Skater Boys Page 2

  “Holy shit,” he says. It’s the board I had in high school. “When’s the last time you rode this?”

  “It’s been a few years,” I say, falling back on the bed and staring at the ceiling fan.

  “We have to go,” he says.

  I prop myself up on my elbows. “Go where?”

  “For a ride,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

  Maybe it is.

  TOTALLY CHOICE

  Connor Wright

  We were just hanging out when he showed up. Eddie was stretched out on one of the picnic tables, his head hanging off the end; Chris and Than were busily texting; and I was looking at a sequence of pictures in my favorite skate magazine, trying to figure out the trick before I got to the caption.

  “Hey,” he said, and I dragged my gaze up along his sensibly baggy pants, over the scarred belly of his deck and the blue hoodie-covered arm it was tucked under, up past a tiny slice of tanned skin showing over the collar of his shirt, and blinked. His face was fuckin’ smokin’, even though he had a beanie pulled down over his eyebrows and his hood up so I couldn’t see much of it.

  “Hey,” Eddie said, waving. Chris and Than nodded at him and said, “Hey,” too.

  “Yo,” I said, just to be different.

  “So…is it open slather?” he asked, nodding at the empty little park behind us.

  “What?” Than asked.

  “Can I have a go? Or are you yobbos keeping the hoons out?” He looked a little annoyed, and I was chewing my lip to keep from grinning at him like the idiot I am—I have this thing for guys with accents.

  “You wanna skate?” Chris asked. “’Cause if that’s what you’re askin’, then go for it. Otherwise, you’re gonna have to try again.”

  “Yeah, I wanna skate,” he said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “’S why I brought my board, innit?” He walked around Eddie’s table to the edge of the concrete and dropped his board in the grass, then shoved his hood back. It was a Quiksilver hoodie, which made sense with his accent. The thought of this guy being a surfer, too, nearly made my eyes cross. It definitely got my dick twitching, and once again I was grateful that I’m into something where overly large pants are the norm.

  So he unzipped his hoodie and wadded it up, leaving it on the end of the bench beside Than. His shirt looked like it was an old favorite, the logo involving four Xs all faded and worn. I stuffed my magazine into my bag and got up, then stepped on the tail of my board, caught the nose of it in my hand and carried it over to the bench. Part of me wanted a better look at him, and part of me wanted to see what kind of moves he had.

  He looked kind of uncomfortable when he glanced back at us, but Eddie’s eyes were closed, Than and Chris were busy with their phones, and I wasn’t trying to be intimidating. I made a little go-ahead flip with my hand and he nodded at me. Awesome. The hair that stuck out from under his beanie was blond, but it looked like a chemically induced color rather than natural. His eyes and lashes were dark, from what I could tell, not that I had much time to look.

  He nudged his board forward with his left foot and I watched it bump up onto the floor of the park. His shoes were seriously ugly, bright purple with neon-green laces; they looked brand new. He stepped up onto his board with his left foot and I said, “You ride goofy?”

  “Yeah,” he said, glancing at me again. “Rules against it?”

  “No,” I said. “Just wondering. Not something you see every day.”

  “Right,” he said and pushed off. He angled toward the quarter-pipe corner, gathering speed as he went. When he got to it, he sailed right up and shifted his weight and momentum into a nosegrind on the coping that carried him into the heart of the corner, at which point he slid back to the flat, riding fakie. He swung around on a mannie and pushed toward the line of curbs set up in the middle of the far end. When he got to them, he popped an ollie that looked damn near perfect and I finally let myself smile.

  “Sweet ollie, dude,” I called, and kicked myself toward the combination half-pipe and nine-set. I’ve always liked vert; there’s something about the back-and-forth that’s soothing, almost hypnotic. Street’s okay; I joke about how I totally suck as a skater ’cause I’m not hooked on the rush of trying to kill myself with curbs and walls and shit. I decided, though, that there was no way I was gonna pussy out and stick with my little grabs and handplants. Not today, and not unless he went first, anyhow.

  “Thanks,” he said, as I rolled past. I just ducked my head and went on, like I was totally cool and like I wasn’t hoping he’d actually get in the pipe and try a handplant so I could have a look at him with his shirt falling down around his pits. I hopped my board over the lip of the pipe and start working my way back and forth, gaining speed. Yeah, I could have just walked up to the top of the nine-set and its rails, but that would’ve been hella boring. Also, it gave me an excuse to be on the pipe when I’d already decided I wasn’t gonna do any vert.

  So I finally got going up and over the coping and then another quick jump and I ended up on the handrail for the stairs in a five-oh grind. I started rethinking my decision to stay out of the pipe as I hit the middle of the rail and my balance shifted; for a long horrible second I thought my board was going to slip out from under my feet. I held my breath and tried correcting myself by leaning forward a little, which seemed to work. By the time I got to the bottom, I was actually breathing again, and when I landed (with only the mildest of wobbles), I was grinning again.

  “Onya,” the guy said, lifting his chin at the rail I’d just come down. “You street or vert?”

  I leaned over and circled back toward him, coming to a stop a couple of feet away. “Some of both,” I said. “Vert’s cool.”

  “Yeah?” He smiled and I forgot what we were talking about. “I met Jake Brown, once. Got to see Millar and Pappas, too, but never spoke to ’em.”

  “Awesome,” I said. Then my brain shorted out and I went a little closer, sticking my hand out. “Will,” I said.

  “Levi,” he said, shaking my hand. “I’m more of a vert guy. Wish the pipe was bigger.” He tilted his head back toward the structure in question, and I tried not to stare at his neck.

  “Yeah, it’s kind of a pain in the ass,” I said. “But it’s better than nothing.”

  “This isn’t the only place to skate here, is it?” he asked, looking around. “It’s cool, but…”

  I nodded at him. “Yeah, I know, it’s tiny. There’s Templeton’s House of Skate over on the east side of town, but you gotta pay to get in and they’ve got rules about clothes and gear,” I said. “They’ve got the Monstrosity, though, and it’s bigger’n what they use at contests, so it’s worth it.”

  “Choice,” Levi said, picking up his deck and heading for the pipe. “I’m gonna work on my McTwist over here, cool?”

  “Totally cool,” I said, tagging along. “If you don’t mind company.”

  “Not at all!”

  So that was meeting Levi. Over the next six months or so I learned that he’s from Narrabundah, Canberra, Australian Capital Territory; his family had moved here ’cause his dad’s some kind of tech guy; he was hoping to get into the local university, though there was some question about transferring credits; and he was basically just another one of the guys except for his accent and some of his slang. Anytime someone asked him if he was a surfer, he denied it, making up a different reason every time. (The truth? Canberra’s a hundred miles inland.) He and I actually got to be pretty good friends, which was awesome.

  I also developed a massive crush on him, which was less awesome. I thought I could deal, at first, but every once in a while Levi would say something that sounded like he was into guys. Finally, after a comment that set off a week of dithering, I decided that I was sick of fucking around and came up with a plan. I’d invite him to skate the Orange Monstrosity at Temple-ton’s House of Skate, my shout. After that, we’d go find food and I’d just ask if maybe possibly he might want to hook up.
r />   That was the plan.

  I opened my mouth to congratulate Levi on his successful McTwist as he came down, only to be left gaping as his board hit the lip and he slammed into the coping, then disappeared over the edge. I threw my board aside and dropped in, sliding down into the transition on my ass. He wasn’t moving, shit, he wasn’t moving and I couldn’t fucking think. “Hey,” I said, turning over and scrambling across the wood toward him. “Levi, hey, you okay?”

  “It’s fuckin’ broken,” he said, though he didn’t move.

  “What?” I asked, because I am nothing if not useful.

  “My fuckin’ arm. Shit. Maybe some ribs. Think my head’s okay, though,” Levi said, shifting a little bit. “Better call an ambo.”

  “I’ll call the paramedics,” I said, and fumbled for my phone. “You probably shouldn’t, like, move.”

  An hour and a half later, Levi and I were sitting in the waiting room of the ER at Sisters of Mercy and Grace, waiting for arm and chest X-rays.

  “No, mum, I’m fine. Well, yeah, my arm’s probably broken. The left one. Yeah, it felt like that. The ambos said I probably don’t have a concussion, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t hit my head. Yeah. Yeah. Might have cracked some ribs, too.” Levi glances at me, his eyebrows raised. “My friend Will. Yeah. Yeah, that one.”

  I frowned at him, wondering how his mother was referring to me. He wiggled his elbow at me, so I stopped worrying about it.

  “Yeah, I know, Dad’s gonna flip his sh—wig. Yes, mum. I didn’t say it, did I? Yeah. Yes, I love you too. See you.” Levi ended the call and handed my phone back to me. “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem,” I said, taking my phone from him. At least I was over the whole freaking-out-when-we-touch-for-a-second phase of my infatuation with him. Longer touches, like getting smashed up against each other on the bus or something, those were a different story.

  His parents showed up a little while later, which led to some mild yelling (his mother scolding him; his father grousing about damn fools and their kiddie toys, wasn’t he too old to be hurting himself like this?) and his mother hugging me and sniffling a bit.

  “Call me when you get home, dude,” I told him, as I got ready to leave. “Lemme know if your arm’s, like, permanently broken or something so I can tell you which of your decks I want.”

  “Wanker,” he said, grinning at me. “Piss off. I’ll learn to skate one-handed if I have to.”

  I snickered, but I kept any one-handed remarks to myself. “Yeah, yeah. Talk to you later,” I said, and took off.

  It was almost eleven when my cell rang. “Hey, Levi.”

  “Hey,” he said, his voice soft and kind of odd sounding. “Quack said I broke m’arm an…quacked three wibs. Ha. Cracked. Cracked three quacks.”

  I laughed. “Dude, you’re totally stoned. Go to bed and call me in the morning,” I said.

  “‘Min bed! Beddy-bed-bed. You know what I like about it here? No sharks. Not ever gonna be shark bikkie.”

  “Levi,” I said, shaking my head. “Go to sleep. I’m gonna hang up, and you can call me back in the morning, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, his voice serious. “Good night, Will.”

  “G’night, Levi.”

  The next morning, I woke up to a half-dozen nearly unintelligible texts from Levi, a half-dozen from Than and Chris wanting to know if I knew where Levi had scored his good shit, one from Eddie that was about some drunk chick or something, and a voice mail that sounded like Levi trying to sing something to me. I saved it and called him back.

  “Hey, Will! Thanks for sticking by me yesterday, hoonie,” he said, sounding much more alert.

  “No problem,” I told him, feeling stupidly pleased at the nickname. It was one of the few words from the texts he’d sent that had made any sense whatsoever. “So last night, I think you said you had a broken arm and three cracked ribs?”

  “Did I? Yeah. Apparently I also called a few other people,” he said, sounding sheepish. “Seriously barro.”

  I laughed. “You called me at, like, four thirty and sang something to my voice mail,” I said. “And then there were the texts.”

  “I’m really sorry,” he said. “They gave me something that made me feel really, really choice at hospital.”

  “It’s cool,” I said.

  “Yeah?” he said. “Hey, my parents are going up to some conference for the weekend, so…you wanna come over and make sure I don’t, like, fall and hit my head while I’m out of my mind on whatever pills they gave me?”

  “Yeah, I can do that. I’ll bring some games and junk food, and we can stay up all night,” I said. It was almost like one of my fantasies: just the two of us and the Thompsons’ stupidly comfortable, ungodly massive couch in front of the world’s best entertainment system. Alone. All weekend. It was unlikely we’d act out the rest of the fantasy, though, and I reminded myself of that fact at various points for the rest of the day. I kept reminding myself all day Friday, too.

  It didn’t stop me from buying rubbers and lube along with the chips.

  “Okay, you know what? I’m really fucking sick of getting killed,” I said, dropping my controller into my lap in disgust.

  “Yeah, me too,” Levi said, setting his on the coffee table. He stretched, carefully, but I noticed that he still winced. “You wanna play some more Forza or something?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Yeah, we could, if you wanna. If you’re feeling up for it.”

  “I’m okay, yeah,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’m off to the lav. You want anything from the kitchen?”

  “I’m good,” I said, waving a hand. “I’ll get the games switched.”

  When he came back, he sat down right next to me. I wondered about it but pretended I didn’t notice and handed him his controller. “Here you go, dude.”

  I have no idea how long we played, but eventually our insults were outpaced by yawns and instead of first place we started racing for second-to-last.

  “I think I’m gonna pass out, here,” I said, backing out of the menus until I hit the top one. Somehow we’d ended up leaning together, my left shoulder against his right.

  “Yeah?” Levi said, shifting around so he could get his elbow into my ribs and poke me. “Budge up, hoonie.”

  “Don’ wanna,” I said, yawning hugely. “You shift it.”

  “Fuck you,” he said, mildly. “Move.”

  “Not gonna,” I said, wondering when I’d lost what was left of my mind. I set my controller on the coffee table.

  “Not gonna what, fuck me or move?” Levi asked, jabbing me again. “’Cause I’m really fucking knackered and I’m not really in much shape to fuck you, least not ’til my ribs heal up s’more.”

  “Okay,” I said, carefully slinging my left arm up across his upper back so my hand ended up in just the right spot to push his face toward mine. It was hella awkward but it worked, ’cause he was looking at me. “I can deal with that,” I told him, and then I kissed him.

  And fuck me, he was kissing me back. Not just kissing me back, god, he was kinda tongue-fucking my mouth, which was so unexpected I almost came right there. Fortunately, though, I managed not to embarrass myself. Levi’s mouth tasted like pizza and a little bit like soda and a whole lot like something I wanted a hell of a lot more of, but I managed to pry myself away from him for a second.

  “Dude, you’re not fuckin’ with me, right? This isn’t, like, your pills or something?” I had to ask, even though I didn’t really want to. Hot as he was, horny as I was, I was so not interested in reliving the summer of 2003 all over again.

  Levi smirked at me, then he blinked and shook his head. “No. I’ve always thought you were spunky, but…” He shrugged and flinched. “Thought you might chuck a wobbly if I said anything.”

  “Okay,” I said, and kissed him again. “So this isn’t gonna be a ‘who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in my bed, naked?’ thing. Good.”

  “You get that a lot?” he asked, giv
ing me a funny look and hitching around so he could kiss me more easily.

  I opened up the second his mouth touched mine, trying to remember that I couldn’t just grab at him or climb on top of him. Eventually, I pulled back so I could answer his question. “No, thank god. Once was more than enough.”

  “Choice,” Levi said. “Time for bed, now.”

  We got up and made our way upstairs to his room, where I got us both undressed. He didn’t really need the help, but I’d been dreaming about stripping him for so long I wasn’t about to pass up the chance.

  “Look at you,” I said, staring at him as he sat on the edge of his bed.

  “I look a mess,” Levi said, shaking his head and gingerly touching the edge of the massive bruise on his left side.

  “Dude, even with the bruise and the cast, you’re like sixty-three kinds of hot,” I said, and dropped to my knees. It had been pretty damn flattering to get his pajama pants and shorts down to discover that he was already hard; he hadn’t softened up at all in the thirty seconds it had taken me to get naked. (Yeah, I know, duh.) In fact, there was a little bead of wetness at the tip of his cock. I pushed his knees apart and leaned in, kissing the head just before I sucked it in.

  “Pull the other one,” he said, and then Levi moaned as his right hand actually smacked into the back of my head. I ignored it and just kept getting to know the way his dick fit into my mouth. I could taste him, smell him; part of it was really familiar, his soap and shampoo and that kind of thing, but the rest of it was Levi and more. God, I wanted more. I backed off and gave him a couple of strokes, looking up at him.

  “You said something about fucking, earlier,” I said.

  Levi blinked at me for a second. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I said I wasn’t in any shape to fuck you, yet.”

  I nodded at him. “Right. So… It’d be cool with you if I fucked you?” I asked. “Carefully, obviously.”