Page 27 of The Boyfriend Swap

I gripped my wineglass like a vice. What was happening here? I brought home an artist whose resume wouldn’t even qualify him as an actor on the D-list, and not only was my mom encouraging our relationship, but my dad was willing to lose billable time to watch a movie with him—a film all of us had probably seen at least ten times. “I think the movie is three hours long. Besides, Perry has that script he needs to rehearse for an audition. Don’t you, hon?” I widened my eyes at Perry.

Perry nodded. “Cherry’s right.”

I smiled.Thank God.

“But it can wait until later.”

I was going to kill him in his sleep.

Robyn

I couldn’t look at my family while Will sang “Stayin’ Alive.” It was my father’s turn to come up with the theme for the night, and he had chosen “songs from the decades—movie edition.” I’d thought if they saw that a white-collar businessman at a Lane dinner was like a “one of these things is not like the others” quiz, they’d reconsider their nagging about my taste in men. But observing Will have the time of his life belting out lyrics into the microphone—hips thankfully in perfect time to the music because even Will Brady couldn’t make bad dancing sexy—my heart hurt at what they must be thinking. He was so confident despite knowing he sucked, but what if one comment or cold shoulder from my folks destroyed his easy self-acceptance?

With one last note and a move from “The Hustle,” Will concluded his performance and silence choked the family room. I brought my hands together and clapped quietly in a desire to move on with as little fanfare as possible and make a smooth transition to the next performance. My subtle appreciation was drowned out by my family’s rambunctious applause, wolf whistles, and stomping feet. I glanced at my parents and brother in awe as they rose from their seats in a standing ovation.

Slapping Will congenially on the back, my dad said, “Without a doubt the most original performance this family room has ever witnessed.” He clapped. “Nice job.”

“Seriously, you’ve got moves to rival Travolta,” my mom agreed.

“It’s a good thing I’ve got rhythm since your daughter informed me I can’t sing to save the human race.” Will smiled playfully at me before kissing the top of my head in what I assumed was one of the “small acts of affection” we’d discussed on the drive here.

Jordy wrinkled his nose. “Even an immortal being wouldn’t be safe from your voice, but I agree with my mom. At least you can dance.”

“It’s not about how good or bad you are. It’s about having fun,” my mom said before pointing at me. “Right?”

“Right,” I said with a nod. I smiled up at Will.

“My turn.” Jordy said. “Up for a duet, Will?”

While the two of them pondered their next song and my parents laughed over a private joke, I eased myself onto the couch. Will’s performance didn’t have the desired response of turning my parents against him, but as I took a long sip of wine, I realized I wasn’t at all disappointed.

Many hours and countless songs later, I was exhausted and led an equally pooped Will back to my bedroom. “That went well,” I said, turning on the light and placing my suitcase against the closet door.

Standing at the edge of my room, Will yawned. “What did you think would happen?”

“You’re the first guy I ever brought home who couldn’t…” My cheeks heated up.

He raised his eyebrows. “Sing?”

I nodded. “Even though my parents beg me to expand my dating horizons, I honestly wasn’t sure how they’d react to you.” I shook his comical performance of “Ghostbusters” out of my mind. “I was genuinely shocked they took it so well.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but when you went to the bathroom, they threatened to sell me into slavery for daring to be tone deaf.” He rolled his eyes. “What did you expect? They’re not the ones who care how well I can sing—you are.”

With a teasing smile at him, I said, “I don’t care either. I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

Will’s grin was replaced by a serious expression.

I whipped my head back at the sudden change. “What’s the matter?”

He opened and closed his mouth without saying anything before blurting out, “Whatisthe deal with all of the creative types?”

My eyes widened in surprise and I said, “What do you mean?” before removing the lavender shams from the pillows on my full-sized canopy bed to avoid eye contact. Of course, I knew exactly what he meant and only requested clarification to delay my requirement to respond.

Pointing at the bed, Will said, “May I?”

I slid over to give him room to sit next to me on the edge. “I used to have a rocking chair in here, but my parents must have relocated it to another room after I moved out.” I hoped he’d ask more questions about the décor in my bedroom and drop the subject of my love life.

“Your parents seem to think you have a very particular type. And the corporate Wall Street guys and other white-collar types aren’t it. Is that true?”

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