Summer Sweat (Spruce Texas)

“I know what you said, but your body’s sayin’ something else. Do you think Turtle noticed the bulge in your pants?”

I won’t dignify Hoyt’s question with a glance down at my own crotch. “I don’t care what my or your body is saying. We can’t do this and … and have ‘close calls’ and what-have-you. We’re just lucky it was him and not Emmalea, who’d ask every last question about what we were looking for, whether she can help us, and—”

“So?” He takes hold of me and goes for a kiss.

I’m not quick enough to stop him this time. And maybe a part of me—a very reckless, desperately horny part of me—wants to indulge in every last spark of desire bouncing around inside me. I don’t want to stop, either. I want to kiss him. And the more we kiss, the more I’m wanting to put my mouth in other places, too.

I break away from him. “Hoyt, it’s just a matter of time before someone catches us, and I am not ready for that nightmare.”

“Is it really such a nightmare? To be out and proud in a place like Spruce? It’s boring news, just like Lance said. Ain’t gotta be an announcement. Or some big speech at church like Chad did.”

“This isn’t just …” How do I put this without wounding Hoyt’s precious feelings? “This isn’t just about being gay. It’s …” I turn away with a huff and head for the door. “Forget it.”

Hoyt puts it together. “Wait a minute. You don’t care if people know about you. You care if people know about … us …?”

I stop at the door. “There isn’t any ‘us’, Hoyt. All we’ve done is kiss and annoy each other.”

“You don’t annoy me.”

“Yeah, well …” I have to let out a laugh. I can’t believe this is even something I’m having to deal with. Never in a billion years. “I am not gonna stand here and debate this with you, Hoyt. You and I are not something that’s gonna happen, regardless of how we feel. Sure, we might’ve used each other to, well, ‘discover’ ourselves …”

“Used each other …?”

“But now that that egg’s cracked wide open,” I go on, “you and I are free to … explore whatever the hell this means for either of us.”

Hoyt comes up to me and swats my hand off the handle to the sliding toolshed door. “Are you seriously tryin’ to tell me to go and find someone else to figure this out with?”

It’s not all that easy to push him away—whether physically or emotionally—when his pretty face is right the fuck there. I shrug. “Doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Someone more your speed.”

“More my speed?” He huffs. “You mean more my age.”

“You said it, not me.” I reach for the door handle again.

Again, he swats my hand away. Damn, he’s annoyingly affective at swatting my hand away. “Harrison, I don’t want to figure this out with someone else. I know you. I trust you. I started this with you. I want …” He makes weird, forceful gestures at himself. “I want to do whatever my body wants to do. With you. I fucking love it. And I want more of it. And I know you do, too.”

This boy is becoming a serious pain in my behind. “How in the world am I the best option for you? I’m just your default ‘cause I’m here. World’s a big place. And Spruce is even bigger.”

“That don’t even make no sense,” spits Hoyt.

Finally I snap, bringing my face right in front of his. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing either, Hoyt. I don’t know the first fucking thing. Hell, if we’re being technical here, you even had more experience than me before we kissed last night. Or at the side of my truck on the road. How exactly am I supposed to be any damned help when I don’t know anything about anything?”

“So let’s figure it out together!”

“I’m not figuring out anything with you except how to lose sleep and go gray at thirty!”

Hoyt reaches down and slaps his hand right into my crotch, grabbing a handful of me through my jeans—then squeezes, like he’s damned well claiming it as his.

I drop my jaw and stare at him. Our eyes are locked.

“What I’m hearing,” he says, “is that you lost sleep over me?”

“Hoyt …”

His squeezing, greedy hold turns into a massage. I should pry his hand off and shove him away, but every single cell in my body is now pointing straight to his fingers, which curl around my fast hardening dick. I don’t want him to let go. I fucking love what he’s doing and want more of it.

He brings his face close to mine—kissing close—but holds back as he peers into my eyes. “You gotta stop denying yourself.”