Becoming Brett

27. A Wedge

Fingers dig through my curls pulling me closer as James deepens our kiss. He's stronger today, more needy as he holds me close in the quiet dark doorway of the production room tucked down the deserted hallway halfway between our classes.

I don't mind days like this when James isn't as gentle, when he's more aggressive and hungry than normal. But it makes my unease of us only heighten when he's like this at school. In the safety of my wagon at our spot, it's not a big deal. When it's at school and anyone can see us, it is a huge deal.

He shifts on his feet, steady as always but I trip over both our feet. He grips me tighter for just a moment before my back hits the cement block wall knocking all the air from my lungs and his lips find mine again.

"Ja.." I mumble against his lips, my hands braced against his chest because as badly as I want to kiss him like this, this is not the place.

Someone could see us.

"James." I force his name out, pushing against his chest.

"It's fine, no ones around." He shifts his attention to my neck, leaning down because he's taller than I am.

I hate constantly being stuck between what I want to be and what I should be. Everything feels right with James, except he's James and I'm Brett and if my dad ever found out he'd at the very least disown me.

One time Wes was over and his tics were bad, I reached over to grab his hand because touch helps give his mind something to focus on rather than his tics. My dad walked in, his eyes lingering on our hands before he went about his business. But it was later, after Wes had left that he said something about it.

That men don't hold hands with other men. I got a lecture about how I needed to make sure I wasn't being swayed by the media and the twisted ways society is trying to make us blind to all the twisted things people have succumbed to. Like two men being married or a woman identifying as a man.

He followed it up with concerns about Wes and his influence on me. Was Wes "confused?", "misled?", "one of those?".

No, he wasn't. I was. But I didn't say that.

I just reassured my dad that Wes was the least of his worries.

"James." I'm urgent, a little frantic really pushing harder into his broad chest. My fingertips dig into the soft material of his shirt meeting the toned muscles that lie beneath.

And then he's gone. The pressure of his body against mine lessens until it disappears all together and his hands leave my hair and this ache rips through my body so hard at his sudden absence.

He lets out a sigh. A frustrated one.

"I'm sorry." I say instantly.

He shakes his head, his dark hair remains in place. "It's fine."

It's not fine. I can hear that it's not fine.

"J..."

"It's fine Brett." He leans back against the wall that adjoins to mine, his neck stretched backward, his head resting on the block wall.

My eyes linger on his exposed neck, the curve of his Adam's apple, the way his jaw meets his neck and the urge to kiss him there overwhelms me.