Page 41 of The Boyfriend Swap

“About what?”

He grinned. “I’m hungry again.”

I took calming breaths through my nose as we walked from the crowded parking lot toward the entrance of Billy Murphy’s, a neighborhood bar in East Falls, about ten minutes from Bala Cynwyd. We’d barely escaped my house without exposing our cover, and now we had to convince Will’s friends from high school he was actually dating Snow White. When we reached the front door, Will took my hand. “You ready for this?”

In my mind, the music from 2 Unlimited’s nineties “jock anthem” cued, and I responded in kind, singing, “Dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun,” accompanying it with a raising-the-roof dance move. When Will broke out into a huge grin, I smiled back. “Let’s do this.”

The moment we entered the dark bar, the scent of buffalo wings wafting through the air, someone shouted, “Robyn!” and I was assaulted by strong male arms. James lifted me up in the air and swung me around before placing me back on the floor. He grabbed both of my hands with his and took me in from the tips of my taupe ballet flats up the length of my royal blue stretch jeans to my yellow top and finally to my face. “Stunning.” Then he smiled into my eyes before pulling me into a hug and squeezing tight. “Yay, Robyn’s here.” He released me and scrutinized Will. “No need to be jealous. I’m still gay.” He laughed and slapped Will on the back.

Will grinned and shook his hand. “If you weren’t, I’m pretty sure no one else would have a chance with her. Right, Snow?”

I shrugged. “Probably not.” I beamed up at James’s ever-gorgeous olive-skinned mug. His shaggy almost-black hair flopped charmingly across his forehead over soulful brown eyes. And his full lips broke into a radiant smile that, in addition to showcasing his straight upper teeth and adorably crooked bottom ones, held all the secrets of our childhood, tween, and teenage years. Even better, his head was affixed to a lean toned six-foot body. A romantic pairing for us was never in the cards, but lucky for me, James was as beautiful on the inside as on the outside, and his mere presence was enough to make my jitters all but disappear. I planned to stick close to his side.

“You two make a handsome couple,” James said with a wink before glancing behind us into the bar. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

I had told Will I’d come clean to James because keeping secrets from him was impossible. At least I assumed it would be if I ever tried.

As I spotted some of Will’s buddies from high school by a table perched against the seventies wood paneling wall, a surge of shame washed over me and I whispered, “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. You sure you want to do this?”

“One hundred percent.” He grinned and motioned to his friends. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.” Then I shared a stolen moment with James, who smiled at me and squeezed my hand in silent encouragement.

An hour or so later, I was no longer nervous under the assumption the scariest moments of the night were behind me. After initial surprise at the news of our unexpected pairing, Will’s friends quickly accepted it and moved on. While they reminisced their high school glory days as the cool popular boys—not purposely calling attention to themselves, but drawing observation anyway by virtue of their quiet confidence and ability to entertain each other—James and I reverted to our music-geek personas, taking turns at the jukebox and making an ad hoc dance floor.

Lost in the beat of “Can’t Stop the Feeling,” my eyes closed as the rhythm took over and stripped all the stress from my body more effectively than any massage or facial ever could. With each wiggle of my shoulders, hips, and butt to the music, my worries melted away. I didn’t think about the possible eradication of the music program, Aimee’s polyps, or the ramifications of pretending my high school dream guy was my real adult boyfriend. I simply danced. When the song ended and I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was Will watching me from across the room, and I froze in place, wondering what he was thinking. My fantasy superpower back in high school was the ability to read Will’s mind, and apparently it was a magic I still craved ten years later.

As the first notes of “Moves Like Jagger” echoed from the jukebox, he gave me a slow smile, and no longer paralyzed, I moved to the beat and bravely motioned with a “come hither” gesture for him to join me. Since I fully expected him to wave me away, I was shocked when he accepted my invitation.

As we danced together, I teased, “I thought you’d be too cool to dance in an Irish pub.”

Moving in closer and placing his hands on my hips, he whispered, “I think I proved myself to be less than cool last night, don’t you?”

I shivered from his breath in my ear but skillfully parlayed the spasm into a dance move. “You’re full of surprises.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is,” I said as the music stopped and we locked eyes. Lost for breath, I counted the seconds until the next song came on. It was a slow one, and I took a step back from Will, anxious for him to look away so I could breathe again.

But Will had other ideas and pulled me toward him. “Might as well put on a good show.”

I nodded before placing my hands on his shoulders. I had thought sleeping in the same bed as Will was difficult, but it was nothing compared to slow dancing with him. I noticed he’d used my vanilla-scented body wash—it smelled better on him. My head was close to his heart, which I could feel beating underneath his shirt, and I grasped for something to break the silence. Lifting my head away from his chest, I glanced up at him and questioned, “What happens when they turn seventy-one?”

Will cocked his head to the side and his lips parted slightly. “What?”

I gulped. “He says in the song he’ll love her until they’re seventy. Then what? They could have a few good decades left.” It was an honest question and one I’d asked myself each time I heard the song, but from the stunned expression on Will’s face, I suspected his earlier definition of quirky where I was concerned had just expanded to include full-fledged “weird.”

But then the tips of his mouth turned all the way up until his smile practically swallowed his face. “Could you be any cuter?”

I sucked in my breath. By my calculations, Will had now called me “cute” or some thesaurus equivalent of the word at least three times. But what did it mean to him? Knowing it shouldn’t matter and hating myself for caring too much, I forced myself to mention the unmentionable. As heat coursed through my veins, I said, “Sidney’s cute too.”

He laughed. “Nah. Sidney’s not cute. She’s sexy and sharp, but she’s not cute.”

The unintentional jab didn’t surprise me as much as jolt me back to reality, and I begged the song to end already. Of course, Will Brady would date a sassy, sexy lawyer and not a cute Snow White schoolteacher. And who was I to complain anyway? My steady boyfriend was a gorgeous actor whose hotness factor left tongues wagging in his wake wherever he went. But still…it hurt.

“You’re sexy too,” Will said, his voice throaty.

My mouth dropped open and I looked up at Will, who regarded me with a sad smile. As the song blessedly ended, I dropped my arms to the sides.

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