Right here, on the street, with no one following us, I want to know what it would be like to be with someone for real and how a relationship would fit into my life after the media shit storm dies down.
“Small things amuse small minds, right?” Noah says, gesturing to our hands.
“This isn’t small. Not for me.”
He winces. “Sorry. But I’ve been holding guys’ hands for … what, eight years in public? It’s easy to take that for granted.”
“If you’re not cool with it, it’s okay. I just wanted to know what it was like.” I try to pull out of Noah’s grasp, but he holds my hand tighter.
“I’m okay with it. It just felt … boyfriendly, and I haven’t had one of those in a long time for a reason.”
After finding out the exact reason why, I can’t blame Noah for being closed off. “All good,” I say, but I still don’t let go of his hand. The fact something so small is a massive accomplishment depresses the shit outta me. How is it I’m a twenty-three-year-old guy and something I should’ve experienced when I was a teenager brings a giant smile to my face?
“Where are we going?” Noah asks.
“I saw a coffee shop up here. I want to take advantage of going out while we can. In a few days, it’ll go back to everything being crap.”
“You storm into my room and wake me up so we can go get coffee? Had you let me sleep, it would negate the need for coffee. Also, the more we go out, the higher chance we have of being spotted.”
“I’m taking whatever the world is willing to give me. I can’t stay in your house all day every day. I will literally go crazy. I also need to find a gym close by that has day passes.”
Noah stops walking. “I was going to keep it a secret, because I knew I’d lose you as soon as you found out, but my basement is full of gym equipment. You can work out there while you’re staying with me.”
“How long were you going to keep it a secret?”
“Until you asked me. And, look at that”—Noah checks his Rolex—“you lasted a suck, a fuck, and twelve more hours.”
“You have such a way with words.”
His carefree attitude toward everything is enviable. His life is far from perfect like I thought, but he doesn’t let any of it get to him. At least, not on the outside.
I tug on his hand and bring him close to me. He grunts as he runs into my hard body.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Know what else I’ve never done in public?”
Noah’s eyes dart around the street. “You can’t give me a blowjob here … oh wait, you have done that in public before.”
I pinch his ass. “Not that. And the club doesn’t count. The only reason that was public was because of those stupid photos.”
“So, what haven’t you done in public?”
“Kiss me,” I demand.
“Is that a direct order?”
“Just do it already.”
Noah leans in. “That’s what you’ll be screaming later.”
My laughter is cut off by his lips on mine, and it’s pathetic that I get an adrenaline spike from Noah kissing me on the side of the street. I don’t know what it is about his mouth, whether it’s the fact it likes to take charge and control my own or that this guy turns me on so much I’d be happy with any form of physical affection from him, but what I do know is I want more of him. I want anything he’s willing to give me, even if it’ll only be brief.
When Noah pulls back, I try to stop him—I want more—but he doesn’t let me. “I’d love to keep kissing you right now, and though we’re not in some small town in Tennessee, sometimes people aren’t so cool about seeing two dudes make out. Even in New York. Sad but true.”
“Right.” Of course. I may have this new level of freedom, but that doesn’t mean society won’t try to shove me back in my cage.
Noah still holds my hand as we walk, and I love the feel of his smooth skin against my calluses. “Besides, if we kept going, it was going to turn into way more than kissing, and indecent exposure is a crime for some stupid reason.”
I make a mental note to contact Damon and thank him for setting me up with Noah. He’s becoming the exact thing I need in my life right now. His confidence and don’t-give-a-shit outlook on life is enviable, and I want to be like him. Maybe not the relationship phobia, but I can’t say I wouldn’t be the same way if my dad did what his did. Had I been straight and had a girlfriend, I reckon my dad would’ve done everything in his power to make her disappear. Maybe if I was straight, I wouldn’t have made it to the NFL at all, because I wouldn’t have used football to hide behind. Maybe I’d be in the neighboring trailer next to my sister and her boyfriend with a baby momma and six kids.