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First Kiss

By J. Tomas

Published by

JMS Books LLC

Visit

jms-books.com

for more information.

J. Tomas

ISBN 978-1-61152-171-9

Cover Credits:

Dizzy

Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
Cover Design:

J.M. Snyder

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your

own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an
infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be
prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced

in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from
the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the
purposes of review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination
and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to
actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

First Kiss

By J. Tomas

Noah Lipinski lingers at his locker before the lunch bell,

hoping to catch a glimpse of Doug Hathaway. The guy plays on
the football team and Noah’s liked him since freshman year. He
doesn’t know Doug really—he sees him in the hall between
classes or jogging down the sidewalk because he delivers the
morning paper, but that’s about it. They’re in the same grade but
take different classes. They aren’t even friends.

But Noah likes his dark eyes, the color of his hair, the

shape of his lips. If he were braver, or more popular perhaps, or
maybe just more self-confident, he would cross the fifteen
lockers that separate his from Doug’s and talk to the guy already,
but he can’t. What would he say?

Down the hall, Noah hears Doug laugh, a sharp sound

slicing easily through the noise of the other students. Noah’s
heart quickens and he catches a glimpse of Doug’s wavy brown
hair a moment before he hears his own name shrieked in his ear.

“Noah!”
It’s Melissa Bradshaw, head cheerleader, and she falls

back against the locker next to his with a giggly sigh. “There you
are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Noah doubts it. Melissa may live next door to him but in

school, she usually acts like he doesn’t exist. With her blonde
curls sprayed into place, glitter glossed on her lips and eyelids,
she gives him a smile that says she knows she’s pretty. Too bad
Noah isn’t interested.

“What?”
Melissa giggles again, a distracting sound. She looks past

him down the hall and Noah follows her gaze, but suddenly
there’s no one between his locker and Doug’s. The jock stands
at his locker, rummaging through notebooks as he looks for
something. God, that hair!

Noah feels the urge to sigh, but Melissa’s right beside

him, remember? He presses his lips together and frowns into his

own locker, the skin on the back of his neck hot. “Go away,” he
growls at Melissa.

She’s still looking past him, and from the corner of his

eye, Noah sees Doug glance their way. Sweat beads on his
neck, dampens the back of his head. Melissa gives a little wave
that pisses Noah off.

When he realizes she isn’t leaving, he tries a different

tactic. “What do you want?”

Her smile cranks up a notch. “I want to know when you

plan on asking me to the Homecoming dance.”

“I—” Noah starts, then her words sink in. Confusion

replaces his irritation. Why would he ask her? More importantly,
why would she go with him? “What?”

“It’s only three weeks away,” Melissa says. She speaks

matter-of-factly, as if they’re going steady and she wants to know
what time he plans to pick her up, because she already knows
he’s going to ask her out and she’s going to say yes.. “I know
you haven’t asked anyone yet. So why—”

“Because I’m not going.” Noah shakes his head in disbelief.
“No-ah,” she says with a breathless laugh.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he wants to know. She can’t

be serious. “Why me? You’re just wasting your time.”

“No, you’re wasting my time,” Melissa snaps.
Noah looks around and sees they’ve attracted a crowd;

worse, Doug is still at his locker, watching this. Watching him.

Melissa continues. “I have a dress all picked out but we

have to match. What color are you going to wear?”

“I’m not going,” he says again.
Someone laughs but Noah doesn’t think this is very funny.

Even Melissa’s grinning, the little bitch. I get it, he thinks, the
back of his neck now burning with embarrassment. This is some
sick joke. Let’s pick on the homo—get the most popular girl in
school to ask him out then laugh when he says no. And hey,
while you’re at it, let’s do it in the hall between classes where
everyone and their brother can see, including the hot jock the
geeky queer creams over.

Angry, he slams his locker shut and shrugs Melissa’s

hand off his arm. “I’m not taking you to the dance.”

He storms off, elbowing his way through the crowd amid

catcalls and giggles. It’s not until he reaches his classroom that
Noah realizes Doug’s signature laugh wasn’t among those
following him down the hall.

Somehow he makes it through the rest of the day without

running into Melissa again. But word gets around his school
easily and by his last class, Noah’s had two more girls ask him to
the dance. What, just because Melissa’s noticed he’s alive,
everyone else clues in now, too?

Everyone but Doug.

* * * *

After school, Noah goes home to an empty house.

There’s a note on the fridge from his mom saying she ran out to
the store to get something for dinner. Why they can’t keep food
in this house, he doesn’t know.

As he searches the cabinets for something to snack on, the

front doorbell rings. He groans—it’s probably Melissa, back to
pester him again. Why the hell does she insist on tormenting him?

Maybe if he doesn’t answer, she’ll give up and go away. He

holds his breath and waits, but five seconds later the doorbell rings
again, longer this time, persistent. Whoever it is knows he’s home.

Damn.
Noah waits for the third ring before he flings the front door

open, pissed all over again. “What the hell—”

The rest dries in his throat when he sees Doug Hathaway

filling the door frame.

Noah takes a step back. “What,” he tries again, but there’s

nothing after that and his mouth hangs open, forgotten, until he
realizes how stupid he must look. So he clears his throat and
hopes he sounds casual as he stammers out, “Doug. Hey.”

“I’m collecting for the paper,” Doug tells him.
The unnerving way Doug looks at him makes Noah self-

conscious, and the faintest hint of a smile tugs at one corner of
Doug’s mouth.

“Collecting what?” Noah asks.
The smile strengthens. “Money?”
Noah simply stares at him. “For what?”
“The paper?” When Noah doesn’t respond, Doug flashes

him a quick smile that kicks his hormones into overdrive. “I came
to get your payment for the newspaper.”

“Oh.” Of course, the paper. Noah gets it now—he

should’ve known. The man of my dreams is a bill collector. His
voice trembles slightly when he admits, “My mom isn’t home.”

Doug watches him, silent, waiting.
The heat on his nape is back, and Noah’s cheeks flush as

he adds, “Um, she has the checkbook with her. She should be
here soon, if you want to come back—”

Doug cuts him off. “Can I wait?”
“What?” Noah’s heart skips a beat. “Here?”
With a shrug, Doug says, “If you don’t mind.”
“No,” Noah assures him. “You want to come in, or

something?”

He stands aside to let Doug into the living room—he’s

here, Noah’s mind whispers. He breaks into a thin sweat at the
thought. In my house, here with me, ALONE. Suddenly his skin
feels two sizes too small and he shoves his hands into his pants
pockets just to keep them to himself.

As Doug takes a look around, Noah searches for

something to say, but all he comes up with is, “Are you thirsty?”

With a shrug, Doug turns that smile his way. “What do you

have that I might like?”

Noah’s mind goes blank. “I don’t know,” he says, which

makes Doug laugh, a delicious sound Noah wants to capture
and listen to again and again. “I’ll go see.”

When he moves toward the kitchen, he trips over his own

feet like a dork but a strong hand catches his elbow before he
can stumble. “Careful,” Doug says with a grin. “I haven’t been
here two minutes and you’re already falling for me.”

Oh jeez. Is it that obvious?
Noah tries to pull away but Doug holds on tight, steadying

him. “I’m fine,” Noah mumbles as he tugs against Doug’s grip.

Doug’s fingers sear his skin and he wonders what would

they feel like on his face, his chest, lower? Like a lit match, Noah
thinks, and his flesh would go up in flames. What a lovely way to
burn.

Doug won’t release his arm. He’s looking at Noah, willing

him to meet his gaze, but Noah keeps his eyes downcast and
doesn’t dare look up. Softly, his voice low, Doug asks, “Noah?”

He knows my name, Noah thinks. The moment stretches

between them, unreal. Then those fingers loosen and Doug rubs
his hand up under Noah’s shirt sleeve and back down Noah’s arm
to squeeze his wrist. “So no Homecoming dance for you, eh?”

Noah tries to jerk away but Doug doesn’t relax his grip. So

that’s what this is all about. He could kill Melissa. “Very funny,”
he growls. “Let go.”

Doug’s hand slips into Noah’s; their fingers lace together.

“It’s sort of my fault,” he admits.

Noah twists his hand in Doug’s to break free and isn’t

surprised to find he can’t. The guy plays football, for Christ’s
sake. “What?”

Doug gives him a sympathetic smile. “I’m really sorry.”
“How’s it your fault?” Noah asks.
Outside he hears a car pull into their gravel driveway—the

engine idles for a few seconds, then shuts off as a door creaks
open. Noah’s all too aware of the hand in his and the sweat slicking
his palm. In a barely-there whisper, he says, “My mom’s home.”

Talking fast, Doug tells him, “Last Friday, after the game?

The whole team went over Matt’s to celebrate because his
parents weren’t home, the cheerleaders, too. At some point the
guys sort of divvied up the girls and snuck away until it was just
me and Melissa sitting there staring at each other like idiots.”

“What, did she hit on you too?” Noah asks.
He hears his mom outside, messing with those flimsy

plastic bags she gets from the grocery store. He tries again to
pull his hand from Doug’s, but it’s a half-hearted attempt and he
doesn’t succeed.

“Let me finish.” Doug’s thumb rubs along Noah’s wrist, a

tender touch Noah wants to fall into, but he won’t let himself enjoy

this moment just in case it turns out to be some sort of joke.

Out in the driveway, his mom hollers for him to help out,

but when his gaze flickers up to meet Doug’s, he can’t move,
can’t look away.

Seizing on the moment, Doug whispers, “Yeah, she hit on

me.” It takes Noah a second to remember they’re talking about
Melissa here. “I told her no. Told her why.”

Why? Noah wants to know.
Before he can ask, Doug adds, “You know why.”
Suddenly Noah gets it and nods—he knows. It’s the same

reason he himself turned down the prettiest girl in the school,
and why, at this moment, his heart thuds in his chest like a
furious bass line because Doug is so damn close. Why Noah’s
liked this guy for the past two years, an eternity in high school,
and why he’s dreamed of this moment over and over again, a
million different scenarios that would lead to something Noah
hasn’t quite dared to think about yet. It involves more than
Doug’s hand in his, though, and God knows his mother isn’t in it.

Another step—they’re so close now Noah can smell

cherry-flavored bubblegum on Doug’s breath.

On the sidewalk leading up to their porch, his mother calls

his name again, strident. When she draws breath to holler again,
her voice brightens. “Melissa!” she calls. “How nice of you to give
me a hand.”

“Did she freak out?” Noah asks. Another moment and

she’ll be in the house, he can ask her himself, but he wants to
hear it in Doug’s voice. “What’d she say?”

The hand in Noah’s tightens. “She said she knew,” Doug

tells him, flashing that smile again. “Said my secret’s safe with
her, but only if I told her who I liked like that in our grade. When I
mentioned you, she was all, ‘No way!’” Doug’s voice raises an
octave in eerie imitation of Melissa’s Valley Girl shriek.

Noah laughs, which makes Doug’s smile linger, and his

foot bumps Noah’s when he moves nearer.

“She said you weren’t like that, she should know, she’s

lived next door to you since kindergarten, and I said I thought
she might be wrong. I hoped—”

“She’s wrong,” Noah breathes.
Something in his chest loosens at the admission—it feels

so good to tell someone, finally, someone who understands.
Someone who feels the same.

In the kitchen, the screen door squeals open and

Melissa’s loud voice drifts toward them like a cloud. “It’s no
problem, Mrs. Jackson. You know I like to help.”

From the corner of his eye Noah sees her, framed by the

archway separating the living room from the kitchen. She looks
just like she did when she leaned against his locker, not a hair
out of place despite the grocery bags she’s carrying. Noah’s
mother is still outside, struggling with the screen door. When
Melissa sets the bags on the kitchen table, she senses
something that makes her turn.

In that instant Doug leans in and presses his lips against

Noah’s with a sweet, damp crush. If it weren’t for the hand
holding his and the arm suddenly around his waist to hold him
close, Noah would melt to the floor.

He barely hears Melissa’s frustrated cry as the world falls

away with Doug’s first kiss.

THE END

ABOUT J. TOMAS

J. Tomas is an author of gay YA romance who lives in

Richmond, Virginia, with two very spoiled cats. She publishes
adult gay fiction under a pseudonym. Her first novel, Without Sin,
is now available in print and e-book formats. More information
can be found online at

j-tomas.net

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

Founded in 2010, JMS Books LLC is owned and operated

by author J.M. Snyder. We publish a variety of genres, including
gay erotic romance, fantasy, young adult, poetry, and nonfiction.
Short stories and novellas are available as e-books and
compiled into single-author print anthologies, while any story
over 30k in length is available in both print and e-book formats.
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