer’s night.

Thomas likes the heat of Charlie’s hand in his, but he worries he’s perspiring and Charlie will let go.

Even more than that, he fears they will be seen by someone.

He checks over his shoulder before speaking again.

“So where do you work?”

Charlie gives him a look, like he wants to rib him some more about all of the questions, but he must see something earnest in Thomas’s face because he starts talking a moment later.

“Up at Jimmy’s Garage on the North Side.

I’m lucky to have the job, truth be told.

My uncle set me up when I was fourteen. We all needed to work, ya know?

At first, I was just the kid that cleaned up and did all the chores none of the old timers wanted to do.

But the last few years I’ve been working on the cars. Learning how to fix ’em up.”

“I’ve been lucky too. Bridget had this job at a factory—that’s where she met Eddie.

His parents own the place, and the whole family is stinking rich.

They didn’t lose all their money in the crash like most people.

So, we’ve been doing all right since Bridge and Eddie got hitched.

Eddie’s parents weren’t too keen about their son marrying down like he did but we got to move from the South Side to the North Side.

It meant Michael and I got to stay in school, and now I have a scholarship at Wilson Junior College.

I’m going to be a teacher, then a headmaster.

Maybe even a college professor one day. I like English literature and history the most but. ..”

Thomas trails off, suddenly feeling all kinds of stupid. Charlie has had to work since he was fourteen, and here he is prattling on about his favorite school subjects like a dumb kid.

“You sure talk a lot, Thomas O’Reilly.”

Thomas stops walking and turns to face him. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to.”

“Nah, I like it. And I’m glad you get to study. I can read and write well enough, but I don’t know much about literature.” Charlie drops Thomas’s hand and takes a step back. “Maybe you’re too smart for the likes of me, Red.”

Thomas quickly closes the distance between them and reaches for both of Charlie’s hands this time. “I’m not. I promise. I think you could teach me about . . . about . . . lots of things.”

Charlie’s body seems to soften. His gaze drifts down Thomas’s body, then his eyes lift, looking up through lush, dark lashes. “And what do you want to learn, Thomas?”

Thomas is sure it’s the first time Charlie has said his name like that—soft and affectionate. It’s like hearing his name said for the very first time, so different it sounds coming from Charlie’s lips. The tension, the heat—just like on the dance floor—is building again.

Thomas swallows nervously. “You know what I want to learn. What I want to know.”

Charlie’s gaze flickers between Thomas’s eyes and his mouth, and he’s sure it’s a sign that Charlie wants to kiss him just as much as he wants to kiss Charlie.

He tugs on Charlie’s hands, pulling him closer, leaning in, the anticipation and fear turning his muscles to mush.

The moment lengthens into eternity, and Thomas is about to pull away like a coward when Charlie surges up and connects their lips.

The softness and the warmth surprise him.

Perhaps he thought a man’s lips would be hard or rough, but they’re anything but.

Charlie moves his mouth against his, and Thomas moans, something akin to a pitiful sigh, and then Charlie’s tongue swipes across his lips and Thomas’s body erupts with a searing heat.

Without a second thought, he opens his mouth and connects their tongues, melting with desire and need.

Pulling Charlie’s body flush against his, he kisses him desperately, wanting to be impossibly closer.

Charlie’s hands caress up and down his back, and lustful groans pour into his mouth.

It’s Fourth of July fireworks and all his birthdays and Christmases come at once.

Kissing Charlie Miller is everything.

Feeling brave, Thomas mimics what he saw that man do at the club and lowers one hand to Charlie’s ass, pulling their hips together. Still they kiss. The increasing firmness of Charlie’s arousal is pressing against his thigh, his own pushing into Charlie’s stomach. And Thomas wants.

When Charlie drags his lips down Thomas’s jaw and lays kisses upon the column of his throat, his knees buckle and his legs shake. On instinct, his hand finds its way to Charlie’s groin, feeling Charlie’s thick shaft through his trousers.

“Oh, Charlie,” he sighs, as he tries to stroke him through the fabric. When Charlie suddenly breaks away, it leaves him panting and disoriented. “Did I do something wrong?” Thomas asks, voice pitched high.

“No. Christ, no. You did everything right. Just . . . I think we should stop.” Charlie’s face is flushed a deep rose color, breaths tumbling raggedly from his parted lips. The evidence of their lust is clearly defined through their trousers.

Thomas takes a half step forward and tries to hide his hurt when Charlie moves further out of his reach.

“But why? Didn’t you enjoy it?” He’s confused by the contradiction between Charlie’s body and his words.

“I did. Very much. You could feel it.” Charlie awkwardly places a hand over his crotch, hiding the evidence.

“But you’re new to this, Red, and I don’t think you should rush it.

You might feel guilty tomorrow. My first time, I wasn’t sure.

I needed time to think it through. Maybe next time we can, you know . . .”

Thomas is keenly aware of the space between them. “Is there going to be a next time? I thought you only went to the club every now and again.”

“I do. Normally. But maybe I can make an exception. Maybe I can sneak away and see you there next Saturday night.” A small smile appears on Charlie’s face, hopeful and for the first time maybe a little nervous. “Is it a date, Red?”

Thomas exhales, relieved. “Yeah, Charlie. It’s a date.” They both stand there for a charged moment, grinning goofily. Then Thomas asks, “What did you . . . could you tell me what you meant by your first time?”

Charlie shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets, eyes dropping to the ground. “You know . . . kissing and . . . touching another man. You’ve kissed a girl before, ain’t you?” Charlie looks up, concerned.

“Just one—Alma May. Well, she kissed me. She was my date to the senior school dance. It was quick, and I didn’t mind it, I guess, but it wasn’t like .

. . this. It felt nothing like kissing you.

” Thomas steps closer, chest swelling with longing.

“Can I kiss you again? A goodbye kiss. To last me until next week.”

Charlie flushes anew. “Yeah, Red. You can kiss me.”

Thomas cups Charlie’s face with both hands, unsure why he does it, but recognizing immediately that it just feels right.

He leans in, tilting his head and slotting their lips together.

Softly. Tenderly. It’s a different sort of kiss than their first, and he can’t help but press his lips to Charlie’s a few more times, each one like a caress.

Thomas tries sucking Charlie’s bottom lip between his own, arousal once again bubbling like liquid molten in his gut.

He forces himself to pull away. How will he last seven whole days until he can see Charlie again?