Page 35 of The Kiss Principle

He shut the door on his way out.

I waited until the sound of his steps had moved away. His door clicked shut. Then I got out of bed, turned off the lights, and locked the door. I used the towel to get as much of the oil off my back as I could; I hadn’t been lying when I told him my back felt better. It felt great, in fact. Better than it ever had since the accident. Then I spread out the towel and lay down again. I closed my eyes. I told myself to go to sleep.

I lasted about five minutes.

I dragged my boxers down around my thighs. My dick was still hard, and my hand was slick with oil. I found my phone. I was already right on the edge, so I just held my dick and scrolled.

It wasn’t the first time I’d watched gay porn. Sometimes, it hit right. Maybe that made me bi. Maybe it made me curious. I didn’t know, and I didn’t particularly care. One afternoon, when I’d been twelve and babysitting Augustus, I’d beat off with Cesar Davila, and I’d let him finish me. He’d liked it, liked the way I came in his hand. And even back then, I’d been smart enough to know it didn’t matter if the other person was a guy or a girl as long as you liked it, you wanted it.

When I settled on a video, I refused to think about why. One of the guys was white, muscular, a daddy type. The other was Latino, with a mop of dark hair and full lips and a smile that spread across his face like honey. It started with a blow job,and when the daddy type pulled the Latin kid off his cock, the younger guy looked blissed out, his lips swollen and shiny, his chin glistening with spit and pre. The daddy turned him over, held him by the back of the neck, and fucked him hard.

I wasn’t even sure I moved my hand. One second, I was holding myself, fingers aching. The next, I started to come, my oily fingers tight around my dick, giving stiff, frantic jerks as I moved too late into the orgasm.

I caught the edge of it and wrung myself through the finish. For a moment, every inch of me was alive and shining. And then it was past, and I felt loose and relaxed, the smell of my load mixing with the piney-sage fragrance of the oil. The video was still playing, the bottom whimpering. His voice was too high, I thought as I fumbled to turn it off. He doesn’t sound like that at all.

After cleaning myself up, I didn’t last long. Sleep trickled in, filling all the quiet spaces around me. My last clear thought was: You are a fucking idiot.

11

“Because if I wanted a human-sized pile of dickcheese stealing my shit,” I shouted, “I’d put a call out on Prowler!”

“You’re being ridiculous, Fernando.” Mom was doing one of her better tricks, putting on an earring as she stepped into her heels. “Cannon didn’t steal anything.”

The dickcheese in question was hiding behind her, shoulders hunched. “Like, bro—”

“The adults are talking,” I told him. “Shut the fuck up!” To Mom, I said, “That was my watch. Mine. And now it’s gone because this little fuck-funnel hocked it!”

“Please don’t be so dramatic.” She did the next earring. “Cannon didn’t take your watch.”

“Well, it’s gone! What the fuck do you think happened? Did it grow a pair of legs?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, dear. It’ll turn up.” She pulled her hair over one shoulder and gave Cannon a smile. I recognized that smile. It was the see-how-hard-my-life-is smile. The look-what-I-put-up-with smile. “We’ll get you a new one. That watch was ancient, Fernando. We’ll find you something much nicer.”

“Augustus gave me that watch.”

Frowns meant frown lines, so Mom didn’t frown. But she did purse her lips. “I don’t remember that.”

“Big fucking surprise. You were probably at Camp Vicodin!”

The sound of TV voices, some sort of children’s program, filled the chasm between us. Mom’s eyes welled with tears.

“Bro,” Cannon said apologetically, “now I’m going to have to fight you.”

“Do it, jizz lips. Take one fucking step.”

Mom put a hand on his chest. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

Cannon’s face melted into sympathy, and he clutched her hand.

I slammed the door on my way out of the room.

Zé was out on the deck, walking Igz. His eyebrows were drawn down. His mouth was tight.

“Get your shit,” I said.

The wind pulled at his hair. Behind him, sunlight caught the haze over the valley. He rubbed Igz’s back, his eyes moving over my face.

“Are you deaf?” I waited, but he still didn’t say anything. “We’re leaving.”

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