Read Online St. Nacho's by Z. A. Maxfield - Free Book Online
Authors: Z. A. Maxfield
Tags: M/M romance
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watched the clouds too.
St. Nacho’s
35
He interlaced his fingers with mine, and we lay there for quite some time. “Is this what it’s supposed to be like?” I asked, forgetting that if he wasn’t watching my mouth he couldn’t hear me. The silence bore down on me, comfortable, familiar. The solid connection of our hands began to mean something to me, the ice cream forgotten. I turned to him and put my head on his chest so I could feel his heart beat. His hand came over to stroke my hair, and I felt contentment in his touch.
“I have always lived in silence, but I’ve never felt alone,” he remarked.
* * * * *
I wanted to stay there forever, but Shawn was restless and wanted to walk. We held hands and ambled along the beach, getting our feet wet and holding our shoes. I don’t think I’d ever done such a thing. Everything I did felt entirely unfamiliar, and it was so sharp with new emotions and sensations it was painful. I swallowed hard and followed along.
Sometimes something simple and relatively harmless would break over me like a wave.
It was like that the night we ate the ice cream. We returned to my room and he got to his knees and took me into his mouth, so determined to give me pleasure that I started to cry. I was grateful that he had no idea. By the time he looked at me again I was over it. This could not last. Sooner or later even this respite, this brief time in Santo Ignacio would end, and with it, whatever it was I had with Shawn. I didn’t want to get too used to it. I couldn’t.
* * * * *
Friday came, and I got the evening off to go to the play with Shawn. I can honestly say that I don’t actually remember ever going out on a date. Not like a real date, where a guy asked me out. I’d probably forgotten more of my life than I remembered, anyway.
I was completely floored when Shawn showed up in a car to take me out. I stared unmoving from the window of the studio, looking down from the bathroom onto the street below, and I felt frozen in place. Rigid. I couldn’t move. In that moment I realized I’d never told him I didn’t ride in cars. It had never come up. Everything in town was within walking distance, and I had my bike. I’d even gotten an extra helmet from Oscar for the evening assuming we’d take that.
He appeared to be waiting for me to come down. I took the stairs slowly, trying to think.
“Hey there,” said Jim. “Shawn’s outside.” I headed past him without saying anything.
Shawn was waving. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. He bussed me on the cheek and held the door open. I wasn’t really dressed like he was, but he said nothing. I looked at the car. This would be the first time in three and a half years. I took a deep breath. He took my elbow impatiently, and I yanked it away. I didn’t need help to get into a car. I swallowed and sat on the seat, sliding in. It was a Toyota Camry, a white nineties model, but well cared for. I 36 Z. A. Maxfield
buckled the lap belt, knowing the shoulder restraint would travel along a mechanism and pull tight around my chest as soon as Shawn keyed the ignition. I tried as hard as I could to breathe deeply and evenly. I told myself I could do it. I told myself it was a car, not a truck. I told myself it was Shawn driving, not…
“What’s with your face?” Shawn asked. I turned to him, pasting a smile on that I didn’t feel. “You want music?”
“Yeah,” I said stiffly.
“You pick,” he said, handing me a leather CD case.
It took a minute. I knew he could feel the thumping of the bass and the changes in tone and rhythm, but all those CDs seemed like a lot of expense to go through for that. I shook the case to get his attention. “Why?”
“They’re my sister’s. This is her car.” He looked at me as though he thought I should know that, and put his arm on the back of my seat, turning his whole body around to look behind as he began to back out of the parking space.
I exploded into action. I didn’t
St. Nacho’s
35
He interlaced his fingers with mine, and we lay there for quite some time. “Is this what it’s supposed to be like?” I asked, forgetting that if he wasn’t watching my mouth he couldn’t hear me. The silence bore down on me, comfortable, familiar. The solid connection of our hands began to mean something to me, the ice cream forgotten. I turned to him and put my head on his chest so I could feel his heart beat. His hand came over to stroke my hair, and I felt contentment in his touch.
“I have always lived in silence, but I’ve never felt alone,” he remarked.
* * * * *
I wanted to stay there forever, but Shawn was restless and wanted to walk. We held hands and ambled along the beach, getting our feet wet and holding our shoes. I don’t think I’d ever done such a thing. Everything I did felt entirely unfamiliar, and it was so sharp with new emotions and sensations it was painful. I swallowed hard and followed along.
Sometimes something simple and relatively harmless would break over me like a wave.
It was like that the night we ate the ice cream. We returned to my room and he got to his knees and took me into his mouth, so determined to give me pleasure that I started to cry. I was grateful that he had no idea. By the time he looked at me again I was over it. This could not last. Sooner or later even this respite, this brief time in Santo Ignacio would end, and with it, whatever it was I had with Shawn. I didn’t want to get too used to it. I couldn’t.
* * * * *
Friday came, and I got the evening off to go to the play with Shawn. I can honestly say that I don’t actually remember ever going out on a date. Not like a real date, where a guy asked me out. I’d probably forgotten more of my life than I remembered, anyway.
I was completely floored when Shawn showed up in a car to take me out. I stared unmoving from the window of the studio, looking down from the bathroom onto the street below, and I felt frozen in place. Rigid. I couldn’t move. In that moment I realized I’d never told him I didn’t ride in cars. It had never come up. Everything in town was within walking distance, and I had my bike. I’d even gotten an extra helmet from Oscar for the evening assuming we’d take that.
He appeared to be waiting for me to come down. I took the stairs slowly, trying to think.
“Hey there,” said Jim. “Shawn’s outside.” I headed past him without saying anything.
Shawn was waving. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. He bussed me on the cheek and held the door open. I wasn’t really dressed like he was, but he said nothing. I looked at the car. This would be the first time in three and a half years. I took a deep breath. He took my elbow impatiently, and I yanked it away. I didn’t need help to get into a car. I swallowed and sat on the seat, sliding in. It was a Toyota Camry, a white nineties model, but well cared for. I 36 Z. A. Maxfield
buckled the lap belt, knowing the shoulder restraint would travel along a mechanism and pull tight around my chest as soon as Shawn keyed the ignition. I tried as hard as I could to breathe deeply and evenly. I told myself I could do it. I told myself it was a car, not a truck. I told myself it was Shawn driving, not…
“What’s with your face?” Shawn asked. I turned to him, pasting a smile on that I didn’t feel. “You want music?”
“Yeah,” I said stiffly.
“You pick,” he said, handing me a leather CD case.
It took a minute. I knew he could feel the thumping of the bass and the changes in tone and rhythm, but all those CDs seemed like a lot of expense to go through for that. I shook the case to get his attention. “Why?”
“They’re my sister’s. This is her car.” He looked at me as though he thought I should know that, and put his arm on the back of my seat, turning his whole body around to look behind as he began to back out of the parking space.
I exploded into action. I didn’t
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