Page 39 of Boyfriend
“No—forget the brother.” Carly tosses a silverware roll into the bin and blinks at me. “Please tell me this story has a very happy ending. Tell me you both turned to one another and started ripping each other’s clothes off.”
“Nope. We went to sleep.” Eventually. The truth is that I faked sleep for a good long time. After hearing Weston moan from close range, I was too stirred up to sleep.
“Abbi!” she shrieks. “Why the hell didn’t you have actual sex?”
I shrug. “He didn't touch me. He was a perfect gentleman. I don't think he likes me that way.”
She blinks. “I do not believe this. First of all, does it really matter? Anyone who simulates sex for five minutes loudly, with great enthusiasm, is going to be into it. He’s a horny college guy.”
“But—”
“If you’d just leaned over and kissed him, you could have spent the next twelve hours in pound town. You whiffed it! Someone lobbed you a nice easy pitch, and you let it fly right by. I'm so disappointed!”
“Carly, stop it.”
She giggles.
But to me, this is no laughing matter. “The thing is, if I leaned over and kissed him, and he really really wasn't into it, then I would have made a super awkward evening four times more awkward than it already was.”
“Details.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m just sad for you and your vagina.”
“I’ll admit that part of my body isn't really speaking to me right now.”
She cracks up.
“But I still don't really have any regrets. Because we’re friends. Good friends. And that’s important.”
“I guess.” She lets out a dramatic sigh. “But, lordy. One of us should ride that bull before we graduate. We’re due for some good times, don’t you think?”
“Not sure it works that way,” I mumble. Good times are nice, but they don’t pay the rent. I have to keep my head down and focus on what’s important. Like graduating and finding a real job.
Weston got me through another holiday season without my mom, and I’ll always be grateful. But Weston is not boyfriend material. And there’s no other guy around here that’s half as interesting to me. So I don’t see the point of being sad about it.
Although—and I’m not about to confess this to Carly—I’ve worn my snuggly team sweatshirt, with his jersey number on the back, two mornings in a row. If anyone asked me why I like it so much, I’d point out that the sweatshirt is warm, and my apartment is cold.
But my crush on Weston is stronger than ever now. Becoming friends only made him more attractive to me. He’s a good man. I’m lucky to know him. Even if I’d prefer to know him naked.
“Ladies, I have a job for you.” Carly and I both look up to find Kippy—the lazy manager—standing over us with a stack of fliers.
“We’re doing our job right now,” Carly points out. She says this in a cheerful voice, but I can hear the underlying snark that’s often there when Carly speaks to Kippy. He’s such a tool.
“Yeah, but I need you two to pin these up all over campus,” he says. “New Year’s Eve is only a few days away. I’ll need you both to work late that night, obviously. And these need to be up all over campus by tomorrow morning. You can do it together after your shift.”
“After our shift,” she repeats. “At eleven?”
“Sure,” he says, dropping the flyers onto the table. “Thanks.”
Our eyes meet after he walks away. “That lazy motherf—” She bites back the rest. “He knows we’re not going to complain.”
“It’s too close,” I point out. Both Carly and I are coming up on our anniversary bonus. “That’s why he asked us.”
She nods, her eyes flashing. “He could probably ask me for a damn blow job at this point, and I’d do it.”
“Carly!” I squeak. “Ew.”
She giggles. “You should see your expression. Hilarious.”
“I’m repulsed.”
