8. Kent

EIGHT

Apparently, reckless behavior that could not only get me fired but also have me losing my principal's license was the name of the game before the holiday break. What in the world was I thinking? Doing that. In a supply closet. At school. Clearly, I was thinking with the wrong head. Can I get a therapist for my cock? Paging Doctor Dick. I need to stop this nonsense. Immediately. Retroactive if possible. Find a DeLorean, build a time machine, go back two weeks, and never go on that date with Vincent Manda.

Sitting across from me, where I crashed into his nose before break, leading to the "closet incident," Vincent taps away at his keyboard. I'm more determined than ever to put the kibosh on anything beyond friendship. I'm not looking for a scandal. No contact with Vincent for fourteen days helped. New year, new me. Time with the family. Hanukkah and Christmas with Lia. She loved her stuffed unicorn. I'm not sure she understands how silly the name Corny is for it, but her first choice (Horny) was understandably a screeching no from her mother.

After our shenanigans in the closet, Vincent and I agreed we needed to immediately stop this … well, whatever was brewing between us, and the long holiday break allowed time and space to reset. But having him this close again, his eyelashes fluttering, remembering the short time we shared … not just sexually, but there was a connection. At least for me. Something about Vincent Manda makes me want to tuck him into my pocket and care for him like a treasure.

Vincent scratches an itch. A tingling I didn't know existed—and the talking. I never knew it could be so damn hot. Maybe it's just the excitement of being with a man after all these years. And by years, I mean since high school.

Brian Hall, my tall lanky track teammate, had offered to help me with my chemistry homework. The formulas confused the hell out of me and Brian was a science whiz. Between practice and tutoring, we spent a lot of time together. A friendship blossomed and the chemicals we studied in my thick textbook weren't the only thing bonding. Feelings deepened. And that's when it hit me. I realized my heart's inability to take things slowly, as I swiftly recognized my crush on Brian. Then one afternoon, it must have been May or June because I remember the humidity, we were showering after a late practice. Alone in the stall, Brian soaped himself up, staring at me. My cock, unable to hide my excitement, gave me away. Quick grabs. Slick sucking noises and panting echoed in the empty locker room. Right when he was coming, Brian pressed his forehead to mine, and for a fleeting moment, I thought, maybe. Maybe something more was possible. But immediately after, he acted like nothing happened. "I don't like you like that, Kent. I'm not gay."

Meeting Corrine freshman year at the University of Southern Maine allowed me to lock that experience in a box. It was easier. And I loved Corrine. I mean, I still do. Being bi was something I always felt but didn't have the words for—the observation of lips, shoulders, muscles, and necks. I felt a tingle of attraction with everyone, regardless of gender, but I never knew what to do with it.

The rawness of the shower incident had scared me. Passionate. Hard. Thick. All those sensations, combined with our budding friendship galloped back with Vincent and his fucking sexy bald head. I want to take my tongue and run it over every inch, but I'm certain he'd never approve. I'm caught off guard by the unexpected side of me that comes out when I'm with him. Just like after the shower incident with Brian, I'm rethinking my decision to pursue men. Falling for Corrine was easier, that's for sure, but it never erased my bisexuality.

"Dr. Cutler provided us with your high-level data," Vincent says, interrupting the spiraling in my noggin. I shake my head like Sweetums does when he's trying to brush off my numerous kisses, and attempt to center myself.

"And I'll work to extract the GradePlus data," I say. As the building admin, I own the data and I've tabbed the thick manual with the extraction process which appears to be a few clicks.

"It would be helpful for me to see what it might look like in the classroom. How much can we push for more frequent data collection? The teacher's setup. Can you make that happen?"

"Sure, um, yeah, of course," I say.

There's a knock on the open door, and I jerk and almost spill my water. The bottle teeters on the table's edge, but I catch it just before it decimates Vincent's laptop.

"Mr. Lester, can we grab your garbage?"

It's Theo, with his mop of sandy blond curls, sounding happier than he has in, well, as long as I've known him. Apparently, dating the cute-as-a-button first-grade teacher will do that to you.

"Of course, Theo, and remember, Kent is fine when students aren't around."

"I know, and …"

Brodie, a small first grader with jet-black hair pops into my office. Completely hidden by Theo's frame and without making eye contact or uttering a word, Brodie grabs the trash can and hands it to Theo, who promptly empties it before returning it to Brodie.

After the "fire-alarm incident" last year, Brodie's plan to earn points to help Theo has worked like a charm. Something tells me that Sheldon and Theo's budding relationship helps them communicate about everything, including Brodie.

"Brodie, how are you today?"

Silence.

"You must've had a good morning to be helping Mr. Berenson," I say.

Theo taps Brodie on the shoulder and raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir," Brodie says in a faint, raspy voice.

Vincent's eyes dart between his laptop and the conversation, and I realize I've forgotten my manners.

"Mr. Berenson, Brodie, this is Vincent. He's helping me with some new software."

Theo shoots me a look. I mentioned a date with Vincent to him weeks ago, but I'm not sure he remembers.

"Oh, Vincent. Yes, Kent's mentioned you." He remembers.

"Really? What has he said about me?" Vincent asks.

"Thank you, boys." I fumble, moving to close the door. "But we have important work to do. Say hello to Mr. Soleskin for me."

A huge grin sweeps over Theo's face, and my heart warms, knowing the universe and our exploding classroom numbers brought these two together.

"He seems like a sweet guy," Vincent says.

"Theo? He really is. Took him a while to come out of his shell, but he's got a heart of gold."

"And the kid helping him?"

"Brodie. He earns points for staying safe in the classroom. Theo's his reward. Sheldon, that's Brodie's teacher, is Theo's boyfriend."

"And the kids all know?"

"They do. They're ecstatic about it. You can't help but fall in love with Sheldon. Younger students want their teachers to be happy, and Theo makes Sheldon happy."

Vincent purses his lips and nods, seemingly impressed by the level of acceptance here at Lear.

"I've worked hard to cultivate a school community where everyone is welcome and celebrated."

"It really shows," Vincent says, grabbing his travel pack of wipes and cleaning his hands, keyboard, and screen.

"I'm glad," I say, pleased my diligence has paid off. "How about you? Are you out at Hopscotch?"

"Oh yeah. Geoff couldn't care less. I don't think anyone at Hopscotch gives it a second thought." Vincent folds the dirty wipe and tosses it into the empty trash can. "Geoff's more concerned about my mishaps at work than my sexuality."

Vincent's wiping ritual happens a few times a day, almost on the hour, and the growling in my stomach notifies me it's almost lunchtime.

"Hungry?" he asks. The right side of his mouth turns up, and the urge to lean over and nibble his lip needs to stop right now. Thank you very much.

"Yes, wanna break? I have a few emails to catch up on, but I can be ready in half an hour if that works for you," I offer.

"Sounds good. I'm going to run and grab something. A buddy told me about this great Jewish deli?—"

"Schmear and Far. The best bagels in existence. Apologies to New York City, but it's my favorite," I say. "They smoke their own lox, a few varieties, but the pastrami lox is something everyone needs to experience at least once."

My mouth waters, thinking about the perfectly smoked fish, the edges peppered with spices that mix with the lox to create a sandwich anointed by God.

"Kent," Vincent says, the smell of bagels and fish still swirling in my head. "Would you like to come? Or I can grab you something?"

I grip my hands together, my mouth suddenly as dry as stale matzoh.

"Vincent, listen. What happened before break … um, twice. We need to cool our jets. I need this"—I point to his laptop, the folders, papers, all of it—"to work. Without a solution to Lear's toppling scores, it's likely the board won't renew my contract."

"Kent, I asked you if you wanted a sandwich, not to elope."

A chuckle escapes my lips, and Vincent's hazel eyes scan me. His eyelashes dance with each blink, and the hunger in my stomach radiates outward.

"It's important to me, too. The project's success."

"I'm sure it is," I say, and screw it, I'm starving, and the frozen burrito in my bag cannot compete with a bagel and fixings from Schmear and Far.

"You know what? You're right. Clearly, the universe wants me to enjoy pastrami lox. Can we bring it back here so I can catch up on those emails?"

"Of course," he says, his hand resting on my back, and why'd he have to go and touch me like that?

"Let's go." I grab my coat and head for the office door.

In his passenger seat, I'm instantly taken aback at how neat Vincent's car is. It doesn't have the new car smell, but the pristine shine on everything makes me wonder how long he's had it. He pushes the ignition, and the dash comes to life with lights and beeps. The cab fills with guitar plucking from every direction. When the male voice interrupts, singing about being down a time or two, Vincent rushes to lower the volume.

"You really love Fleetwood Mac."

"Rumours. Yes."

"Pardon."

"I mean, yes, I like the band," he says, clicking his seatbelt, "but for me, it's really all about this one album."

"It's definitely a classic. I mean, I was a kid when it came out, and I remember it fondly even then. But you're younger than me. You weren't even born. Why this album?"

"My parents loved the band and when I heard this record as a child, something stuck. The guitars. The harmonies. The layers. Everything just works together perfectly. Nothing is out of place."

The napkins. The teeth brushing. Vincent's propensity toward order means we'd never work, anyway. But maybe, if I can temper my heart, we can be friends.

"Well, turn it up."

"You don't mind?"

"I insist."

I glance over, and he's smiling. He thumbs a button on his steering wheel, and the music crescendos, overtaking our voices, and Vincent's face relaxes. Once again, I want to reach over and grab him. His hand. His arm. His beautiful face. He's so damn sexy. But I don't. I sit and behave like a nice Jewish boy.