His erection grew, hardened with each press of lips, each sweep of tongues, until Teo made himself pull away.

“What’s wrong?” Josiah asked.

“Nothin’.” He’d never done right by anyone in his life, but he’d do right by Josiah.

Teo laid down next to him. Grabbed hold of his soft, blond hair. He should turn off the light, cover them up, but he was scared if he moved Josiah would disappear.

He smiled when a gentle, shaky hand wrapped around his other one. When Josiah’s head rested on his arm.

When Josiah’s breathing evened out and his body relaxed, Teo closed his eyes. “Mi precioso,” he whispered before joining him in sleep.

Chapter Nine

Josiah

Courage was a funny thing. There were still days that Josiah couldn’t believe he’d had the guts to kiss Mateo. It had been a really stupid thing to do. Could have been a dangerous one. A guy shouldn’t kiss another guy without knowing that’s what they were into, but then, it had just happened and felt right and he couldn’t imagine not having done it.

Yet weeks later, he hadn’t gathered up the nerve to try it again. Mateo obviously wasn’t doing it. He acted like nothing had happened at all, and Josiah was too scared to bring it up. Sometimes he wondered if it had been a dream, but he’d woken up in Mateo’s bed that morning, with the scent of Mateo in his nose and the feel of him etched in Josiah’s memory, where it still pulsed and breathed there. He thought about it all the time. The feel of Mateo’s gentle yet hungry kiss. The weight of him pressing Josiah into the mattress.

A thrill of excitement raced up his spine at the thought.

Of course he’d thought about kissing guys before. He thought about a whole lot more than that, but those dreams were nothing on the aching burn Mateo had made him feel.

And he wanted it again.

On Thanksgiving, after they ate with Molly and William, they’d gone to their room to play another game of chess. He loved watching Mateo play. The way his forehead creased as he thought, or the way he cocked his head when he studied the board. Josiah wondered if he did little things like that, and if Mateo could ever like those things about him. If he ever noticed them and smiled at them and thought of them when he needed to feel good.

When the time came to put the game away, he reached out, brushed his finger over the top of Mateo’s hand, wanting, needing to know if he thought about Josiah the way Josiah thought about him.

When Mateo jerked his hand back, making the chess board drop to the floor, Josiah’s heart went with it. Stupid. So freaking stupid. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Josiah bent to pick up the mess but Mateo beat him to it. “No worries. I got it.”

A quiet voice inside him yelled at Josiah to tell him no. That he’d do it. Not to keep his head down so Mateo couldn’t see his face. Look at me. Look at me, he wanted to say, but just like always, he was too damn unsure to make himself spit it out.

But then his hands started to shake and his throat went dry, the words sticking there. Not knowing what else to do, Josiah walked out of the room.

His eyes burned. What a weak thing to do, to want to cry over something like that, but God, it had felt good to pretend. To think someone could really want him. Not like all the foster parents he’d had who shipped him away, or his parents who went out without him, or the friends he never really had.

He could deal with it, not having the rest of them, because deep inside he wanted Mateo more than anything else. He didn’t know why and didn’t understand it. All he knew was all those empty rooms inside him were somehow filled when Mateo was around.

Behind him, he closed the door to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and sat on the closed toilet. Maybe Mateo had been right from the beginning. He was nothing but a kid.

***

On December 1, Josiah turned seventeen. He woke up, got out of bed, and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth like he did every morning. His birthdays had never really meant much. Sometimes he got little gifts from whoever he was living with, others not. All the day usually did was make all those rooms inside him feel even emptier.

As he turned to head toward the bathroom, Mateo stepped out. He hadn’t noticed Mateo was out of bed before him. It was probably the first time since he’d been here that it happened.

“We’re making breakfast for ya. Me and Molly.”

Josiah wanted to reply, but his mind raced thinking of what that kind of gesture meant, making it impossible to form words. They’d planned this. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. Mateo had gotten up and out of bed early to help Molly do something for him. He smiled, loving the light feeling that returned to him.