Page 50 of The Boyfriend Swap

“I decided it was more likely you had a hair in your eye.” He kicked at an economy-size package of Charmin toilet paper rolls.

“You’re so full of shit, Perry. You’ve been intentionally evading me all day for no reason.”

His eyes bugged out. “Everything’s a battle with you. You’re pissed when I’m friendly, you’re pissed when I ignore you. I’m just trying to follow your lead like you asked.”

“I’ve been trying so hard to be nice all day.”

Perry crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, maybe I’m sick of how hard you need to try to be a nice person. Seriously, you at your kindest is like Robyn with a bad case of PMS.”

My skin bristled with irritation under his cocky gaze. “Well, I’m sick of you comparing me to Robyn all weekend. Robyn is so sweet. Robyn can sing. Robyn, Robyn, Robyn.” I rubbed my nose to hide my flaring nostrils.

Perry smiled. “I get it,” he said plainly.

“Get what?”

“You’re jealous.”

“Jealous? Of Robyn?Pfft.”

“You are. Robyn gets a piece of all of this,” he said, with a sweeping motion down the length of his body, “and it’s killing you.”

“You’re gross.”

“You’re so used to being in control you can’t stand that I won’t bend for you.” He stared me down before flicking his tongue across his lower lip. “But I bet you wish I’d bend you over right now.”

Waving my hand in protest, I said, “You’re such a pig,” and turned my back on him.

“What? You don’t like it rough? Is Will agentlelover?” Perry asked condescendingly.

I faced him again. “Leave Will out of this. And he’s plenty rough when I want him to be.” The room suddenly seemed very small and my body flushed with warmth.

Smirking, Perry sat on the top step of the ladder and asked, “And how often is that?”

“Why are you so interested in my sexual preferences? It’s nothingyou’llever need to know.” I smiled victoriously, thrilled to have turned the tables. And then my lips curled back down when I realized I’d singlehandedly proven Perry’s accusation that I craved control.

Perry raised himself to a standing position and shoved past me. “You couldn’t handle me, Cherry Bomb.”

To his back, I said, “The hell I couldn’t,” before placing a hand on both sides of his waist and turning him around to face me. “And I can prove it to you.” Before my mind or conscience could process that what I was about to do would affect not only me and Perry, but also Will and Robyn, I launched myself at him, latching on to his mouth like I was drowning and his lips were my life preserver.

Robyn

My brother had bought me an iTunes gift card every Christmas since I’d owned my first iPod Nano. Even though the contents of the envelope he’d handed me were no surprise, I was no less appreciative. “Thank you,” I said, drawing him into a hug. When we separated, my eyes met Will’s. In an instant, I was no longer in my parents’ family room, but back in my childhood bed, curled in Will’s arms as he spooned me from behind. The red sangria I was holding slipped through the fingers of my right hand andsplatonto the multi-colored area rug. The splash of the liquid from the full glass seemed to reach all four corners of the rectangular-shaped room, and everyone grew silent as all heads turned toward Jordy and me. “My fault. Sorry, I’ll clean it up,” I said before racing into the kitchen, hoping my thick mane of hair covered the mask of embarrassment I was now wearing.

“I’ll take care of it. And besides, the red will blend into the rug,” my mom yelled after me. “Just refill your glass and bring me the pitcher.”

With shaky hands, I opened the refrigerator with the public intention of doing as told by my mother. Fortunately, it also served the added benefit of cooling off my heated face—and if I was being honest, certain parts of my body—from the memory of waking up to Will’s beating heart against my back, his rhythmic breathing in my ear, and his long fingers laced with mine. We’d closed our eyes for the night on opposite sides of the bed, but either I’d leaned my body against his in my sleep or he’d reached for me at some point, perhaps mistaking me for Sidney. It was no doubt an innocent, unconscious maneuver to start, but my failure to extricate myself from his embrace after I’d taken several waking breaths wasn’t so chaste.

Knowing I’d raise suspicion if I didn’t get my head out of the stainless-steel Kenmare soon, I filled my glass and rejoined Will and my family, which included my paternal grandparents—Nana and Pop Pop Lane. Will and my dad were discussing the holiday playlist. The song selection for the Lane Christmas was something my dad took very seriously. Most families probably listened to back-to-back Christmas albums in their entirety—maybe Harry Connick Junior, Elvis Presley, or even the soundtrack fromLove, Actually—but we did things differently. Each year, my dad created a new playlist by selecting individual songs from some of his more than two-hundred holiday albums. Every guest was asked to contribute one song and the goal was to stump my dad by choosing a tune he didn’t own or even recognize. It was probably nineteen hundred and something the last time Kevin Lane admitted defeat.

My dad draped an arm congenially across Will’s shoulder and announced, “Will’s ready to give his song choice. Think you can astound us with your selection?”

Will tapped his fingers together and took a slow glance around the room, stopping when his eyes met mine. He smiled sheepishly. “Robyn warned me the odds were about a million to one, but you can’t win if you don’t play.”

“Atta boy,” my mom called out in encouragement.

After emptying his glass of sangria, Will said, “Drum roll, please.”

Everyone obliged, and I couldn’t contain my smile at how seriously he was taking this.

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