Page 71 of Lost Boy
She nods once, going back to her toddlers as the teenager strolls toward me.
“Sup? Name’s Rhett. You want a pic?” He holds his hand out, silently expecting me to place my phone in his palm.
“Yeah, dude. Thanks. And my name's Ryder.”
“Sure thing.”
Fallon is still perched on top of the sign, and I smile, thinking about everyone that just drove by in the last five minutes. Their photo included an emo boy with blue hair sitting on top.
Sounds like an awesome pic, so I snap one of just Fallon before handing my phone to the kid.
I jog over and stand next to the sign, smiling as Rhett snaps photos. “I’m in photography,” he tells us. “So these should be pretty close to professional quality.”
Yeah. Okay. Sure, kid.
But I say, “Nice, dude!” instead.
“Look out!” he shouts back, and I’m confused for a split second before a heavy weight lands on my back.
Oof.
I stumble two steps before I regain my balance and grab his knees.
Strawberries and fresh linen surround me, and I laugh freely, Rhett taking candid photos of us the whole time.
A low, rumbly laugh filters into my ears, and I’m stunned. It’s amazing. Incredible. I need to hear it again.
Louder. More.
Obsession is too light a word. My insides are raving, and my dick is filling.
Fallon laughs again, and a shiver races down my spine. The rough sound is toe-curling. It’s like being in the presence of a rare, beautiful flower that only blooms once every century.
He gives me a quick squeeze before letting go and hopping down.
Rhett comes running over with a giant smile on his face. “These are awesome! Look!” He shoves my phone in my face, and I rear back to get a better look.
I take it and flip through the photos, angling it so that Fallon can see.
“These are so good, Rhett. You were right; theseareprofessional. You got major talent, little dude.”
They really are good, and there’s no point in not pumping him up. Rhett beams back at me, a slight rosy tint filling his cheeks. “Thanks, man!”
“Rhett, hun! Time to go before your father starts to worry!” his mom shouts.
“Coming!” he hollers back before turning toward me again. He pulls his beanie off and runs an awkward hand through his shaggy brown hair.
“Uh. You got Insta or something? Maybe we could take more photos later? Like for my class or something?”
I glance at Fallon and catch the tiny little smirk on his lips before he hides it by chewing on his lip ring. I can feel the happy energy radiating from him, and if surprise-attack piggyback rides and getting hit on by a nice little fifteen-year-old is what does it, sign me up for that shit every fucking day. Because this vibrant aura of his right now? It’s positively angelic.
“Sure, dude. What’s your handle?” I ask the kid.
Rhett spells it out for me, and I follow him. “I’ll tag you in the pic. Give you photo cred and all that.”
“Thanks!”
“Rhett! Let’s go!” his mom hollers for the second time.
