It's been a year since Clay, otherwise known as Porkchop, planned the graduation event in Newport Beach. The event where a handsome Tyler Hamilton caught Clay off guard by kissing him. Clay, up until that day, had never kissed a boy before.
At 24 ye...
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"DO do do do do do do doo... Ohhhh yeah..."
I could faintly make out the muffled singing coming from the bathroom; it connected both mine and Alex's rooms together, but the voice was obviously not hers, and that's what made me smile despite my morning grogginess.
It was Clay.
The door opened to a steaming bathroom, and Clay emerged from the foggy room like a fucking Greek God. Dressed in nothing but a towel, abs on display, water dipping from his wet hair, down his neck, and down his torso. He was still singing.
"Gotta change my answering machine ... now that I'm alone ... 'cause right now, it says that we ... can't come to the phone–"
He stopped when he noticed that I was awake, sitting propped up on my elbows, watching him.
"I'm being Niall Horan's X-Factor audition," he blurted.
I fucking love you.
I thought it, but all I ended up saying was, "You're seriously the fucking best." And when he ruffled his wet hair, I impulsively added, "And do you know what you're doing to me right now?"
"Am I doing something? Is it my Niall impression? Does it need work? It's one of my go-to's, but I haven't practiced in a while."
"Do you seriously not know?" I asked, and Clay just blinked. Leave it to him to be oblivious to his own hotness. "You look like I would want to rip all your clothes off, but since you're already in a towel ... it's tempting."
"Oh my," he said, covering his hands with his face. "I don't know what to say to that."
"Don't say anything," I said, "just come over here so I can fucking kiss you."
"With um..." Clay cleared his throat. "Should I–should I put some clothes on? First?"
"If it makes you feel more comfortable," I said.
"I mean ... I don't want you to think that I, like, don't feel comfortable just because I'm, well ... very exposed," Clay said, stumbling over his words adorably. "You make me very comfortable, so it's not that, it's just this is a very loose towel, and–"
"Clay," I said, "calm down, alright? You're rambling, and I'm not thinking any certain way. All I'm thinking is that I want you to feel comfortable, and I also want to kiss you. Sound good?"
Clay smiled and crossed the room, just in his towel, and made his way over to the bed. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, soft and warm, minty, too. He kept a hold of his towel, and I held his face with my hands, holding onto the kiss for as long as possible, until Clay pulled away and danced towards the bathroom.
"Okay, clothing time!" he announced.
I threw the covers off my body and sat up. "Meet me downstairs. We'll have breakfast and shit. It smells like Jesse's cooking bacon."
