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There’s a fine line between “spontaneous adventure” and “bad decision,” and Kevin Price was learning that the line looked a lot like Connor McKinley’s smile.
Or at least, that was what he was going to be reminded of once Connor actually touched down in New York. For now, he was still on the plane. Kevin was trying to hide and push down how excited he was to see Connor. Mostly because he recognized that his excitement reached beyond the confines of platonic affection.
“Hello, it’s Kevin,” Kevin began. “I know you just landed and I know you’re probably busy but I would love to see you. So call me when you can. Okay… bye.”
After setting his phone down, Kevin groaned and squeezed his the bridge of his nose with embarrassment. He was awful at voicemails. Well actually, he was just awful at functioning when Connor McKinley was involved. He was just so funny and confident and, well, easy on the eyes.
Kevin’s feelings for Connor, if you could even call them that, were complicated by the fact that Kevin didn’t really think of himself as gay. He just knew that he didn’t really like being in relationships with women and he would very much like to be in a relationship with Connor. Okay, so maybe those things didn’t exactly point to heterosexuality. Whatever.
Great, I’m back to the emotional stability of the Uganda days.
Their evening started like many that they’d experienced together — going to some random bar with Arnold and Nabulungi. Except this time Arnold and Naba were busy engaging in PDA that could make even the horniest of high school couples cringe. This left Kevin and Connor to sit at the bar together, while making their best efforts to pretend like they didn’t know the two straight weirdos who were sitting just a few stools away from them — kissing like they were trying to trade tongues.
“That’s how I am when I get drunk off malibu,” Connor giggled.
“You get like that when you have malibu?” Kevin asked, clutching non-existent pearls.
“I mean, if I have enough of it, totally,” Connor nodded.
“Somebody get this man some malibu,” Kevin winked.
Connor gasped. “Kevin Price, did you just flirt with me?”
Kevin paused for a minute. He had indeed just flirted with Connor. That wasn’t normal for him. After all, he’d only very recently realized that he had a slight crush on his long-time friend. Kevin smiled at the thought of his nineteen-year-old self seeing him. He’d probably faint or go into a coma or something.
“That depends,” Kevin hummed, “Did it work?”
Connor raised his eyebrows — seeming surprised but not totally opposed to Kevin’s advances.
“How much malibu have you had this fine evening?” Connor snorted.
“Actually, I’ve never had it.”
“You what?” Connor nearly choked on his drink.
Kevin immediately braced himself. Sure enough, t-minus ten seconds later and two suspiciously clear shots landed in front of him.
Arnold always said that in a bar, the clearer the liquor, the likelier it was to ruin your entire week.
Kevin eyed the glass like it might sprout fangs. He gave it a cautious sniff. It smelled like coconut-scented nail polish remover.
“What do I chase it with?” he asked warily.
“Oh, you don’t need a chaser,” Connor said sweetly. “Just take it straight. Malibu goes down smooth.”
Kevin narrowed his eyes. “You said that like a murderer.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
Kevin muttered a prayer under his breath, tipped the glass, and immediately hated his life. His nose wrinkled, his throat seized, and for a split second he was convinced his tongue had been coated in sunscreen.
Connor burst out laughing, nearly falling off his stool.
“Oh—sorry, did I say no chaser? I meant follow it with a shot of pineapple juice.”
Kevin wheezed, glaring at him through watery eyes. “I hate you so much.”
“You don’t hate me,” Connor grinned.
Kevin slammed the empty glass down like it had personally wronged him. “That was like… drinking suntan lotion mixed with regret.”
Connor’s laughter doubled. “And yet you’re still sitting next to me. Some might call that devotion.”
Kevin groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Some might call it Stockholm syndrome.”
“Besides, my other best friends are trying to consume one another’s faces.”
“Does that make me your third best friend?” Connor asked, with faux-offence.
Kevin pretended to think about it. “Am I aloud to count my dog for one of the spots? Because then you would be fourth place.”
“I’m hurt,” Connor said, miming being stabbed in the chest.
“My dog never made me take a shot of malibu without a chaser.”
Connor smiled with pride. Clearly there was no way to make him regret his actions when they’d produced such an effect on Kevin. And there was no way to stay mad at Connor when he smiled like that.
A particularly loud slurping sound from Arnold and Naba’s smooching made Kevin feel even more sick to his stomach.
“Jesus Christ,” Kevin winced.
“That doesn’t even sound pleasant,” Connor laughed.
“To each their own, I guess,” Kevin shrugged.
“Yeah,” Connor said, before his tone dropping into a comedic southern accent. “I mean they’re allowed to do what they want but do they have to bring it in public like that?”
Kevin laughed, before adding to the joke. “We’re not forcing our beliefs onto them, I don’t see why they have to force theirs on us.”
“Why do they have to flaunt it in peoples faces like that?” Connor mocked. “I mean, a kid could walk by!”
“Yeah, think of the children!” Kevin agreed. “The many children in this bar.”
“Next thing you know they’ll be demanding rights and marriage equality.”
“And parades.”
“And infesting Broadway.”
“God forbid.”
Kevin and Connor laughed hysterically at their own stupid joke. It was strange — how easily he slipped into this sort of banter with Connor. Another slurping sound drifted over from Arnold and Naba’s direction.
“What could they possibly be doing to make such a sound?” Connor laughed.
“Do you want to try and find out?” Kevin asked, having no clue how much he was joking and how much he was being sincere. Luckily, Connor took it like a joke.
The funny thing was, Kevin and Connor had actually kissed on a dare before but they were far too drunk to remember it. Arnold took a video of it and everything. Kevin watched that video over and over more times than he’d care to admit. It just… looked like a really good kiss.
Yet another slurping sound happened, this one accompanied by a moaning sound and Kevin couldn’t honestly tell which one had made it.
“Okay, this is getting disgusting,” Kevin groaned. “Should we just get out of here?”
“And go where?”
“Literally anywhere else.”
“Let’s do it.”
“Okay, where do you want to go?” Kevin asked.
“Hmm,” Connor hummed, swaying slightly. Then that smile started creeping across his face — the dangerous one, the one that usually meant Kevin was about end up in a terrible situation.
“Oh God,” Kevin muttered.
“We should…” Connor dragged it out like it was some grand revelation, “...go to the subway. And —wait for it— play… rock, paper, scissors.”
Kevin blinked. “That’s not… that’s not an answer to the question.”
Connor waved him off with the dignity of a king bestowing wisdom upon a fool. “No, no, no, you don’t get it. The game decides. Fate decides. The Subway Oracle decides.”
“The Subway Oracle?”
“You’ll see,” Connor said with so much drunken confidence it almost sounded credible. Then, without warning, he seized Kevin’s hand and sashayed him toward the station. Kevin’s stomach betrayed him instantly, buzzing with butterflies at the feeling of Connor’s fingers laced tight with his own.
They hopped the turnstile—well, Connor hopped, Kevin sort of half-climbed—and reached the sign splitting uptown/Queens from downtown/Brooklyn.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Connor said, spinning to face him like this was a sacred ceremony. “You pick uptown or downtown.”
“Uhh…”
“Just pick! Don’t overthink it, Kevin, you’re ruining the vibe.”
“Fine. Downtown.”
“Great. I pick uptown.” Connor jabbed a finger in the air triumphantly. “Now we play. Best two out of three. Winner chooses destiny.”
Kevin rubbed his temples. “You’re making this sound like The Hunger Games.”
Connor puffed up his chest. “Exactly. May the odds be ever in my favor.”
The first round: tie. Second round: tie again. Third round: still a tie.
Connor groaned like the universe was personally attacking him. “Why are your hands copying my hands?”
Eventually, Connor pulled out a sloppy but victorious scissors. He cheered like he’d just secured world peace.
“Yesss! Uptown! Queens, baby! The Subway Oracle has spoken!”
Kevin laughed, shaking his head—just before Connor reclaimed his hand and dragged him triumphantly toward the stairs
Once they were down on the subway platform, Connor spun around with the gravity of a man about to reveal a state secret. His eyes were glassy but determined.
“Okay, okay, listen,” he said, holding up a finger like he needed Kevin to swear an oath. “Here’s the plan. Whatever train comes next—that’s the one we get on. No arguments.”
Kevin nodded, though he wasn’t sure if that was a plan or just… existing.
“But wait, there’s more.” Connor squinted like he was doing quantum physics in his head. “Then we both… we both come up with a number. Like a secret number. Between… I dunno, one and, like, infinity. No, not infinity, that’s stupid. Like… ten? Twelve? A million? Doesn’t matter. Anyway. Then we play rock-paper-scissors again. And if you win, we go with your number of stops. If I win, we go with mine.”
He beamed proudly, like he’d just reinvented public transportation.
Kevin tried to follow the thread, but his brain was short-circuiting on a far more pressing issue: the way Connor’s mouth moved when he talked. His lips were soft and animated, curving around each ridiculous word. Connor could’ve been explaining the stock market, ancient runes, or the plot of a three-hour movie Kevin had never seen — Kevin wouldn’t have heard a thing.
Malibu had definitely been a mistake.
The next train to arrive was the F train. Or maybe it was the E train. Or maybe it was the 7 train. It was exceptionally hard for Kevin to get his eyes to focus while drunk.
Once they were safely in the air-conditioned car it was time to choose the number of stops.
“Okay, what’s your number?”
“971-200—”
“No, stupid,” Connor laughed, “Like the number of stops you want to get off after?”
God Kevin loved the sound of Connor’s laugh.
“Uhhh two,” Kevin smiled.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Connor chided, playfully pushing on Kevin’s shoulder.
“I must have left it in my other pants.”
“Okay fine, well just to even it out I’ll go with… eight stops,” Connor decided.
“EIGHT?” Kevin gasped. “We’ll be in Maine!”
“And somehow I’m the dramatic one,” Connor rolled his eyes. “Okay, let the games begin.”
They played a few more rounds of rock-paper-scissors with Connor winning embarrassingly fast.
“You’re terrible at rock-paper-scissors,” Connor teased.
“There’s no strategy involved at all!” Kevin said, defensively. “It’s all just luck!”
Kevin was exceptionally competitive — the fact that lead Connor to tease him about being bad at it in the first place.
But, eight stops later, Kevin and Connor got out.
“Where the fuck are we?” Connor wondered as they emerged from the stairwell into Queens.
“Queens, duh,” Kevin grumbled, still annoyed he hadn’t gotten his way.
“Yeah but like… where ?”
Kevin squinted around. Skyscrapers still loomed in the distance, but the buildings around them were a little more squat with a bodega glowing defiantly against the dark. Above-ground tracks rattled somewhere overhead. A roundabout held the tiniest excuse for a park—five trees, a bench, one streetlamp.
“Wow, this is thrilling,” Kevin deadpanned.
“Has anyone told you how annoying you are?” Connor muttered.
“Yeah, you,” Kevin shot back with a grin.
Connor rolled his eyes but grabbed Kevin’s hand anyway, dragging him across the street with reckless confidence.
The park really wasn’t much—patchy grass, concrete paths cracked from wear, a single lamppost buzzing like it might give up at any second. But under the wash of its light, Connor looked softer than Kevin remembered.
They sat on the bench.
“How’ve you been?” Kevin asked.
Connor raised an eyebrow. “Small talk? Really?”
“We haven’t seen each other in, like, a year and a half. Sorry for wanting to know what you’ve been up to,” Kevin teased. “Tell me—what’s your job, your hobbies… do you have a boyfriend?”
Connor’s grin spread slow and sharp.
“Ohhhh, I see now. ”
“Huh?”
“You want to know if I’m single,” Connor sing-songed.
“What—nooo, that’s not—I didn’t—” Kevin stammered, words collapsing uselessly.
Connor leaned in with mock-seriousness. “Just admit it, Price.”
Kevin folded his arms and looked away, trying not to blush. “Drop it.”
Instead, Connor went quiet. When Kevin glanced back, Connor’s expression was unreadable.
“Kevin,” he said softly. “You used to say you were straight. Are you… gay?”
Kevin’s breath caught. The easiest answer slipped out. “I don’t think so.”
Connor nodded, eyes falling to his lap. “I see.”
Silence stretched between them. The city was still awake — car horns, distant laughter — but in the little park, it felt like the whole world had narrowed down to a patch of grass and a park bench and the unbearable distance of six inches.
Kevin’s palms were sweaty. His throat was dry. He wanted to backpedal, to change the subject, but instead he blurted:
“I mean… maybe we should… check?”
Connor’s head snapped up. One eyebrow arched high. “Check?”
“I mean—just to be sure.” Kevin winced at himself.
Connor scooted closer. The air felt suddenly heavy, electric.
“Kevin Price,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “you’re gonna have to tell me what you want.”
Kevin’s heart jackhammered in his chest. Words tangled on his tongue.
“I… I want you to—”
“Yeah?” Connor coaxed.
“—to kiss me. Please—”
But the last syllable was stolen as Connor’s mouth crashed against his.
The kiss was everything Kevin hadn’t prepared for—messy, urgent, alive . Connor tasted like tequila and salt, his tongue pressing in with practiced heat. Kevin’s whole body lit up, nerves sparking like he’d been tazed. Connor’s hands threaded into his hair, tugging just enough to make Kevin gasp, and Kevin melted under the weight of it, letting himself be steered, undone.
Connor broke away only far enough to breathe. Their foreheads pressed together.
“Y’know,” Connor panted, grin tugging at his lips, “we could go to hell for this.”
Kevin’s answering smile was dizzy and bright. “We’ll probably be fine.”
He kissed him again—harder this time, desperate, greedy—his hands roaming over Connor’s shoulders, his back, like he couldn’t get close enough.
The lamppost hummed above them, the whole city carrying on without noticing, but in that tiny park in Queens, Kevin’s world tilted and locked into place.