The Art of Faking Straight

Chapter Twenty-six

         “I think I heard a car outside,” Kyle says, nudging me in the shoulder. We’ve both been standing in the living room of our house, waiting for Connor to get here. He was supposed to be here almost fifteen minutes ago, but claimed he had to stop and ‘pick something up at WalMart first’.

         I peek out through the blinds and sure enough, Connor’s pulling into the drive. “Crap, it’s Connor,” I murmur.

         “Told ya,” Kyle says.

         “Here,” I say as I hand him my cup of water, “do something with this.”

         He obliges, but not before making a snarky remark. “You’re always talking ‘bout manners, but where are they now?” 

          “Sorry.” I move over so he can peek out the blinds right along with me. After a few more seconds of staring at Connor, I decide I need to grow some balls and go greet him. I take one last peek through the blinds and then go over to the door. “Can you tell Mom and Dad he’s here?” I ask Kyle.          

          “Sure, I’ll be your little slave boy,” he says cynically, but heads off to tell them anyway.

Ignoring him, I take a deep breath then open the door, leaving the rest of the evening up to fate.

         Connor is just getting out of his truck when I get outside. I jog over to him, but slow when I see what he’s wearing. He has on a pink shirt, which I’ll admit is dressy enough, and some tight blue jeans that look as if they’re painted on him. He looks incredibly good, better than good actually, which is somewhat surprising because he does not look the least bit comfortable.

         “Nice jeans,” I say once I’m within hearing distance of him. I’m smiling so big it almost hurts. Almost.

         He turns around, his face lighting up as he does so. A beaming cheery smile like a shooting star on a midnight sky makes its way onto his face. “Nice for you to look at, but hell for me to get on,” he says chuckling. “These were the only ones I had without holes in them or anything else that’d look really bad through a parent’s eye. But hey, they’re on, and as long as I don’t have to pee anytime soon, we’re good. Splendid, even.”

         Damn straight. Now as long as I’m not too preoccupied with staring at him throughout the whole dinner, we might pull this off.

         “They do look good though,” I tell him honestly. “But why are you wearing a bright pink shirt?” 

          Connor looks down at himself for a brief moment, then back up at me, with an incredulous look on his face. “I thought it looked nice.”

         “It does, but have you actually seen it?”

         He puts on a mock despicable face, which actually makes him look that much hotter, then dramatically rolls his eyes. “Shut up. You told me to impress your mom, so this is me impressing your mom.”

         “By wearing a pink shirt?” I ask skeptically. It doesn’t make much sense to me.

          He doesn’t say anything, but turns around and digs back in his truck for something.

         I shrug. “Whatever, I don’t get it, but alright. We’ll do whatever you say.” I begin to walk back inside, assuming he’s following me, but a pull on my right arm jerks me back out the doorframe. So apparently, he’s not intending to follow me.

         Connor turns around and I see that he was digging around for a bouquet of pink and white flowers. 

          I stare at him in disbelief. He really shouldn’t have bought me flowers, I hate flowers. Not only do flowers make me sneeze, they’re completely overdone. I mean with the movies and the books and the magazines, everyone does the whole flower technique before dinners. “They’re pretty, but-“ I start to say, only to be interrupted by Connor.

          “They’re for your mom, not you,” he says laughing. “Why would I get you flowers?”