“If I don’t, she’ll come here. I saw you, you heard. She’d bring the cops even if they couldn’t do anything. I don’t want her coming here.” Open. Close.
Open.
Close.
“Will you take me home, please?” He asks, his rising panic hurts my heart. The last thing either of us needs is for him to have a meltdown.
“Do you still want me to hang with you at work tomorrow?”
A Ridley smile, even through the mounting attack.
“Yeah, I’ll take you home.”
Fifteen minutes Rid lives from me. Fifteen minutes, and his mother stands out on her front lawn, arms crossed over her chest, where she’s probably been since he hung up on her at my house, scowling at me through my windshield as I park in the drive.
“I’ll talk to her.” Ridley seems ashamed, rocking ever-so-slightly in the seat and chipping at his fingernails instead of talking directly to me. “You promise to show up tomorrow?”
“Promise.”
You would think he’s turning ten not twenty with the way she scolds him all the way inside the house. It takes everything in me not to get out, to defend him. It’s just not my place, not yet. I get the feeling it will be my place soon. Very soon.
Chapter Three
Once again, at shift leads to after shift.
Just as promised, I show up the next day to hang with him at his job. Despite the noise from all the carnival goers which make it kind of hard to hear. Or the interruptions from the guys and girls who want to show off their strength by hitting that bell, we spend his entire work day talking more.
And I make my presence known.
At least I tell myself I’m there to make my presence known. Gabe and his buddies do show back up, but they never approach us. The reality is after hanging with Rid the day before and having him over for dinner, playing video games with him, I just enjoy his company.
Instead of going right home after he clocks out, we follow the boardwalk down the block to his favorite ice cream parlor. The sun is shining bright and there’s a warm breeze blowing off the water. The strong smell of salt permeates everywhere. I go to walk inside but he tugs on my arm to hold me back. “Listen,” he orders, then pushes the door open.
Immediately the store fills with, “Ice cream… ice cream… come and get your ice cream,” sung in a high-pitched, auto-tuned voice where there would normally be a chime. It’s happy inside and I get why Rid loves it here.
All the staff knows him by name calling out their, “Hey, Ridley” or “Ridley, good to see you.” A lonely homeschooled kid would feel like he had friends in a place like this.
There’s a big sign above the menu hanging on the back wall that says: Home of 53 Flavors, which seems oddly specific. Like fifty felt too few but no one was creative enough to hit sixty?
They offer free samples, so I sample all fifty-three flavors. I mean, they made the rules. I’m just a player in the game. While I decide on mine, Rid orders a double waffle cone of mint-chocolate chip-julip and cherry cordial. I choose a double waffle of honey-lemon-ginger and Matcha green tea.
So damn good.
We drive to his house licking our ice creams and listening to the radio. He relaxes in the seat. Shoulders loose and a smile so big two dimples pop out at the corners of his mouth.
No surprise, his mother has a ‘no shoes on in the house’ rule. We kick them off at the front door and he leads me upstairs without giving a tour. Or offering a drink, which I could really use a water after eating such a rich treat.
In his room, one wall is dedicated to DC and the opposite to Marvel. I walk slowly perusing the artwork and collectables he has on display.
“Can I?” I ask, talking about a Superman-esque action figure wearing a purple suit with a backward S on his chest. I’m not in to superheroes, so I have no clue who this guy is.
Rid nods. “Bizarro Superman,” he says.
I pick him up to examine the plastic man’s details, then keep Bizarro Superman in my hand while I walk the rest of the perimeter, checking everything out, and apparently stepping over an imaginary line. Rid throws his hand out.
“No.”
Okay. I stop midstep.
“Separate universes,” he explains.
And never the twain shall meet. Fair enough, I turn around to set Bizarro back down on his shelf before continuing on to Marvel-land. I don’t get it, but then again, I don’t have to.
We talk more and watch a movie about space aliens taking over the earth until his mom gets home. To say she’s not happy to see me is an understatement.
In lieu of a hello, she says, “I have to make dinner now.” And she walks into the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Rid says after she’s out of earshot. “Will you hang out tomorrow?” The relaxed atmosphere we had going all day today vanished the moment that woman walked through the door. Now his shoulders look stiff and there’s a sadness to his voice.
“You know it.” I shove his arm like I’d do with any guy friend and get the hell out of there because what I really want to do is kiss him goodbye.
***
Tomorrow leads to everyday.
Weeks have passed.
It’s his day off so we decided to hang out at the beach, inevitably with me bringing him several miles down from the public areas, to my favorite place in Atlantic City. This private jetty made from giant stones and cement pieces. The most beautiful spot in New Jersey.
“Rid?” I ask. He leans against the giant rock, gazing out at the massive expanse of water. But even with this view, I can’t look anywhere but at him.
Ridley hasn’t been opening and closing his fists as much as before, and he looks at me when he talks more often than not. Actually looks at me. It fills my heart with I don’t even know. Just that I never want him to look anywhere else, ever.
He’s my best friend, but that thing which took root inside me the day I met him has been steadily growing. Although he’s never said that he’s falling for me, from the way he acts when we’re together, I think it’s growing in him too. We’re more than regular best friends. That I’m sure of. What I’m not sure of, what I need to know, is where will this end up?
Time to pull out the big questions. The ones I’ve been avoiding to keep him from feeling pressured. And if I’m being honest with myself, to keep him from freaking out and cutting ties with me altogether. Because that would royally suck.
I pull in a breath—here goes everything—“Have you ever kissed a boy before?”
And I lose him. Body goes rigid. Gaze drops to our feet. Hands drop to his hips. Open. Close. Open. Close. Zero eye contact.
“Rid?” I ask again. I want those big, beautiful hazels back.
“No,” he whispers.
No? No he never kissed a boy or no he won’t answer me?
An overwhelming urge to feel him takes over and I reach out to run my finger up his arm. The goosebumps raise under my touch, giving me an idea of his answer and empowering me to keep going. “What about now, are you interested in kissing men?”
I know what he’s told me about attractions in the past, but I’m also not stupid enough to think his mother’s brainwashing couldn’t have an effect on him.
He sighs long and loud. “No.”
Oh. This again?
“Not men...”
Well dammit, I called this one wrong.
“Man,” he continues.
Oh?
Rid, man, don’t keep me hanging here.
“Do I know this man?” I ask. Fingers crossed. He has my full attention.
Half his mouth spreads into a Ridley smirk. The one which never ceases to melt my heart. And he looks up through his lashes. Straight-up crazy, unadulterated desire rushes through my veins when he looks at me through those lashes. It’s his most powerful weapon.
“Yes,” he answers.
“What’s his name?” I figure I know, but it’s good to get the verbal confirmation, just the same.
My confidence may hav
e been my undoing because poof. Ridley doesn’t just not look at me through those lashes any longer, he turns his whole body away from me.
Well, that clearly went the wrong direction.
I’m about to implement damage control by changing the subject when—concentrating hard on his feet—he answers, “Leif. Fraser.”
Yes.
I fist-pump the air.
“Would you kiss me, Rid?”
His hands.
Open. Close.
Open. Close.
Open.
Close.
“You want me to kiss you?” he asks, not totally shy. More shy-surprised.
“Only if you want to.” I reach out to tug lightly on his shirt sleeve in an effort to ease some of his hesitance and awkwardness.
Open.
It doesn’t work. “I won’t be very good,” he tells me, and it sounds a little bit shy-sad.
Close.
“How do you know if you don’t try? My ex, the guy from school, said I wasn’t any good. That’s why he broke up with me last year. So maybe you won’t like kissing me.”
Admittedly, my dipwad ex wasn’t talking about a lip lock. Or hand jobs… or blowies. Mainly, he was talking about me not being any good as a boyfriend because I refused to let him stick anything more than a finger up my ass while we made out. But Ridley doesn’t need to know that.
Rid’s ears light up today not a little pink, but a bright red.
“I’ll like kissing you,” he insists and says it with as much certainty as I’ve ever heard come from him in the time we’ve been together. Did I just think been together? I mean, known each other. The time we’ve known each other.
“Where do you want to put your hands?”
“Can I touch your face?” On my nod to the affirmative, he places one heated hand against my cheek. “Can I touch your waist?” He asks softer, but with more confidence.
I nod again.
He positions his other hand fisting my shirt, just above my waist, actually. The enormousness of the moment hits me full-on in the chest. My knees turn liquid. My heart thumps hard and rhythmically. Sweat, yes sweat, speckles my forehead.
Oh man, I’m about to kiss Ridley McAllister.
The thing I’ve craved every day for weeks is about to become a reality.
I grip the T-shirt at each of his hips to avoid touching his skin. My palms are clammy and I don’t want him to know. I’m supposed to be the experienced one. I don’t want him to know how nervous and excited he makes me. How I’ve been dreaming of this moment since that day in front of the employees-only trailer at his work.
He cocks his head to the right and begins a slow descent. I counter with a head tilt to the left. A second goes by before his soft lips press against mine. From that first touch, I think my heart stops beating. Those hard, rhythmic thumps stop altogether, then electroshock themselves right back again. Much to my chagrin, the kiss goes quick, he pulls back just a hair and I’m scared he’s going to end it already. Yes, scared.
Ridley surprises me though, darting out the tip of his tongue, separating my lips. “I want to taste you,” he whispers against them, giving a little lick.
And I let him. Even tasting him back, because it’s Rid and I think I want everything with this man.
His actions get bolder the harder our lips move—devouring one another, and he drops the fist of fabric to glide his hand from just above my waist to cup my ass, pressing us tighter together. My hands are no longer clammy. Just eager to touch him.
While he holds my ass, I kind of paw at the man, even drawing this low keening from the back of my throat because with his mouth pressed to mine, it’s almost painful it’s so good. I’ve had my share of kisses. Never has one affected me the way his does. I may only be nineteen, but I can honestly say it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life.
When he finally pulls away, we both pant heavily, flushed skin, the works. Oh, and I’m turned right the hell on. So much, I immediately miss his lips.
“So… are you my boyfriend now?”
“Do you want me to be your boyfriend?” I ask. He bites his lip. Ears bright red again. But no eye contact.
“Yes.”
“Well, you have to ask me then. Look at me and ask me to be your boyfriend.”
Open. Close.
Open. Close.
Open.
He does it. He looks me directly in the eyes for the briefest moment. I watch the pain and panic spread behind those glorious flecks of yellow, brown and green, but he does it. Ridley looks me in the eyes, blinks and asks, “Leif, be my boyfriend?”
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Even though for an autistic, I know it was. “Yes, Rid, I’d love to.”
Here I thought after knowing him these few weeks, I had all his smiles figured out. And the guy smiles a lot. They seem to be his main form of communication. But once he releases his lip, the smile he levels on me, blows every other one out of the water.
It’s infectious. He smiles. I smile. Until his hands grope my butt again. His lips slam against mine a little harder than necessary. I don’t want to say anything to embarrass him. Ridley took control. This is a huge moment for him. For us.
And by the end of our second kiss, I’m absolutely certain my worst case scenario has been realized. I’m falling in love with Ridley McAllister.
A Ms. McAllister freak-out looms over us just an uncomfortable conversation away. Ms. McAllister, Ms. I learned because she never married Rid’s father and she’s a modern woman. Modern with the exception of believing her autistic son can be gay.
Ms. McAllister has met me on several occasions since Rid’s brought me to play PlayStation at his house almost every night after shift, or his days off we spend hanging out because she doesn’t want him at my house. And even though she clearly sees us growing close, has neglected to upgrade me to calling her Jen.
Deep down, in the dirtiest, most cobweb ridden recesses of her mind, she has to know what Rid and I have growing between us. There’s how friends act. There’s how more than friends act.
Whether we mean to or not, we act the latter. Touching a little longer than necessary. Tickling. Our thighs touching when we sit playing our favorite MLB, at first butts to the floor, leaning back against the bed up in his room. Then from the sofa, knees bent and feet up on the coffee table in the living room where she insisted we move because she “doesn’t want us bringing food to Rid’s room.”
Right.
When I chose a college two states away, part of my decision, a big part, was so I could have this, right here. Who would’ve thought I’d find him at home for the summer?
“Let’s sit.” Rid searches my face, landing on my left ear as his focus spot. He has something to discuss. I move from his embrace hopping up onto the flat surface of the rock facing the ocean. He hops up next to me.
I’d found this secluded jetty years ago and have been coming here to think, or in the few times I got the chance, to make out with other boys who weren’t ready to come out either. Boys like Gabe Cera.
“What’s up?” I ask. Putting my hand on his arm to still his restless movements after he takes up five minutes to find a comfortable spot, which really means avoiding whatever he wants to talk about. “Come on, Rid. Don’t shy up on me now. What’s on your mind?”
“I really liked kissing you.”
A soft “sss” laugh escapes through my nose. “That’s good,” I tell him. “Because I did too. You’re a natural.”
“I want to kiss you more often.”
“My lips are your lips, Rid.”
“I um…don’t know the rules,” he says then. The rules? “I’ve never dated. Mom says I have a couple more years before I’m allowed to date.”
“A couple years? Rid, you turn twenty next month.”
He shrugs.
“She says I don’t understand enough of how the world works to mix myself up in a relationship.”
“Do you agree?”
“No. I might not
always understand my surroundings, but I know how I feel. And I promised her I wouldn’t get a girl pregnant.”
Holy shit. He said that to his mother?
“I’m going to kiss you again.”
Our lips brush, one, two, three brushes before he has enough of my teasing and takes control of the kiss, kissing me hard and deep. No tongue, just lips. His hands hold my chin to keep me where he wants me. Beautiful. It’s like in those stupid, sappy chick flicks Amanda used to make me watch. Where one character says to another, “I felt you down to my very soul.” I never believed in that, never believed a person or a kiss could be felt ‘down to my very soul’. Until now. Until Ridley.
When he pulls back just enough for us to suck in a breath, he whispers against my lips, “I know how I feel about you.”
Score.
My new boyfriend moves at lightning speed.
He wants to see me without my shirt.
He takes off my shirt.
He wants to feel us skin to skin.
He takes off his shirt.
We spend the next few hours making out under the warm summer sun, golden rays lighting up the water, glittering off the waves making the ocean look gilded. We kiss and hold each other. Feel each other up. Over the pants, I don’t want to push Ridley too far his first make-out session. Until the warm breeze stops being warm and starts to chill our bare skin.
Then just for fun, we walk a ways down the beach. The man will be turning twenty in less than a month. Less than a month and he still has a curfew.
Ridley looks far away, which I’ve found for an autistic—they tend to look far away at most times—is saying something.
“Now what’s wrong?” I ask, sliding the hand I had holding his waist into his back pocket. And stop us, so we’re both staring out at the water.
“You’re going back to school in August.” He sounds not sad, more… reflective.
“Yeah.”
“My mom doesn’t know, I got accepted to Atlantic Tech.”
“I go to Atlantic Tech.”
“I know.”
He knows.
Of course he knows.
With all our getting to know each other, I avoided sharing that little nugget of information about myself to avoid thinking about leaving Rid.
Summer of the Boy Page 3