Page 38 of Forgotten
I reach for his waist and I lean into him, way too close for my comfort. His neck smells expensive and being this close to him reminds me I should have jerked off before leaving the house. Now I’m just horny and Ford is not here and why are these two concepts connected anyway? I just miss my friend.
My eyes focus on James and I bring my mouth close to his ear.
“Let’s go,” I tell him softly, hoping I’m not being creepy.
When I pull back I ignore the panicked expression on James’ face and I lead him towards a side door.
Together we step out into the freezing January night and I stop to look around. I hadn’t realised it had started snowing. The town is still around us and the white flakes almost feel warm as they touch my forehead and my cheeks. One lands on my nose and as I cross my eyes to peek at it, I catch James staring at me. Right.
“Look, I don’t really want to be intimate with you.” James begins to excuse himself, but I got this rehearsed since our first date.
It hadn’t been a bad date. James and I had met over the Christmas holidays and we had gone to the cinema. It was a convenient location about half way from our houses and we had met there half an hour before the film was supposed to start.
Never in my life had I felt antsier. James insisted on paying for tickets and we discussed where to sit. Then, I insisted on paying for snacks and we discussed popcorn and sweets. When the film started, James attempted to hold my hand and we silently discussed the hand placement. I never realised that there is one proper side of holding hands and one side that is totally wrong. Apparently, James really wanted to hold my hand the wrong side up. After the film had ended, we discussed who was supposed to walk whom home and ended up sharing a weird circumstantial kiss in front of the cinema. Then, we each went our own ways.
I have been contemplating how to tell James just how wrong we are for each other ever since.
Now, over a fortnight later, I’m ready to actually put an end to this.
“Oh, trust me, I don’t want to hook up either,” I clarify.
James lets out a long breath that should make me feel humiliated if I did not share the same relief. He chuckles adorably and leans with his back against the wall of the pub, looking up at the snow.
“Thank God,” he says, closing his eyes.
I observe him and it is no surprise his friends call him Prince James. He’s beautiful, straight out of a Mattel commercial. James is just perfect.
“My friends are obsessed with us.”
“Because we are both gay and out?” I ask him openly.
The lines on his forehead deepen and a snowflake falls on top of his lip. He catches it with his tongue and it should do something for me, shouldn’t it? Maybe my dick is defective. Maybe I’m not gay after all?
“Perhaps you’re right. I suppose they believe since I’m gay, I must be attracted to all boys. And the other boy being gay as well, then it would be a match made in heaven.” Pursing his lips, he clarifies, “the other boy being you.”
“I fucking figured.”
It’s probably the wrong thing to say. James furrows at the curse word and that reminds me what else went wrong during our date. James talks out of a Jane Austen novel, incredibly irritating and pretentious. It makes me feel self-conscious about my imperfect English accent, about the words I pick. It makes me feel like Daddycould show up any time, and my cheek tingles. No bad words, no cursing, stupid Ashley.
Suddenly I’m awkward on my feet, holding my drink in the freezing January night with a boy I kissed whom I did not want to kiss. I move next to James against the wall and mirroring him, I angle my head upwards and stick my tongue out to catch a snowflake.
“It was a fun date, though,” I offer half-heartedly.
“It most definitely was not.” Prince James emphasises thenotin the end and it makes me laugh.
“Okay. It was horrible. We could stay friends, though?”
James turns to look at me then and I meet his incredulous stare.
“We weren’t friends before.”
He has a point. James and Sydney have shared classes and are now in sixth form together, but James and I have never really hung out before. Probably never will. The thought I will most likely never speak to him again makes me bold.
“You think this makes us less gay?”
A small grin appears on James’ lips and it is the most genuine he has ever looked. He looks younger, careless and honestly, plain drunk. “Bollocks,” he says and then he angles his face to mine and kisses me.
And it must be the realisation that we do not have to date anymore that makes this kiss much better than the one we shared in front of the cinema. James pushes his tongue into my mouth and the kiss turns wet, exciting. There is no build up, no hesitation. I try my best to keepup. James moves his mouth against mine with determination, his hands on my shoulders, and he doesn’t stop until we’re both panting for air. When we separate he looks up at me with big eyes, and for the first time I notice how short he is compared to me. In the light of the streetlamp he almost looks cute.
