Page 56 of You, Again

“Check it out, dufus. I was number eleven in high school, you were fifteen. The circle is supposed to be a hockey puck. Hearts and initials scared me, but this seemed more like us anyway.”

I gaped at the carved numbers in disbelief, touched and confused. “You…I…wow.”

“Right? I did it the morning I left for college.”

I traced the jagged edges of the circle, then met his gaze, overwhelmed by emotion. “Why?”

“Dunno. I had a bad habit of defacing public property in my youth. And I liked you,” he added flippantly. “Still do.”

“I like you too. I just—”

“Ah, no, no. No words.” He waved his hands manically and made a face like a kid sitting at the dining room table with a bowl of peas. “Words make shit weird.”

True.

I worried my bottom lip between my teeth, unsure how to navigate something that felt like an important revelation in spite of his lackadaisical tone.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Take me home and have your way with me, Nol. You might have to ride me or something, though. I can get it up no prob, but it’s been a long day and I swear to God, if I heard Emmett tell that stupid-ass story about the time he…”

I sneaked one last peek at the ivy-covered wall and followed him to my truck, my mind buzzing in an effort to straddle the divide between past and present. As if it mattered somehow. It didn’t.

Nothing mattered but now.

This moment was all I could control. The secrecy was still there, but the shame was long gone. We were a better, stronger version of our teenage selves, and we could do whatever we wanted. No overthinking, no second-guessing.

Thank God the drive to his place was short.

We made out on his porch, tongues tangling as he worked his key into the lock, then fell inside and ricocheted off the foyer wall, jockeying for dominance. Shirts were yanked off and belt buckles clanked noisily as we fought to get to skin, breaking feverish kisses only when absolutely necessary.

The details went fuzzy, but somehow, we made it upstairs. We rolled naked around his giant bed, pumping our hips as we slid our precum-slicked cocks together. The friction sparked a wildfire of need. I wanted him inside me and I didn’t want to wait.

I climbed onto Vinnie’s lap and braced my hands on his chest as he stretched me open with two fingers. I batted him away when he went for a third, sheathed his cock, added lube, and slowly lowered myself.

My breath hitched as the initial burn receded and pleasure flooded my veins. Vinnie’s awed expression turned wicked in a flash. He smacked my ass once hard and growled, “Ride me.”

So I did.

I dug my knees into the mattress and bounced on his dick like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. Vinnie gripped me at the base, stroking me and dragging his thumb over my tip in the way he knew drove me wild. I rode his huge tattooed body with gusto, admiring his every contour, every scar. He was so fucking beautiful, so big and powerful, and yet…kind of sweet.

His adoring gaze had an awestruck quality that assured me I wasn’t in this alone. He was right there with me. And he kept it sexy. Vinnie might have been newly acquainted with his gay side, but he held nothing back. He gave me everything he had, pumping into me from below with short, wicked strokes until I had no choice but to fall apart.

We came to slowly, cleaned up, and dove under the covers. He tucked me close, cradling my head on his chest. He whispered, “Good night” and kissed my forehead with an easy affection that did something funny to my heart.

I think that was when I realized that my “living life in the moment” rhetoric was all well and good, but I was still fucked ’cause damn it…I’d done what I promised myself I’d never do.

I’d fallen in love with Vinnie Kiminski.

11

VINNIE

Imight have mentioned this already, but it bore repeating—I loved sex. I mean, like…Ireallyloved it. But I’d never been good at being part of a couple. Being a boyfriend had always felt like work. Remembering to call, considering feelings, and memorizing schedules or habits…yuck. It was exhausting.

Sex, on the other hand, was easy. That was probably why Sienna and I got along so well.

We liked each other fine, but our expectations had always been appropriately low. Even when we were sort of in a “relationship” I wouldn’t have been offended if she told me she’d met someone else or simply wanted to move on.