The Naughty List - 3. Naughty Boys

“If you’re free… let’s have more fun later.”

I blink. For a split moment, my brain doesn’t comprehend the meaning of his words. When it finally does though, I immediately feel blood rushing to my cheeks and, well… other body parts.

Ernesto smiles in amusement.

“So, are you?”

“Huh?”

“Free tonight,” he repeats. His voice was lowered. The seductive undertone of the invitation couldn’t be missed this time.

Shit. Shit. Shit. In my mind I was panicking. Was I ready for this? Ernesto appeared perfectly calm, which was absolutely blowing my mind. He meant every word he was saying.

… Fuck, who am I kidding. Of course I wanted this. I would be a world’s biggest liar if I pretended I didn’t want this. I just have to calm down my beating heart, which was admittedly drumming at a rate that made me concerned about perhaps needing an oxygen mask later. And possibly medical attention, too. (But maybe not at my dad’s hospital. That’d be awkward.)

Just breathe, Q. Play it cool. But also: don’t fuck this up.

“H-Hypothetically, where would we… you know…” I start to ask, trying my hardest not to stumble over my words.

“Have fun?” Ernesto asks, with a smirk. “Hmm, good question. I suppose wherever you feel most comfortable, Quentin. That’s what matters most to me.”

Oh. Well, that was certainly a thoughtful, reassuring, and emotionally mature response. Ernesto tilts his head to the side, anticipating an answer.

“Well, my dad actually has an overnight shift for work tonight. So, if you wanna… you know…”

Ernesto perks up. “Wow, I’m being invited to your house already? Que excitante…”

I look up. “Oh, we learned that in class!”

“What?”

Now it was Ernesto’s turn to blink.

“S-Sorry. I meant the Spanish word for ‘exciting.’ You know, because when people try to say ‘I’m excited’, they often mistakenly say ‘estoy excitado’ without realizing—” I start to explain, but halt after realizing what direction this topic was heading. “Never mind, please forget—...”

Ernesto bursts into another fit of laughter again.

“Yes. I suppose ‘excitado’ would be the correct term to use, in this case,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes. He thinks for a moment, leans in, and whispers into my ear again. “I’m excited, Quentin. ‘Estoy excitado.’ Literalmente…”

I feel my cheeks burn. Ernesto closes in, and kisses them again with an endearing smile.

“After school. Let’s meet up at this spot, then. Yes?”

I nod my head, feebly. Truthfully, I was feeling nervous in the back of my mind, and had to will myself not to throw up as soon as Ernesto left to head to class.

And yet— like him— a part of me also couldn’t help but feel excited as well. In both senses of the word.

~ * ~ * ~

For the rest of the afternoon, I was admittedly feeling pretty restless. Jubilant anticipation and guarded hesitation sparred for dominance inside my head, and I honestly didn’t know which side I was rooting for. Ah, so this must be why folks are obsessed with toys like fidget spinners, I tell myself. My anxious eyes glance over at the clock. Honestly, I wasn’t aware the concept of time could feel so condensed and drawn out at the same time. It seemed paradoxical. As I stare blankly at our physics teacher going over the theory of relativity, I wonder if this peculiar phenomena I was experiencing also violated our conventional understanding of physics in some way.

In the end though, I’m a pretty simple guy, and the victory bell inside my head rang in favor of jubilant anticipation by the time class was over. I was about to meet up with Ernesto, after all. Ernesto! At our secret little meeting spot, where we were going to head to my place afterwards, and then ‘have fun’ together by—…

… I blush, cutting my imagination short before I get too ahead of myself. I actually didn’t really know what I should be expecting. What I did know was that I was feeling an eagerness that couldn’t quite be contained, which was a little uncharacteristic of me. Honestly, a part of me still couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Both my mind and feet felt light, like they were bouncing on a cloud made of cotton candy. Dare I say it: for the first time in a while, I was maybe even starting to feel a little good about myself.

All it took was bumping right into Ryan Johnson for all of that to come crashing down.

The hallway around us freezes immediately upon registering our collision. Nervous glances are exchanged. This was because the bystanders all knew: getting on Ryan Johnson’s bad side was the last thing any student here wanted.

“S-Sorry, Ryan…” I panic. A pair of startlingly dark eyes, taller than me by almost an entire head, glare right back at me. He looks down, literally, with a look of sheer contempt.

“Did you just bump into me, faggot…?” I hear his voice growl.

Before I explain who Ryan Johnson is, let me ask: have you ever pet a sleeping lion before? Me neither, but imagine accidentally head-diving into one. That’s basically me right now.

Because if San Nicolas High was a jungle, Ryan Johnson would absolutely be its apex predator. He was a ruthless, uncontrollable beast that commanded the attention of every student here. He was hot, and he knew it. Girls were obsessed with him. Guys feared him. Yep, Ryan Johnson was that guy. This entire campus was nothing more than a hunting ground to him.

I shift my gaze down, in an attempt to avoid direct eye contact. Evidently, Ryan was not in a great mood right now. My instincts tell me to make myself appear smaller. To take up less space. But my skin prickles, sensing his predatory gaze.

“So you’re a fuckin’ mute now, too? On top of being a faggot?” he snickers, pushing me against the lockers behind me. A loud bang reverberates in the hallway, as more heads nervously turn towards our direction. Cold sweat begins to form on my forehead. My breathing becomes irregular. I try to control both, to no avail.

Ryan glares at me. Suddenly, he slams his arm against the locker behind me, causing me to jump. He grabs my shirt collar and I shut my eyes tightly, bracing myself for the worst.

“Yo Ryan, you ready to go?”

Right then, an easygoing voice interjects from across the hallway. Another tall, fit guy wearing designer shades on his forehead appears. He was handsome in a trendy way, his blonde hair slicked back as if he just sprung out of a sponsored ad on Instagram… but his gaze was directed downwards, preoccupied by whatever video was playing on his expensive-looking iPhone.

“Hunter,” Ryan snips. When the newcomer finally looks up, he notices the situation and assesses what’s happening.

“... Bro,” Hunter Emory frowns. “You really gotta stop beating up random kids, dude. You know your dad comes to me every time this shit happens, right?”

Ryan scoffs. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Hunter simply sighs and rolls his blue eyes, before leaning in and whispering something into Ryan’s ear. I couldn’t quite hear what they were saying— something about snagging backstage access for some music festival— but whatever it was, it was thankfully enough to reorient Ryan’s attention.

“Holy shit. You sure about that?”

When Hunter nods his head with a smirk, Ryan lets go of my collar and pulls himself away from me.

“Atta boy. Look at you, leavin’ the poor kid alone,” Hunter quips from the side. “Character growth; we love to see it. You’re making T-dog over here weep.”

Hunter playfully gestures to another pair of piercing green eyes that appears from behind him. Terrance Campbell— apparently now called ‘T-dog’— stares blankly at us with militant silence and a stone-cold expression. He was wearing a simple white tank top, which accentuated his bronze complexion and well-built body… but the sleeveless shirt also drew attention to the many, many tattoos on his arms.

“Shut up, Hunter. Let’s get outta here,” Ryan barks. He begins to walk away, but not before turning to me one last time, as if he just remembered my existence. “Oh, and don’t ever get in my line of sight again. Or else,” he spits.

And then the living, breathing human landmine marches off, followed by Terrance. Hunter glances at me, and silently mouths “You’re welcome” with a carefree wink, before joining the two.

The students in the hallway collectively let out a sigh of relief when the trio finally leaves, but the fact that Ryan’s behavior somehow felt comparatively mild probably suggests how much worse his temperament could often be.

Yeah, Ryan Johnson was unpredictable. We all knew this. And yet no one could do much about it, not even our teachers. Not when his father was Senator Johnson, arguably the most influential and powerful man in town. Ryan Johnson was basically untouchable at this school.

Normalcy returns to the hallway, but I simply continue to just stand there, my back pressed against the lockers. Two seconds. Two extra seconds of staring at him too long in the locker rooms last year, and this is what happens.

I sigh, scratching my head. If I knew this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have dared tried to catch a glimpse of Ryan while he was changing. But damn it, if it weren’t for those broad shoulders he boasted, or that perfectly narrow waist of his, or that smooth, muscled chest…

I let out a quiet, pathetic laugh. I suppose there was a reason I ended up writing his name on the Naughty List. I hated that— even after all this— Ryan Johnson was still the object of my envy. He embodied everything I wasn’t. And that was the part that stung the most.

I try to shake off what just happened. But the color of Ryan’s deep, chestnut eyes continued to occupy space in my mind, uninvited.

~ * ~ * ~

“What’s wrong, Quentin?”

“Huh?”

“You look preoccupied,” Ernesto notes from the passenger seat, with a gentle smile. I pause. I didn’t realize I had let my inner thoughts darken my expression.

“S-Sorry, it’s nothing,” I start to explain. “It’s just… I actually bumped into Ryan on my way here.”

“En serio? Ryan Johnson?” Ernesto’s face recoils with a frown. “I dislike him. He’s not a good person. It never made sense to me why he and his friends are so popular at our school.”

At that, I couldn’t help but chuckle a little. Hearing another person verbalize my thoughts— especially someone like Ernesto— was pretty validating.

“Well, I suppose when you look like you were ripped straight out of an Abercrombie commercial, popularity becomes a given,” I answer, a little defeatedly. Honestly, if it weren't for his caveman personality and ever-present snarl, Ryan Johnson would look the part of the picturesque, all-American boyfriend. “And there’s also the fact that his dad’s a literal state congressman, obviously. As for Hunter, I mean… I’m sure you’ve heard about how filthy rich his family is, right?”

“Si, I’ve heard rumors.”

“Well, take those rumors and multiply them threefold. That’s how stacked that guy is.”

And that was somehow probably still an understatement when it came to Hunter Emory. Honestly, life must feel like it’s set on easy mode when your mom is a renowned international runway model and your dad is a multi-millionaire real estate mogul. Hunter basically had the looks and the money. He was a party animal who wore expensive sneakers and slept with girls like they both grew on trees.

I sigh to myself. I wish I could exhibit even half the amount of confidence Hunter exuded… but then again, I also don’t have a seven-figure trust fund under my name.

“As for Terrance… you definitely don’t want to get on his bad side. I hear that guy is an undefeated legend when it comes to street fights.”

Which kinda made sense, given his tall, muscular physique. Ernesto, Ryan and Hunter were all well-built in their own right, but when it came to intimidation, no one could outdo Terrance Campbell. With a clean, buzzed fade that complimented his stoic comportment, Terrance was also attractive and elusive in a way that drove most girls wild… but there’s a reason he was the ”guard dog” in Ryan’s crew. Him simply standing there was enough of a deterrent to keep Ryan’s throne unchallenged in the city.

“... So yeah, that’s why that trio of “bad bois” are basically untouchable at our school.”

Ernesto makes a curious face. “Bad… boys?”

I hold back a smirk. It was clear from his subtle inflection that he was pronouncing the word with a ‘y’, not an ‘i’. And the uncorrupted confusion was adorable, and appreciated.

“Yep. Bad boiiis,” I emphasize. “They’re like the living embodiment of problematic and unaccountable behavior. But no one ultimately cares cause they’re hot,” I sigh, shaking my head.

Ernesto frowns again. “I don’t think being an attractive person should excuse anyone’s terrible behavior.”

“I know, right? I’m glad we’re on the same page when it comes to what constitutes basic human decency, Ernesto.”

The two of us giggle in the car. After a short moment of comfortable silence, I feel a hand on my thigh. Ernesto’s fingertips rub inwards, dangerously coming close to the tent that was beginning to form inside my pants. I had to fight hard to keep my eyes on the road.

“E-Ernesto, I need to focus on my driving…” I mutter.

“Good. You can focus on driving. Or you can focus on me,” he responds. “But not Ryan and his friends. Those boiiis don’t deserve your attention anymore…”

I couldn’t help but smile at the way he parodies my pronunciation, adding his own Argentinian spin to it. Trust me; Ernesto was about to get all the attention he wanted once we got home.

~ * ~ * ~

By the time we stumbled into the house from the front door, the gorgeous exchange student had already flung himself onto me, grabbing both my hands and eagerly kissing me along my neck, cheeks, and ears, as if we were picking right where we left off from lunch. I stop him, right before he makes his way to my lips again.

“E-Ernesto!”

“S-Si…?” he responds, breathing heavily.

“I want to take this slow,” I respond, equally out of breath. “I-Is it okay if I go clean my room, really quick?”

Ernesto looks at me for a moment, and pulls back with a small grin. His curled hair and shirt were slightly disheveled, making him look even sexier than usual. “Claro. I’ll be waiting right here.”

Nodding my head, I sprint up the stairs.

“Quentin?” I hear him call from downstairs. When I peek down, I’m met with the most perfect, shy smile looking up at me. “Please hurry,” he softly urges. His uncharacteristic impatience causes my cheeks to feel toasty again.

... So naturally, the first thing I did when I closed the door was take a deep, long breath. I allow my pounding heart a brief moment of recluse as I quickly scan my room. Obviously, I wasn’t exactly expecting to have a guest over this morning (or ever, really)... especially not someone like Ernesto. I needed to figure out this room situation, pronto.

Pile of dry clothing? Shove them underneath my bed. Potential odor in the room? I hate that I couldn’t smell it myself, but we’re going to spray some air freshener, open the window, and hope for the best. Does everything look clean and presentable? I certainly hope so. Did I?

From the corner of my eye, I notice the Naughty List has, once again, slipped out of the drawer underneath, unraveling itself on the desk surface. Ugh, not again. This thing has a mind of its own! As I grab it and roll it up, I ignore how Ernesto’s crossed-out name sparkles and glitters, as if the parchment paper was also excited for what was about to happen between the two of us.

When I peek outside, I find Ernesto curiously examining the family photos decorated along the hallway walls.

“Ernesto..?” I shyly call over. He turns around, and immediately flashes another blinding smile.

“Listo, Quentin?” he asks. “Forgive me. I was just looking at your photos. Your father is handsome. I can see where you get your good looks from.”

I blush at how matter-of-fact the statement was. Really? ‘Good looks’ coming from you, Ernesto?

“And this woman, right here,” he continues, his gaze trailing towards another framed picture on a shelf. “She has a kind smile. She must be your moth—...”

Before he could finish the sentence, I gently take the photo and place it face down on the shelf. And then I lean in and kiss him. Lip to lip, with a little bit of tongue, because I was feeling brave. Ernesto’s beautiful eyelashes flutter for a second before he slowly closes them, as if to welcome and savor the sudden intimacy.

“... This time, you kissed me,” he eventually whispers after we pull away, with a small giggle.

“Yep. I told you. I like you, Ernesto,” I say, pulling him closer to me. “You’re not the only one who wants this.”

My unexpected bravado earns me the most adorable blush. Fuck, he was so cute. I kiss him one more time. And then once more. Wrapped in the stillness of the house, with certainty and assertiveness I didn’t know I had, I grab Ernesto by the waist and pull him into my room.

Let the naughtiness begin.

To be continued...