TWENTY
______
SEAN
I have to tell him. I have to tell him. I have to tell him.
The mantra had been going through my head since yesterday, when I heard Dante put voice to everything that happened between us. Longing and hurt had saturated the lyrics, touching parts of me I would have willingly handed over to him five years ago. Things were different now. For each ardent beat of my heart, my brain advised caution. Despite that, his song had succeeded in blowing away any shred of doubt that remained. He needed to know the truth.
I’d spent the entire evening trying to find a subtle way to introduce the topic of Grey. Of me being Grey. Of me lying to him for the past three weeks. Would he hate me for lying? Would he care? Did I want him to care? Holy hell, this was turning out to be harder than I thought. Picking up my wine glass, I downed the contents in a few quick gulps.
“Is everything all right over there?” We were reclined on a couple of sun lounges, a small table between us. Dante’s face was turned towards me with a concerned look.
I shrugged, sitting up a little straighter against the back of the lounge. “Of course, why?”
“Because you’re downing that wine so fast, I’m wondering if you’re about to forgo the glass and dive straight into the bottle.”
“I’m fine.” This state of near panic was about as far from fine as I could get. I had to tell him now and get it over with or I’d chicken out. “Let’s talk about something different tonight.”
A suspicious gleam flickered in Dante’s eyes. “What would you like to talk about?”
“Tell me about your first kiss.” Yep, that was subtle—the sledgehammer version.
Dante cackled with laughter, proving he was less than sober himself. “Why?”
“Because I’m tipsy and horny and I want to know.” I really shouldn’t have told him about the horny part, even if it was the thought of revealing my true identity to him that had me squirming in my seat.
He turned to stare back up at the clear night sky and its smattering of stars. “I was fourteen,” he said candidly. “She was sixteen, the daughter of one of my dad’s friends in the music business. We’d gone over to celebrate my first song going viral on social media.” The ghost of a smile didn’t seem bright enough for a happy memory. “She must have realised what it would mean for me… and for her if she made out with me. She kissed me, I kissed her back.” A self-deprecating laugh sounded, and he turned onto his side to face me. “You can imagine how suave I was at fourteen. She seemed so grown up by comparison.” He gave me a wink. “She was a babe, though.”
My nose wrinkled. “Did you ever see her again?”
“Now and then, but we were never left alone together again.” He snorted, but it wasn’t an amused sound. “Roger made sure of it.”
I dropped my head back onto the lounge as I watched his face dim. “Why?”
“She took some selfies of us kissing,” he said. “I thought it was fun at the time. We were laughing and joking around. The next day she put them on the internet and told anyone who would listen she was my girlfriend. Like we were all hot and heavy or something.” He rolled his eyes. “I was just a kid.”
“Wow.” I couldn’t imagine having something so personal shared with the world. “The babe turned out to be a bitch.”
“Something like that, although she was little more than a child herself at the time.” He shrugged. “I understood then, my dad was right. Everyone I meet wants something from me and I can’t trust any of them. It’s the price of living this kind of life.”
“He told you that at fourteen?” I asked. “Not to trust anyone at all?”
“No one but him,” he replied. “He started drilling the lesson into me at ten, but that was the first time I got what he meant. He’s been right for the most part.” He drained the last of his wine.
“You’ve told me some pretty hefty secrets,” I pointed out. “Does that mean you trust me?”
He turned serious as he considered my question. “I suppose it means I’m taking a chance on you. Time will tell if you’re worth the risk.”
At least one of us already knew the answer to that question. “There’s no risk when you’re with me. You’re safe here.”
Our gazes held for a long moment, and then he sat up, crossing his legs in front of him as he faced me. “Your turn.” He rubbed his hands together and waggled his eyebrows until I dissolved into nervous laughter. “And no backing out this time,” he added, pointing a finger at me. “Tell me aboutyourfirst kiss.”
Here it was, the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth. “I’ve never kissed a girl.” That wasn’t what I’d planned to say, and yet it came out anyway.
“What?” His shocked cry was followed by a long guffaw. “What do you mean never? Not even once?”
“Not even.” I sat up to mirror his position. “How often do you express surprise at guys who’ve never kissed another guy? Never, right?” He shrugged in agreement. “Exactly,” I cried. “So why such shock that a man, who is gay as a tree full of monkeys on crack by the way, has never kissed a woman. I have no interest in kissing women, I never did.”
