Page 10 of A Really Gay Book
“No problem,” I said in a husky voice. I was nervous, okay? I wasn’t used to being this close to other people. Everyone gave me a wide berth because no one wanted to get caught up in my aura of mayhem.
A tiny, shaking hand touched my shirt and fisted in the material.
I don’t know what possessed me, but something about that gentle, almost nonexistent tug caused me to dip my head and touch my lips to his.
It was fire. It was lightning. It was perfect.
I pressed into him and cupped the back of his neck like I was afraid he would get away. He seemed so ephemeral that it felt like he could have drifted out of my hold and dissipated on the wind.
In the distance, I heard, “Let’s try the next street. Maybe he’s there.”
Apple was making tiny gasping sounds, and I realized I’d completely invaded his mouth and personal space. I couldn’t get enough. I wanted to hear Apple make more noises. Louder noises. I wanted to hear him cry out loud enough for the entire street to hear.
There was a deafening crash beside us, and we sprang apart like cats getting hit with a bucket of water.
“Oh! Sorry, Apple. I didn’t see you there.” A young man holding a bag of garbage was standing next to a trash can at the end of the alley. He didn’t look like he hadn’t seen Apple. The glare he was leveling at me could have scoured the paint off a car.
The glare Apple was giving him was about a thousand times worse.
“Carl, we need to have a talk about your timing,” Apple said, turning to face our interrupter.
What the hell had I been thinking?
Clearly, I wasn’t. I backed out of the alley as Apple politely tore Carl a new asshole—verbally. The other way would have been something I couldn’t have walked away from. I think I would have carried Apple off with me if he’d even touched Carl right then.
There was something in me that had woken up during that kiss. It was loud and territorial. Borderline violent. In that imaginary scenario, Carl might not have been standing after I carried Apple away.
The thought terrified me, so I ran.
I didn’t fall down once.
* * *
I developed a bad habit, and it came on fast. For some ungodly reason, I couldn’t stop myself from following Apple. I didn’t notice what I was doing at first. Maybe I thought I was keeping track of him so I could keep my distance in case I went insane and kissed him again. But that didn’t explain why I now knew what the inside of his bedroom looked like. I didn’t need this information.
Except I really, really did.
So I’d found myself following him home and watching him until I had a rough idea of what the interior of his apartment looked like.
It was posh and expensive looking, just like Apple.
Was it just me, or did he seem lonely sitting by himself at his kitchen table?
Something in me needed to know more about Apple. Fuck. It needed to knoweverything.
I’d gone from someone who hated the ground he stood on, to another one of his fawning lackeys. I just wasn’t being as obvious about it as everyone else was.
Following him around had been a revelation. I’d been able to get much closer to him than I ever had before. Close enough to see the exhaustion painted across his face as he was inundated with unwanted gifts, requests for advice, and declarations of undying love.
The last category of people all ran into serious accidents after Apple managed to ditch them. I had nothing to do with those accidents. Really.
That pile of firewood had tipped over all on its own. So odd. At least as odd as how I’d come out from the situation unscathed even though I’d been standing right next to it.
That carafe of scalding hot coffee? No one saw me near it. So what if the table it had been sitting on had been graced with a loving touch by yours truly before a certain person sat down by it. No one could have proven a damn thing.
Regardless of what I may or may not have done, every single person who had hit on Apple would be too busy attending to their own recovery to bother him again any time soon.
There wasn’t much I could do to keep everyone else from trailing after Apple short of blowing my cover and barreling through his hangers-on like a snowplow. I wanted to, though. He was so obviously done with all the attention. How could no one else see it but me?
