Page 24 of The Boyfriend List
“I have no interest in treating you like a sister.”Or in you seeing me as a brother.I wouldn’t want any guy to be thinking about my sister the way I’ve thought about Gloria. “Don’t worry.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “So you’re not going to stalk me and Lindon on our date?”
“I mean, if Paulo asks me to…” I let my voice trail off purposely. I would never interfere with her date, but it’s amusing to let her think so.
As expected, she puts down her spoon and sets her hands on her hips, reminding me of an adorable teacup-sized dog pretending they can face offwith a pit bull. It doesn’t help that she’s shorter than me by eight inches, a gap only slightly mitigated by her heels when we’re standing. “You wouldn’t!”
“No. But it was cute watching you get all riled up.” The words fall from my lips before I can stop them or think better of them. Shoot.
“Cute?” Her lips spread into a sly smile. “You think I’mcute?”
“Sure. Like a puppy pretending they can catch a squirrel. Cute.”
Is it just me, or do her shoulders slump in disappointment when I say that?
“Just what every woman wants to hear,” she deadpans.
“From herfriend, yes, I would think so.“ I emphasize the word ‘friends’ despite the ache in my chest that comes from saying we’re only that.
“Right.” She folds her arms across her chest.
“Where isLindontaking you?”
“Some fancy restaurant.”
“Is it a French place?” I tease. Gloria and French have a love-hate relationship. She once mispronounced Bordeaux asBored-oxin a presentation, and all our classmates laughed at her.
She scowls at me. “I don’t think so.”
“Is he picking you up?” I ask.
Gloria gives me the eye-roll to end all eye-rolls. “I’m not stupid. I’m meeting him in a public location.”
“Well, have fun,” I say, unsure of what else I can ask without seeming overprotective. Or worse, jealous and possessive. “Text me if he turns out to be a loser and you need an emergency reason to escape, okay?”
“I will.” A smile softens her face. “Thanks for being there for me, London.”
I want to be there for her in so many other ways. But I can’t tell her that.
Chapter Nine: Gloria
Itake a deep breath as I stare at my reflection in the floor-length mirror in the bathroom. When she moved out a few years ago to go live with Kostas, Raina only took her clothes, makeup, and DVDs with her, leaving me with all the furniture in the apartment. I still have her thrifted chairs and the gilt-framed mirror she found on Facebook Marketplace. Our Ryder Black and SB19 posters are still tacked around the walls of the living room. I’ve added a flag of the Philippines and my family photos, making the apartment feel homey.
As I do my makeup, I wish Raina were still here. When we got ready for karaoke nights, we’d sing into our hairbrushes, play air guitar, and dance around the apartment. Now, though, I’m getting ready alone, with only Ryder Black’s voice accompanying me through the Bluetooth speaker.
After completing my careful makeup application and applying setting spray, I lay out three outfits on the bed. Lindon could turn out to be the perfect guy for me, so I have to find theperfectoutfit.
As I rummage through my closet, looking for a clutch, I hesitate, my body tensing. What if I have my first-ever kisstonight? With Lindon? What if he kisses me and I’m horrible at it, or I have lipstick smeared on my teeth, or bad breath?
It seems embarrassing to have never been kissed at the age of twenty-six, but I was raised in a fairly conservative family in the Philippines. We attended Mass every Sunday, and midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. I wasn’t allowed to even look in a boy’s direction until I turned twenty-one, and by then I was already out of the country.
Once I started at UCLA, sharing a dorm with Raina, I still didn’t date, preferring to focus on my studies. My mom’s warnings about how boys distract from school kept me from giving guys a second glance. When I wasn’t in class, I was in the library with a pile of textbooks. Law school was filled with even more studying and less time for socializing with other law students, aside from London. If I spoke to anyone, it was the professors, hoping they would put in a good word for me at an articling position.
The only guy I ever befriended in college was London. And that was because we shared the same biology course in university and a lab bench. On the first day of class, I remember we were doing some kind of experiment that involved chemicals that the professor had warned could cause infertility and a decrease in testosterone with prolonged exposure. London and I had joked around and I’d threatened to flick some of the chemical on him. His comeback had been to tell me that he didn’t want kids anyway.
That had deeply surprised me. Growing up, there wasn’t any explicit pressure to have children, but it was assumed that one day, no matter how successful or rewarding my career was, I would have a family.Neverhaving one—especially for a guy like London, for whom I also quickly learned that family seemed to be everything—was unthinkable to me.
I’ve never pried into his reasons for not wanting children. I’d put my brief crush on him out of my mind and heart, telling myself that even if he felt the same way, we wanted different things.
