Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 8
The car ride home was… weird .
Not bad—just off . Like someone had put Noah on a stage and handed him a script he was reading a little too perfectly.
He was charming . Like, excessively charming. Like he'd watched a YouTube tutorial called "How to Win Over Your Boyfriend's Mother in Under Ten Minutes." He complimented my mom's driving. Her taste in music. How her hairstyle was perfect for the shape of her face. Her sensible choice in shoes, for God's sake.
"And this playlist is amazing," he said, voice smooth as honey. "Fleetwood Mac? So tasteful. And Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks were born just to harmonize with each other. I can tell where Nick gets it! Oh, and Melissa Etheridge gets me every time!"
My mom smiled at him in the rearview mirror, clearly flattered but also mildly suspicious. Heck, I was suspicious too.
Meanwhile, I sat there in the passenger seat trying not to die from secondhand embarrassment. This wasn't the Noah I knew. Or maybe it was – just the version he put on for adults. Rich-kid polite. Ivy League energy. Charm turned up to eleven. This must be how Noah acts in front of his multi-millionaire parents' friends at cocktail parties, I thought.
And still, under all that, he linked his pinky with mine between the seats and didn't let go.
We didn't say anything about it. We just stayed connected. Quiet. Tethered.
By the time we turned onto our street, my stomach was doing somersaults.
"There it is," I said, pointing to the beige Victorian-style house with green shutters, half hidden by the big old maple in the front yard. "Home sweet extremely suburban home."
Mom pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. "Alright, boys. Ground rules. I have an overnight at the hospital, which means you'll have the place to yourselves. No parties and no wanton destruction."
"Seriously?" I said, eyebrows shooting up.
"I left the emergency numbers on the fridge, and dinner's almost ready. Just don't burn the house down, don't murder each other, and for the love of God, do not let the dog pee in Mrs. Henderson's rose bushes again – or we're getting another 'gift' in the mailbox, and this time it'll probably be on fire."
Cue the blur of fur that was Mr. Bojangles launching out the front door and making a beeline straight for Noah's legs.
"Oh my God," Noah laughed as he tried to stay upright. "He's... committed."
"He's forty pounds of pure enthusiasm," I said, trying to peel him off.
Dinner was quick. My mom made fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and sweet corn that tasted like summer even though the wind outside said otherwise. Noah complimented every bite like he was judging a cooking competition, and my mom gave me a look like where did you find this one? It was definitely a little weird and uncomfortable.
After dinner, Mom waved goodbye, leaving behind the delicious scent of crispy chicken, a mountain of dirty dishes, and the faint rumble of her car pulling out of the driveway.
I turned to Noah. "C'mon, help me clean up, then we can go for a walk."
He blinked at me like I'd just asked him to recite the Declaration of Independence backwards. "Wait… what about the help?"
I stared. "The what now?"
"You know," he said, gesturing vaguely around the kitchen. "The people who do this kind of thing. Cooking, dishes, laundry. Household staff."
I snorted so hard I nearly dropped a plate. "Noah, we are the household staff. I do the dishes. I mow the lawn. My mom and I both clean, and my mom and I both do the cooking."
He looked genuinely flabbergasted, like I'd just revealed we lived by candlelight and churned our own butter, or that the Earth wasn't really round.
I laughed. "Sorry to break it to you, Prince Charming, but there's no butler waiting in the wings. You're officially slumming it now."
Noah gave a sheepish shrug. "I guess I've never really stayed anywhere… normal."
I raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have any friends who aren't rich?"
He actually paused to think about it. "I don't think so," he admitted. "Wow. That sounds awful out loud. All my friends are pretty much curated by my parents."
I tossed him a dish towel. "Then buckle up, Your Highness. This weekend is going to be the cultural reeducation of Noah Langley."
He grinned, catching the towel mid-air. "Think I'll survive it?"
I smirked. "If you do, you get honorary middle-class status. It comes with coupons."
The first order of business after cleaning up was to go outside and enjoy the fresh air. The air was cool, just this side of cold. The sky had gone dusky, purple bleeding into black. We wandered the cul-de-sac and the surrounding blocks, past tidy lawns and porch lights flicking on. I could hear crickets and the faint rustle of leaves, but no one was outside.
We didn't hold hands – not here. Not in public. But our shoulders brushed. Our arms bumped. And every time they did, my heart gave this little flutter, like it was desperate to be noticed.
On the way back home, Noah spotted a 7-Eleven, and we just had to stop for a late night snack to accompany the movies we were going to watch. So, we picked up a couple of Jumbo Slurpee's, several hot dogs with lots of mustard and onions, nachos, a mountain of taquitos (we bought them out), mini beef tacos, four slices of pepperoni pizza, and potato wedges. The frumpy, homely cashier asked if we were sure we could eat all that food, so Noah flirted back with her, asking her if she'd like to come over after work and share with us while watching rom-coms on Netflix. Unfortunately, her boyfriend, Billy-Bob, was on his way to pick her up after work. As they left the store, Noah shouted back over his shoulder, "Maybe next time, cupcake!"
When we finally got back home, I set up the pull-out bed in the basement (something else that perplexed him), fluffed the pillows, and tossed on the extra comforter. I went upstairs to change – just a T-shirt and gym shorts – and came back down expecting Noah to be buried in his phone or digging through the bounty of snacks from 7-Eleven.
Instead, he was sitting on the bed in nothing but his tight black briefs.
I froze.
His back was half-turned toward me, the soft curve of his spine visible in the low light from the TV. My eyes tracked down to the waistband of his underwear and the shape of his legs stretching toward the edge of the mattress. I noted only the lightest dusting of dark brown hair covering his legs.
And the bulge.
Definitely the bulge.
"Uh. Hi," I said, as eloquently as I could.
He looked over his shoulder, smirking. "It's hot."
"It's like sixty-eight degrees."
"Then I guess I'm hot."
I stood there too long – staring, calculating, overthinking. My heart was pounding in my ears. Finally, I pulled my shirt over my head, slid off my gym shorts, and tried not to think about the fact that I was absolutely, unmistakably hard .
I scooted under the blanket as fast as I could, angling my body just right to hide it.
It didn't work.
Noah glanced down, then gave me a soft, sly grin.
"It's alright," he said. "We all get them."
My whole face went red. "I wasn't – I mean –"
He laughed gently, not cruelly, just enough to let me know he wasn't judging. "Seriously, Nick. Chill. I like it. It kinda turns me on."
I fumbled with the remote and queued up the first movie – White Chicks , I think. I could barely focus. Noah slid in next to me under the covers, and just a few moments in, his hand found mine.
No slow build-up. No big moment.
Just fingers slipping between mine, warm and steady.
I nearly stopped breathing. I was completely overwhelmed with lust. I wanted to kiss him and feel all over his entire gorgeous body all night long. I had a feeling he would let me, too.
Seeing how relaxed and confident Noah was – while I was teetering on the edge of fainting – made me wonder just how many times he'd done something like this before. He was only fourteen, same as me, but he carried himself like someone who'd already figured it all out. It stirred up questions I wasn't quite ready to ask – about him, about me, about what any of this meant. But I forced myself to quiet those thoughts. To stop overthinking. To just be here, now, and enjoy… whatever this was going to turn into.
The rest of me was practically buzzing, electricity crawling up my arms, into my chest, down my spine. I squeezed his hand back, just a little. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
We watched two movies like that – kind of. Mostly, I stared at the screen without absorbing anything while Noah quietly traced shapes on my bare chest with his fingers. And each time, his hand kept getting closer and closer to my waistline. Part of me was screaming yes , but the other part was urging me to slow it down. I'd never done anything like this before. Was Noah expecting me to have sex with him? About the most I was prepared to deal with was a little smooching.
Suddenly, I was saved by the bell … well, the dog. Mr. Bojangles jumped up on the bed, with his leash in his mouth, and dropped it right next to me. It was his way of saying he needed to go outside. I quickly and awkwardly excused myself, pulled on my T-shirt and shorts, and took Mr. Bojangles out to the front yard to do his business, and gave me a chance to clear my thoughts just a little.
By the time I got back downstairs, the third movie had already started playing, and fortunately Noah's hands weren't wandering so much anymore. Sometime after midnight, we were lying on our sides, facing each other. The screen cast pale blue light over his skin. His face was close – closer than it had ever been before. I could see the tiny freckle under his left eye, the way his lashes curled slightly at the tips.
And I could smell his peppermint toothpaste.
My heart was hammering.
He reached out, hand tentative, and rested it lightly on my waist. His thumb brushed my skin. I shivered.
"I could tell you were getting a little nervous before. Is this more your pace now, babe?" he asked gently.
"Mmmmmm," I murmured.
I mirrored the gesture, moving my hand slowly to his side, my fingers grazing bare skin, warm and smooth and impossibly real.
His eyes searched mine. Quiet. Questioning.
I nodded – just barely.
And then he leaned in, ever so gently and slowly.
The kiss was soft. Careful. Like something sacred.
Our lips met and held, not hungry or rushed, but reverent. I could feel the tremble in my own breath, the heat rising behind my ears, the press of his chest against mine as we leaned closer. His pink lips were so soft, and his breath still smelled of peppermint toothpaste.
He pulled back just a little, forehead resting against mine, our noses brushing. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could feel it.
Then – again.
His lips on mine, slower this time. Deeper. The kind of kiss that said I want to know you in a way words never could.
I whimpered without meaning to. A soft, broken sound from somewhere deep in my chest.
And still, he kissed me.
We broke apart. Only for air.
And then we kissed again.
And again.
Longer now. Our mouths opened. Our tongues met, cautious at first, then more certain.
It felt like falling and being caught at the same time.
It was messy. Beautiful. A little awkward (at least on my part). And perfect.
Eventually, we slowed. Breathing in sync. Faces close, hands still curled at each other's waists.
I did it! I kissed a boy! My very first kiss ever! Part of me wanted to jump up and down on the bed, but I figured that might look a little silly.
Noah shifted behind me and pulled me back into him, spooning me beneath the blanket, his arm tightening around my middle like he never wanted to let go.
I stared into the darkness, lips still tingling, body thrumming with everything I couldn't say.
He was here.
He kissed me.
He wanted me.
And I had never felt more alive.
I woke up to the soft rhythm of breathing behind me.
Warm skin pressed against my back, an arm curled tightly around my waist, our legs tangled beneath the blanket. For a second, I didn't move. I just lay there, eyes still closed, letting myself feel it – his body against mine, the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth, the silence, the memory.
Everything from last night came rushing back at once – his lips on mine, his hands at my waist, the way he'd held me after, the way we'd kissed again and again until I felt like my soul was leaving my body and my lips were raw.
It was overwhelming.
But in the most exquisite way possible.
And it felt… different from being with Jack. Not better, not worse – just different . With Jack, I was usually the one holding him. Like I was trying to keep him from floating off or slipping through the cracks. But with Noah, he was the one holding me. And I felt anchored. Safe. Wanted .
And then I felt it.
Soft kisses, light as breath, being pressed to the back of my neck.
My eyes fluttered open.
Noah's lips brushed once, then again, and I let out a sound – something between a sigh and a shiver.
We stayed like that for a while. Wordless. Breathing each other in.
Eventually, we untangled ourselves – slowly, reluctantly – and got dressed. Neither of us said much, but every time I glanced over at him, he was already looking at me. Smiling, just a little.
The smell of bacon and coffee drifted down from upstairs, and my stomach grumbled loud enough for both of us to hear. We headed up to the kitchen, and I barely got a "good morning" out before Noah turned his charm dial up to eleven again.
"Dr. Kincaid," he said, with that smooth voice and perfect posture. "This bacon is exceptional, perfectly crispy. You're spoiling us!"
My mom blushed. "Well, you boys have a big day of… doing whatever it is boys do. Eat up."
I wanted to crawl under the table. Noah winked at me over his coffee. Something about the way Noah talked to my mom bothered me, though. It seemed manipulative in a way. Fortunately, I think my mom took it more playfully.
After breakfast, my mom announced that she was heading off to bed to catch some sleep before her next overnight shift. "No wild parties," she called from the stairs. "And don't let the dog drink from the toilet again."
I grabbed my backpack and stuffed in a blanket, my tablet, snacks, and water.
Mr. Bojangles stood by the door, tail thumping, staring at me like you're not leaving me behind, are you?
"You wanna come?" I asked him.
His whole back half wiggled with excitement.
"Let's go," I said, and he bounded out ahead of us like we were going on the most epic expedition ever.
We slipped through the backyard, passed the flowerbed, and into the woods behind the house. Mr. Bojangles trotted ahead, nose to the ground, zigzagging between trees and occasionally splashing through the shallow creek.
The trail was narrow but familiar. Leaves crunched underfoot. The trees filtered soft, dappled light across the path. We followed the winding water, talking about everything and nothing – favorite snacks, the weirdest things we'd overheard in the dining hall, the hierarchy of breakfast cereals, and the cutest boys in the dorm (turns out we both had a thing for Christian!).
Every few minutes, Mr. Bojangles would return to us with a stick twice his size, clearly expecting us to throw it. Noah obliged, launching it with a grin and watching the dog tear off like a shot.
Eventually, we reached the spot.
The creek split in two here, forming a little peninsula in the middle – just big enough for a tent or two people lying side by side.
"My dad and I used to come camping here," I said. "We'd set up the tent right on that little patch of land. He always packed too many snacks and forgot like, essential things – bug spray, pillows, matches. But it was always amazing."
Noah looked around, taking it in. "It's beautiful."
"After he died, I started coming here by myself. It helped, I guess. Being in the quiet. Remembering stuff."
We stepped across a few flat stones to get to the island. Mr. Bojangles leapt from one to the next with surprising grace, then immediately began circling the edge of the little spit of land, sniffing everything like he was doing security patrol and marking his territory.
I pulled out the blanket and spread it out, and we both sank down onto it. I opened A Separate Peace on my tablet for my English assignment, and Noah just lay back with his hands behind his head, gazing up at the rustling canopy.
For a while, there was only the sound of the creek and Mr. Bojangles panting as he flopped beside us.
Eventually, Noah turned his head toward me and said, "You're really cute, you know that?"
I forgot how to breathe for a second.
I looked up from my tablet, blinking. "What?"
He propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes warm, amused. "Just wanted to say it. In case you didn't know. Your floppy blond hair, your gorgeous hazel eyes, your skinny build. It's all perfect to me. You have no idea how badly I wanted you last night. It took all my willpower."
I felt my cheeks heat up so fast I probably looked like a cherry tomato. "I, uh. Thanks. You too."
He grinned and rolled onto his side to face me. "Can we talk about last night?"
My heart did a small somersault. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."
"I just… I wanted to say I've never kissed anyone like that before. You really took my breath away."
I blinked. "Wait, you've kissed other people before?"
He nodded. "A few times. Stupid boarding school flings. Nothing serious."
"So, I was… what? Just a better-looking stupid boarding school fling?"
"No," he said, and his voice dropped into something softer. "You were different. It felt… special … you're special , Nick."
I felt like I was going to melt into the ground.
"I'd never kissed anyone before," I admitted. "Like, ever ."
Noah's expression shifted – gentle, almost adoring. "Really?"
"Yeah."
"You're a really good kisser," Noah said, as he leaned over and kissed me on the tip of my nose. "I'm really honored that I got to be your first. You were perfect in every way, and you tasted so delicious."
I giggled. "I was panicking the entire time."
He smiled and reached over, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. "Didn't show."
I looked down at the blanket, fiddling with a corner of the fabric. "When did you want to kiss me? Like… when did you know ?"
"The first time I saw you," he said without hesitation. "Dining hall. You were sitting there looking all awkward and wide-eyed. I couldn't stop staring at you."
I didn't know what to say. My brain was doing that melty, soupy thing where no thought could quite take shape.
Just then, Mr. Bojangles gave a loud groan and dramatically rolled onto his back between us, legs in the air.
We both cracked up.
"I think he's jealous," I said.
"He can join the cuddle pile later," Noah replied.
"I really like you," I finally said, voice soft.
And then Noah leaned in and kissed me again.
Gentle. Sure. Possessive.
We lay down on the blanket, curled toward each other, our foreheads touching, Mr. Bojangles snoring softly beside us. We didn't talk. We just breathed. Together.
That night, back on the sofa bed, we watched movies, tangled together like we'd done it a hundred times before. At some point, I turned off the TV and rolled toward him.
Noah leaned in and kissed me again.
Soft at first. Then deeper.
His hands slid up under my shirt. My hands tangled in his hair.
We kissed until there was nothing left but the sound of our breathing and the press of skin against skin.
When we finally stopped, he pulled me against him, one arm tight around my middle.
And just before I fell asleep, I thought:
Nothing could ever be better than this.
Sunday morning came way too fast.
The pale light slipping in from the basement window felt colder than yesterday. Less like adventure, more like an ending. I blinked awake and stared at the shadows on the ceiling, trying to convince myself I wasn't already anxious about going back to school.
But I was.
I checked my phone and saw a text from my mom:
Got roped into a double. You two will have to take the bus back. Sorry! Love you!
I sighed and set the phone aside, then turned back toward Noah.
He was still asleep, curled behind me, one arm slung around my waist, holding me like I was something precious. I lay there for a long while, just feeling him breathe, letting the moment stretch. I didn't know when— if —we'd get to do something like this again. But I wanted to do it again and again and again … and I wanted to do more . I was hooked.
Eventually, we got up and got dressed. Breakfast was cereal and toast, eaten side by side at the kitchen table. Noah was quiet, still sleepy. I kept glancing at him, wondering if he was thinking the same thing I was – that the magic of the weekend was about to vanish into homework, bells, and dining hall ratatouille.
Between bites, I asked, "Are you… out? At school?"
He didn't even flinch. "More or less."
"Oh."
He looked over at me and smiled softly. "Mark and Emery are, too. You inadvertently sat at the 'gay table' that first day we met in the dining hall."
"Emery?" I said, surprised. "Really? I mean – I kind of figured about Mark. But Emery?"
"Super adorable Asian boy from Mandarin class?" he teased.
I turned red. "Shut up."
Emery was really cute, though. And sweet.
He laughed. "Yeah. Him. He's really cool. Quiet, but cool. Quite a few boys have actually asked him out, apparently, but he's super picky. He hasn't said yes to a single one."
I nodded slowly, turning it over in my head. "I'm not sure I'm ready to be out. Not yet."
"That's okay," he said. "You don't have to be. Take your time."
I chewed on my toast, trying to work up the nerve to ask the thing that had been sitting in the back of my throat all morning.
"So…" I started, eyes fixed on my plate, "does all this mean we're… like… boyfriends ?"
There was a pause. I looked up at him.
He didn't look uncomfortable – just thoughtful.
"I don't know," he said eventually. "Maybe we don't need to put a label on it yet? We can just… go with the flow?"
I tried to smile. "Yeah. Okay."
It wasn't exactly the answer I'd been hoping for. Maybe I was just old-fashioned, but something in me wanted the word. Wanted the clarity. Still, I nodded and told myself not to overthink it. So I couldn't refer to Noah as my "boyfriend," but that didn't take anything away from the connection we had or the "things" we may be trying in the near future, right?
Later, on the bus, he found my pinky with his and slowly curled his around it, like a silent promise.
And for now… that was just enough.
We got back to campus a little after two. Noah said he had to catch up on homework before Monday, so we said goodbye and went our separate ways. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek when no one was looking, and my heart did a backflip as I headed upstairs to drop off my stuff.
Jack wasn't there.
I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
I headed to the common room instead, where a bunch of boys were already piled onto the couches watching the Lions game. I slid into a seat and before long, Christian – my tall, hot junior "crush" – plopped down beside me like we were already best friends. It made me feel special.
"Think they'll actually win it all this year?" he said, handing me a slice of pizza.
"Hope is the most dangerous thing in football," I replied, and he laughed.
The game swept us up – shouting at plays, calling out stats, arguing over coaching decisions like we had personal stakes in the outcome. It felt good. Easy. Normal.
In the third quarter, Christian's little brother, Jonah, made another appearance. Apparently, he liked to make an entrance. But instead of jumping onto Christian's lap, he jumped onto mine this time. He was pretty small, so it wasn't too uncomfortable … until he grabbed my arms and folded them around himself.
"Jonah, down boy!" commanded Christian, with a slight grin. Jonah just pouted and stayed put.
"You're Nick, right?" Jonah asked.
"Yep, that's me," I replied.
"I've got big plans for you, Nicky-boy!" Jonah giggled.
Eventually, he must have gotten bored, because he jumped off my lap – as gracefully as a gymnast doing a dismount – and kissed me on the cheek before bounding down the hall from whence he came. Weird little guy.
For a little while longer, I didn't think about Noah, or school, or Jack, or anything else.
Just football and pizza and being one of the guys.
It was after dinner when I finally made my way back to the room.
Jack was there.
And he looked like shit.
He was sprawled on his bed, still in the same clothes he must've worn all weekend. His hair was sticking up in weird directions, his eyes were puffy and ringed with dark circles, and he smelled like he hadn't been within ten feet of soap in days.
"Hey," I said softly.
He didn't answer.
I dropped my bag and crossed the room slowly. "You okay?"
He stared at the ceiling.
"I shouldn't have left," I said. "I didn't know you'd be – like this."
Still nothing.
I sat on the edge of my bed, glancing at him. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," he said, voice rough and flat.
"Can I get you something? Food? Water?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
He sighed, eyes still fixed upward. "Just leave it, Nick."
I didn't know what else to say. I hated this feeling – being shut out, helpless.
But eventually, after some coaxing, I got him to agree to take a shower. If Mr. G had caught a whiff of him, he would've made him do it anyway.
At least it was something.
That night, I got ready for bed quietly. Jack said nothing. He climbed into his own bed and rolled to face the wall.
He didn't come to mine.
Not that I necessarily expected him to.
Yet another Jack drama.
But still – I stared at the ceiling, arms folded across my chest and tried not to feel the absence beside me.
And I wondered: was it okay that the best weekend of my life might've been the worst one of his?
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