by Hanna Dare
Ali’s face hardened again. “Well, I thank you for your service.” She rang up the slushie and counted out his change. “But it looks like the war’s finally over. Who’d’a thought? Peace in our time.”
“Ali, if you ever want to talk—about any of this—I want to. I really do.”
She gave an infinitesimal shrug. “I’ll contact you through your publicist? Set up a lunch when I’m on the coast?”
He looked at her; it wasn’t like staring at a shut door, it was more like a smooth steel wall—he could either bounce off of it or scrabble against it uselessly, looking for an opening. He knew there was so much behind that wall, but there was no way inside. He didn’t know how to fix this; he could only hope that given time, she’d come around. Megan didn’t think so, and she’d been dealing with Ali all winter, but Conor had to hope.
“Something like that,” he answered gently. “Your people can call my people. Or you could just call me. I hope you do.”
She didn’t answer and he let himself out of the store, the bell over the door ringing as he passed through it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Derek was coming to dinner.
“It seems like a reasonable request,” his dad had said when Conor began sputter over the suggestion. “Meeting your boyfriend.”
“You have met him.”
“Well, that was different.”
“Yes, because now it will be even more awkward and uncomfortable.” Not the least because Conor wasn’t sure if they were officially boyfriends, or boyfriended, or whatever. It was all very tentative and new, and after their big talk-fest-turned-sex-fest, Conor was fine with leaving some things unsaid for now. He knew Derek wasn’t exactly telling anyone about them; they still only nodded to each other in the halls at school. Conor didn’t want to push it; Derek had enough to deal with.
“You say this young man is important to you,” his dad was dialing up the Dad-ness to maximum. “If he’s going to be part of your life, that means it’s important for us to get to know him.”
There was nothing for Conor to do but roll his eyes, sigh, groan, and finally agree.
Conor decided he needed Derek to be in a very good mood when he conveyed the dinner invitation—Derek was intimidated by Conor’s father under normal circumstances; sitting at the dinner table with everyone knowing about Derek’s legal and family problems, on top of knowing about him and Conor, might send him into a panic. So Conor went by after school and spotted Derek on the weights in his garage while he asked Derek about motorcycles—the view was good, even if the topic was a bit dull. Then he sent Derek for a shower, while Conor went into the basement and took off all his clothes. He was still working on an appropriately seductive pose when Derek came down the stairs, towel around his waist and skin damp. There turned out to be no need for seduction, because Derek saw him and immediately dropped the towel, and jumped onto the bed and onto Conor.
“Hold up,” Conor said, wriggling out from under him. “Did you, uh, clean yourself in the shower?”
Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “What d’you think I was doing in there?”
“I just meant really cleaned?”
“Yeah, I—” Derek stopped. “Wait, what are you talking about?”
Conor felt the blush starting. “I just wanted to try something… uh, with my mouth.” This last was more of a whisper.
Derek stared at him.
“Have you ever done it?” Conor asked.
Derek mutely shook his head.
“Me neither,” Conor said. “Did you want to try?” But Derek was already rolling over onto his stomach, looking back at Conor with a dazed but incredibly hopeful expression.
Conor had done some research—very thorough research—on the internet, but he was still uncertain as he moved closer, spreading Derek’s legs. He leaned his face against one of those muscular thighs, rubbing his cheek against the fine hairs there, before moving up to nuzzle and nip at the cheeks of Derek’s ass.
Actually this he could do all day, Conor thought. Derek had plenty of muscles there as well, but it came with enough flesh to grip and grasp. It felt almost decadent to Conor, as he gently sunk his teeth into one ripe globe and then the other. But Derek was quivering beneath him in anticipation, so Conor took his hands and spread those cheeks open, studying Derek’s puckered hole.
Conor moved in hesitantly, worried about smell, taste, and some underlying sense of ickiness. But his first tentative licks found that the smell was fresh soap, the taste was Derek, and that none of his inhibitions could stand up against the moans that each touch was pulling from Derek. Conor dove deeper and felt all of the tension in Derek’s body dissolve beneath him like sugar in water.
“Fuck,” Derek groaned, beginning to grind into the sheets. “Fuck. Seriously, Gillis, you gotta fuck me right now. And hard.”
Conor sat up, well-pleased and not about to argue with that request. He reached for the shoebox where Derek kept his condoms and lube.
As Conor slid in, the heat and tightness of Derek’s body almost took his breath away. He draped himself over Derek’s back and rested his head against the back of Derek’s neck, eyes closed, until he felt under control. Derek took one of his hands and used it to pull him closer, kissing the inside of Conor’s wrist.
“Move,” he said. “C’mon, don’t quit on me now. Fuck me.”
Conor began to move his hips, pistoning slowly in and out. He decided he wanted to see Derek’s face, though, and pulled out entirely to loud protests. He urged Derek onto his back, pressing his bent legs together and over to one side. Then he pushed back in, Derek grunting with pleasure at the new angle.
“That’s it. Harder.”
The hard slap of skin hitting skin filled the room, mingled with their gasps. Derek reached up, bracing himself against the wall as he took Conor’s thrusts. Conor reached for Derek’s hard and leaking cock, moving his hand in time with his hips. Derek groaned loudly, throwing his head back.
Conor could feel his own edge approaching and belatedly recalled his original purpose. “You like that?”
“Yes, oh, yeah. Give me more.”
“Would you, uh, do something for me?”
“Anything—fuck, whatever you want—”
“Dinner. Come to dinner with me. And, uh, my family. At my house. At some point this week?” Derek’s eyes were almost entirely rolled back, but a faint crease appeared between his eyebrows. Conor moved both his hand and his body faster and harder. “Just say yes. Tell me yes.”
Derek cried out, “Yes! Yes, Conor, yes!”
Conor smiled as Derek came beneath him, and he let the white-hot heat envelop him and carry him over the edge.
A few minutes later, he found himself pinned on his back, Derek’s glare piercing the afterglow. “What the ever-loving fuck did you just make me agree to?”
They had an adult discussion, which may have involved vague threats, a pillow fight, and epic swearing. After which, Conor agreed that he could not technically hold Derek to any promise made during sex, but added that it would be nice if Derek did come to dinner, because it was important to Conor’s dad, and to Conor, too, and would be a way for Derek to show he cared and was trying—
“Okay, okay,” Derek huffed, “I’ll go. Just shut up about it, already.” But he put his head on Conor’s shoulder and moved in closer as he said it.
“It’ll be fine,” Conor said, patting his arm, but mainly trying to reassure himself. “It’s just dinner.”
“I’d rather go back to jail,” Derek muttered sleepily.
“Only if you take me with you.”
Conor stopped himself from texting Derek instructions and reassurances a dozen times in the days leading up to the dinner—right up until the night Conor was half-convinced that he wouldn’t show. However, Derek arrived on time for dinner, hair combed and wearing a clean shirt with actual buttons on it, most of which were done up.
“Shit,” Derek whispered to Conor at the door, “I should have brought
a dessert or a six-pack or something.”
“It’s fine. But don’t say shit at the table. I mean, yes, please talk, but don’t say the actual word ‘shit’ in front of Tori. She won’t care, but my dad gets grumpy about it.” Conor rubbed his hands on his jeans; he felt as nervous as Derek looked. “This’ll be fun,” he said with ominous cheer.
Conor was glad they’d settled on a night when Aunt Linda wasn’t over for dinner, too—Conor would have appreciated the support, but it was one less person to stare at Derek. Tori was all wide eyes and nervous gulps when he came in, as though she expected a biker gang to follow, while their dad made everything stiff and formal with a firm handshake and gruff questions. Fortunately, Derek got over his anxiousness as soon as he saw the food, acting like what was to Conor a painfully boring meal of his grandmother’s lasagna, salad, and rolls, was a feast, and dug into his plate with unfeigned enthusiasm.
“How’s school, Derek?” his dad asked. “Any trouble making up the classes you missed?” Conor shot his father a look, annoyed at any hint of jail talk, but he continued, “I know Conor had to do a couple make-up exams when he got back.”
Derek kept working on his lasagna, unconcerned. “Most of my teachers weren’t too thrilled to see me back—they were probably betting on me getting locked up for good—but I got all the grades I need. I just have to finish up a couple papers and I’m outta there.”
“And just a couple more weeks until graduation,” Conor said.
Derek reached for another roll. “Yeah, you won’t see me at that.”
“What? Come on, you have to go.” Conor was looking forward to seeing Derek go up to get his diploma, more than he was to getting his own.
“Not up to me. I got called down to talk to that ass—” He shot a guilty glance at Tori. “—assistant principal—”
“Who some call the vice-principal,” Conor put in.
“And they’re gonna send me my diploma, but they don’t want me at the ceremony.” He shrugged. “Said I would be a disruptive influence. Whatever. I just want the paper, wearing a dumb cap and gown isn’t a big deal.”
“Fuck that,” Conor said. They all looked at him, but Conor was fuming. “You worked for that. You earned it. They can’t stop you from going to the ceremony.”
“’course they can,” Derek said. “Don’t you listen to all those morning announcements? Grad ceremony is a privilege, not a right, blah blah—it’s the only reason seniors show up for class now, they don’t want to get busted for attendance. Huh. I guess I don’t have go now.”
“Cool,” Tori said.
“No,” Conor and his dad said at the same time, though for different reasons.
“It’s not right,” Conor said. “We should do something. Talk to the newspaper. Maybe one of those petitions people at school are always trying to get kids to sign.”
Derek laughed and then hastily covered his mouth with a napkin. “You kidding?” he said, once he’d chewed. “There’s probably a petition to get me outta there. Everyone at school hates my guts.”
“Not everyone,” Conor said.
Derek looked at him fondly from across the table. “You’re a petition of one, Gillis.”
“Oooh, kiss him.” Tori made smooching noises at Conor, but stopped abruptly when Derek looked at her. Derek winked at Tori and went back to his food.
“Conor.” His dad cleared his throat. “Maybe you should let this go—” He shook his head and shrugged. “What am I saying? Of course you won’t. Never mind.”
“Is there any more lasagna?” Derek asked. “It was really good. I mean, please?”
Conor’s dad smiled for the first time that night, and something loosened in Conor’s chest. “Yes,” his dad said to Derek, “I think we can find you another piece.”
The vice-principal was happy to meet with Conor, and even happier to discuss graduation, though it turned out what Mr. Edelson really wanted to talk about was the graduation dance.
The graduation dance was a big deal at their school. Mostly because it had been merged with the senior prom—as a cost-saving measure, but also to encourage students to actually graduate, always an iffy proposition in their town.
“We have Dave, of Dave’s Party Palace, providing the music, but some of your fellow students have expressed an interest in having you perform as well.”
“Really?”
“There’s been a petition,” the vice-principal said, looking slightly pained. “Normally I don’t put much stock in these things, but this one has been signed by nearly every member of the senior class. You should be flattered, Mr. Gillis. I don’t think I’ve seen a groundswell of support like this since the walkouts to bring French fries back to the cafeteria menu.”
“Wow,” Conor said, because that was surprising. “I’d be happy to do a few songs.”
“Excellent.” The vice-principal beamed. “The local news outlets have been asking about your graduation; this kind of coverage could really help with our fund-raising drive for the new scoreboard for the football field.”
Conor pressed his lips together and didn’t say anything about how the music programs at the school had been cut while the football team played on. “Like I said, I’d be happy to do it, but I do have some concerns,” Conor said. “I mean there are certain legal elements involved for me now. I have to talk to my manager. The thing is, I’m under contract. I’m not even sure if I’m technically allowed to perform for free anymore.” Conor was making all this up as he went.
The vice-principal frowned. “We can’t offer you any financial compensation,” he said hastily. “The budget is too tight, though perhaps if we go with a lesser lighting package from Party Dave we could manage some kind of honorarium?”
“Nothing like that. I’m more than willing to insist on doing this for pro bono, no matter what the lawyers say. And to talk about the school and the football team to the press. About how this new… scoreboard is so important—”
“Exactly,” Mr. Edelson said, relaxing back into his chair. “We want to emphasize what the team—and the school—means to the community.”
“I’d definitely do that. The senior class is like one big family, really. But it would be hard to go up there and perform knowing that not everyone from our class is there. Both at the dance and the graduation ceremony…”
Conor crossed the parking lot, heading for Megan’s car. He had his head down, looking at his phone, which was becoming a habit for him. But he was trying to learn from his mistakes with Megan and Ali and be better at keeping in touch with people. He had emails and texts to answer from Jesse in L.A., Madison in Kentucky, Emerson in Georgia, and Toby and Darleen in Portland. Even Crystal had heard that he was going to be looking for an apartment and had taken it upon herself to send him regular, and crazily detailed, updates on listings and critiques of various Los Angeles neighborhoods.
So he didn’t notice when Brent and Harris ambled into his path, only coming to a stop at the last second before he crashed into the solid wall they presented.
“Look who it is.” Brent grinned unpleasantly. “Good old fire crotch.”
“I hear you’re some kinda gay boy now,” Harris sneered.
“No,” Conor said mildly, “I always was.”
His answer seemed to momentarily confuse them and Conor made to skirt around. They shifted to block him as quickly as their lumpish forms would allow. Conor sighed and squared his shoulders, bracing himself for whatever they were about to dish out. It was the parking lot of the school, with lots of people around, so they likely wouldn’t do more than shove him, but they were known for their quick sucker punches if they thought they wouldn’t get caught.
“What the fuck did I tell you?” a familiar voice said behind Conor.
Conor turned. Derek was standing there, looking both very angry and very sexy, though the latter was probably wasted on Brent and Harris. They caught onto the former pretty fast, though, and stood back from Conor.
Harris raised his hands. “You
used to say not to mess with him ’cause he was helping you cheat on exams and stuff. But that’s all over now, right?”
Derek rolled his eyes. “School’s not done yet, moron. Something might come up.”
That seemed to be enough for Harris, but a strange expression came over Brent’s face, like the rusted gears of his brain were slowing turning. It looked painful. His face suddenly went slack and open-mouthed, so that Conor wondered if Brent’s brain had given up completely, but then he pointed at Derek.
“Holy shit,” Brent said. “This ain’t about school. All that talk about us leaving him alone and how you’re lookin’ at him all the time. You and him—fuck, man, you’re totally gay for fire crotch!”
Derek’s face went dangerously still. Harris looked from Derek to Brent and back again, sensing that something vital had shifted in the power balance of his world. As the silence dragged out, Harris made his choice.
“Gay,” he snickered.
Conor dropped his backpack to the ground and tensed, hoping that he’d be able to pull Derek off of them before he killed someone, or worse, got himself expelled. But Derek didn’t move, just stared at his two now laughing minions. And then—Derek Folsom, terror of the school—Derek turned and ran.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When Megan dropped Conor off at home, Derek’s car was in the driveway and Derek himself was sitting on the porch, looking miserable.
Megan’s eyes were huge. Conor didn’t think she had entirely believed Conor about him and Derek until now. “I guess I’ll just leave you to all that,” she said, waving a hand nervously in Derek’s direction. “Good luck.”
Derek stood up as soon as Conor approached. “Did they touch you?” he demanded. “I swear I’ll kill them if—”
“No, it was okay,” Conor said. Actually, after Derek had fled, it had been really awkward, and Brent and Harris had just shuffled and mumbled. They’d finally all gone off in different directions, avoiding each other’s eyes.