Page 28 of The Boyfriend Swap

“Yes, it’s true.” I twisted a strand of hair around my finger.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” I stood up, suddenly angry at the line of questioning. “Why do you like redheads? I can’t help who I’m attracted to any more than you can.”

Will snorted. He clearly wasn’t buying it.

Exhaling loudly, I said, “Creative guys are more easygoing and fun. They don’t have set hours for work locking them into a nine-to-five monotonous existence. I never want to be a boring married couple. I want todostuff—not just come home, eat dinner, watch the boob tube, and go to sleep just to repeat it again the next day.” I placed my hands on my hips. “You satisfied?”

This was my token answer, but there was more to it I’d never admit to Will. At high school dances, all the popular guys like Will avoided the dance floor as if they’d catch rabies, and I imagined them laughing at my inability to stop my hips from moving whenever and wherever a song with a decent beat came on the radio. Then I met a cute guy at a party in college who told me I moved like no one was watching and it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He was a drama major and became my first boyfriend. After we broke up, I sat a few seats away from a guy at a performance ofHairspraywho approached me at intermission to ask why I was crying. If I didn’t shed tears after a musical, it meant it didn’t move me at all. I was positive he was making fun of me, but he asked me on a date instead. He was a music major and became my second boyfriend. My third boyfriend was a guy who stopped me in the university library to tell me how much he appreciated my colorful wardrobe. He was an art major. Musicians, actors, and artists made me feel sexy and accepted for who I was like no “regular” guy ever had. And even though as a teacher, I lived on the outskirts of their life, I felt welcome in their world.

Will shook his head at me. “I’m not knocking entertainers, but why are you generalizing all guys with ‘professional’ jobs as rigid and unable to have fun?”

Shrugging, I said, “It’s just been my experience” before sitting down again.

Will arched an eyebrow. “According to your parents, you don’thaveany experience with anyone except actors and artists and wouldn’t know.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Forget I said anything.” Bumping his shoulder against mine, he said, “I’m crazy tired. Where am I sleeping?”

I smiled timidly. “I guess now would be a good time to mention you’ll be sleeping with me.”

Will’s eyes opened wide.

“My parents are very liberal—we’re all adults, and it’s not like they think I’m a virgin.” I swallowed hard as warmth flooded my cheeks. It was like I wore a chastity belt from the way my body responded to the topic of sex in Will’s company. “I hope it’s all right.”

“I’m not sure how Sidney would feel about it.” He scratched his jaw. “Best not to say anything for now. I don’t want to upset her over nothing.”

Perry wouldn’t delight in these sleeping arrangements either, but I didn’t see a way out. “It would raise suspicion if I asked them to make up the bed in the guest room.” I bit a decorative gold bead off my holiday-inspired painted nails.

“Yes, I can imagine your folks would be surprised if you didn’t want to share a bed with your boyfriend, especially because of your epic crush on me in high school.” Will raised and lowered his eyebrows suggestively.

Punching him in the arm, I said, “Stop it,” before standing up and giving him my back.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Robyn. I’m flattered,” he said softly.

I bravely faced him with a disbelieving look. “You’re telling me you didn’t know?” Even though I’d only confessed my feelings for Will to my mom and James, I was paranoid I wore my crush like a permanent tattoo. Some girls knew how to play it cool. And then there was me…at least back then.

He shrugged. “I might have had an inkling from all of that.” He pointed at my face. “All the blushing, but it’s not as if you threw yourself at me or did anything remotely forward.”

I wondered if he even remembered the night we kissed. For him, it was just another game of Spin the Bottle, but for me, it was a dream come true. It happened at a party my sophomore year when the upperclassmen upped the ante on the more middle-school appropriate game by implementing the rule that if the same two people got each other back to back, they had to kiss for real—with tongue. As an inexperienced fifteen-year-old, I was intimidated by the prospect of kissing an older boy or smooching anyone in the public eye. But Will was playing, and I’d have never forgiven myself if I sat out of an opportunity to kiss him. Eleven years later, and I could still summon how nervous I was. When Will spun the bottle ten minutes into the game, I gasped out loud when it stopped and pointed at me. It felt like an out-of-body experience as I met him in the middle of the circle, and I couldn’t even look at him in the moment before he delivered a chaste kiss to my lips. My stomach quaking with nerves, I slid back to my spot and took my turn. I held my breath as the bottle spun until it stopped in front of Will again. He smirked as if predicting the probability of kissing a high school sophomore would be less than mind-blowing to an experienced junior like him. I had only made out with two other people in my life, but my hunger to feel Will’s mouth on my mine for real instead of in my dreams took over and I was determined to prove him wrong.

For me, the kiss was magical. It was like our lips were created to be conjoined, and when Will brought his hands up to stroke my cheeks mid-smooch, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I’d promptly removed myself from the game—I wanted the last lips on mine of the night to be Will’s—and excused myself to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. Will never mentioned it, and I’d heartbreakingly assumed it had no effect on him whatsoever.

He probably forgot all about it. “If you knew how I felt, would it have made a difference?” I asked, immediately regretting my boldness. I wasn’t Rachel Berry, Will wasn’t Finn Hudson, and this wasn’tGlee.In real life, guys like Will dated girls like Quinn Fabray and Adrienne, not me.

His silence confirmed this, and I frowned before I could stop myself.

“I don’t know, Robyn. You were pretty and all, but I never gave dating you much thought. You were Snow White. I was seventeen. I wanted to date someone who would…”

I answered for him. “Put out?”

He smiled at me guiltily and shrugged. “I was a teenage boy.”

Shaking my head at him, I said, “You said yourself my nickname had nothing to do with my purity. I might have been a naughty schoolgirl, but I guess you’ll never know.”

As his eyes scanned the length of my body, I held my breath until he met my eyes. “My loss, I’m sure.”

A little while later, we lay side by side in my bed on our backs. We were both wearing shorts and t-shirts, although I tried not to notice that my shorts were “shorts” shorts and Will’s were of the “boxer” variety. When my mother said the teenage version of me would want to grow up immediately if she knew the twenty-something model would share a bed with Will, she wasn’t exaggerating. Only if I told sixteen-year-old Robyn it would all be a farce to trick my parents into believing we were a couple, she wouldn’t believe me and might actually cry herself to sleep. It was almost comical and before I could stop myself, I giggled.

“What’s so funny, Snow White?”

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