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They don’t even bother arguing with me more. They don’t push. They don’t try any further convincing. They just stand there cradling my face in their warm, soft hands, staring at me, waiting, calm and unconcerned.
It’s like they know before I do that I’m going to give in.
I hold back a few seconds more, but my defenses crumble before my eyes. When I lean forward, Avery doesn’t lunge up at me or yank me to their lips, they simply wait, guiding me but not forcing me. So it’s entirely my decision when I land at last against their mouth.
Their lips are every bit as soft as I imagined. I close my eyes and the rest of the world vanishes. The bodies around us are a distant beacon of warmth, the music a dull throb in the back of my mind. None of it can pierce the Avery-ness of this moment, the feel of them all around me. Their hands are still on my face, mine on their hips. They stand amid the pulsating dance floor, kissing me and kissing me for as long as I let them.
When we need air, we don’t go far. We gasp against each other, but Avery seizes my bottom lip in their teeth and tugs. Heat flushes through my body, and I return to their mouth ravenous. This time, it isn’t some sedate, exploratory moment of soft lips.Our mouths open so our tongues can prod at each other. Avery lets me into their mouth, sucking on my tongue for a dizzying moment before they let me go.
My hands have a mind of their own. They tug at Avery’s hips, pulling them flush against me. I tremble from the sensation of their body against mine, their whole body from the hips almost to the chest. Their arms slide around my neck, finally yanking me against them with force, and any pretext about dancing is fully banished.
We’re making out in the middle of this dance floor. There’s no other word for how we grab each other, throwing our bodies together, mouths seeking more and more contact.
I slip away as an idea strikes me. I go to Avery’s neck, kissing along the side, sucking on their skin. They gasp, one hand tangling in my hair as their whole body arches against me. We don’t have long before this gets too raunchy even for a dark dance floor, but I don’t stop sucking and licking at their neck and savoring their boisterous reactions until I must come back up for air.
That’s when I spot the person watching us from across the room.
I don’t recognize him, but then again, it’s hard to tell. He doesn’t stand out. He could be anyone, but he’s definitely watching us.
My heart races. Is the look in his eyes interest? Hate? Fear?Recognition? The possibilities rapidly cool my heatedblood, leaving me terrified to my core. What if he’s someone from the university? What if he’s a student, a fellow TA, a member of the faculty? He looks too young but I can’t be sure.
I jerk away from Avery. Hurt and confusion passes over their face and stabs into my heart.
“What’s wrong?” they say.
“Nothing. I … I have to go.”
The hurt deepens, and so does the ache in my chest, but I can’t shake that look from across the room. I can’t shake the bone-deep terror it punched into me.
“Diego?” Avery says.
But I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I…”
I should say more. Apologize, perhaps. But I can’t. I’m too mixed up. There’s too much happening in my head. Fear and lust and regret and longing. I don’t know what to do with all of it except run.
So that’s what I do.
Chapter Eleven
Avery
THAT NIGHT LINGERS about me like a persistent cologne I can’t wash off my skin or out of my clothes. Not that I want to wash it off. I indulge it every chance I get — in the shower, in bed, even once in the kitchen while making my morning tea. The feel of Diego’s hands on my body and tongue delving into my mouth sticks to my skin like syrup coating every place where he touched me. I return to it over and over again, even as he does everything in his power to completely ignore me in the days following the drag show.
It’s made it hard to concentrate, even when I’m at the Boyfriend Café and my entire job is concentrating on the distressed computer science major drinking tea with me.
He’s been complaining about his classes while sippingthe calming chamomile with lemon that I brewed for him. I made jasmine for myself. It’s my favorite flavor, but it’s also the tea I made for Diego the night he broke down in front of my house, and I shamelessly use it to stir up those memories.
“Maybe going to college just isn’t for me,” the computer science student, Steven, groans. “Maybe I’m too stupid for it.”
“Hey, don’t say that,” I cut in. “You got in. So they believe you’re smart enough for it.”
“But everyone else is struggling way less than me. Why am I the only one who doesn’t get it?”
“Youassumeeveryone else is struggling less than you. I’d be willing to bet the truth is that a lot of your classmates feel exactly the same way you do. Have you tried making a study group or something? You might be surprised by what your classmates reveal in private.”
It’s advice I’ve given at least a dozen times during my semesters as a server here. It’s amazing how many people think they aren’t good enough compared to their peers, when those peers are just as anxious as they are.
“That’s … that’s a really good idea,” Steven says. “Thanks.”
