Page 28 of Stealing Sunshine

“Bryce has an interest in art,” she puts in, trying to spin my love of tattoos into something more proper. “Do you have that in common?”

Jean’s eyes light up, colouring coming back to his cheeks. “Yes, I think we might. What type of?—”

Having left my ringer on after leaving the bathroom, it begins to go off, cutting him short. I pretend to look apologetic as I pull it free of my pocket and answer it.

“Hello?”

“Is it going that badly? You can still say this is just a scam caller,” Darren says, his voice a familiar comfort in my ear.

“Oh shit. Really? Is she okay?” I ask.

Jean keeps his stare on me as I speak, his curiosity sharp. Mom doesn’t buy it. I’d be concerned if she did, considering I’ve done this to the past three guys she’s set me up with. But she won’t say anything about it in front of Jean.

“You owe me a day of free babysitting, Rye,” Darren says.

“Yes, I do need a ride. I’m at my parents’ house. See you soon.” Hanging up, I meet Jean’s waiting stare. “Something’s come up. I have to go.”

“Let me wait outside with you,” he offers, already standing.

“That’s okay. I don’t need company.”

“He’ll wait outside with you, Bryce,” Mom tells me.

Gritting my teeth, I nod once. “Fine.”

I move quickly, wanting to get away from her as soon as possible. Jean follows at my heels, not giving me an inch of space. It’ll take Darren fifteen minutes to get here, and that’s fourteen too many.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s happened?” he asks.

“Something involving my best friend’s daughter,” I lie, stepping through the patio door. He tugs it from my hand and holds it for me.

“Is she alright?”

“Yes.”

“Am I really that bad?”

The question stuns me enough that I turn my head to look at him. Guilt twitches in my gut.

“It’s not you.”

“No?”

“Honestly? I’m bi, Jean. And I swore off dating men a long fucking time ago. You and me? We wouldn’t work. I’m sure you’ve pieced that together by now too.”

He doesn’t answer for a minute. Still, he opens the front door for me and waits until I’ve stepped out to follow. His manners are immaculate, but unfortunately, that isn’t enough.

“Does your mother know about what you’ve told me?” he asks gently.

“Do you think it would matter either way?”

Another pause. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“How were you supposed to?”

“Still, I am sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable spot. It wasn’t my intention.”

I peer up at him, taking in his sincere expression. “Thank you.”

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