Our Last Summer by Matthew J. Metzger

Author:Matthew J. Metzger [Metzger, Matthew J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gay, Fiction, Social Issues, Love & Romance, Juvenile Fiction, Homosexuality
ISBN: 9781481120494
Google: dD6Ne_3UZhoC
Amazon: 1481120492
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2012-12-31T11:00:00+00:00

It’s the drink, Ryan tells himself.

It’s all the drink. He’s never been the kid invited to the under-age booze parties that some of his classmates throw from time to time, and he’s never had the guts to try getting into clubs before, so he has absolutely no tolerance.

So it’s the drink—the fuzz in his mind, the buzz in his blood, the music making his eardrums throb, and the fact that Alex is moving so fast as to be blurry.

It’s the drink, and the motion sickness, that makes him lock his fingers through Alex’s belt loops and hold on. Even as his mind asks him what he thinks he’s doing, the alcohol blocks that thought from influencing anything at all, and he does it anyway. Alex just smiles through the vodka and the pills, so it must be okay, so Ryan doesn’t even try to stop himself. They slow, matching a rhythm—still too fast, still faster than Ryan is used to—and Alex is alcohol-blurred, too, smudged round the edges, relaxed and released and unbound for the first time, really—his smile is real, it dances along the edges of his face as though he’s happier, from another world, and if it’s the pills then Ryan really doesn’t care right now, because Alex is smiling.

The thought that he’s beautiful like this crosses Ryan’s mind, and he didn’t know that alcohol could think for itself.

“I am so pissed,” Ryan says, and Alex can’t hear him—he knows that, but he doesn’t raise his voice—so he shows him, lets him taste the spirits on his tongue and plastered around his mouth.

It’s nothing like dance floors with girls. Even flat-chested girls don’t feel like this; there’s the razor-edge of stubble along Alex’s jaw, and the lines of his body are too hard and tuned, his movements too powerful and decisive, and they keep dancing despite being joined at the mouth and wherever they decide to let their hands go—though Ryan thinks that maybe his hands aren’t listening to him anymore.

“Drunk,” Alex says in his ear, their voices wobbling like a symphony out of all sorts of order, and he laughs, and Alex’s streaked, smudged laugh is the most amazing sound in the world right now.

And Ryan’s drunk, and Alex is high, and nobody cares.

* * * *

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