Page 45 of Mr. Picture Perfect
I stare at Cole from my spot in the corner, watching all of the nightmares play across his face. I can’t help but think of that bad high school theatre audition my junior year that keeps haunting me, the one time I foolishly thought I could be brave.
“One of you will be a good sport, won’t you?” she asks blithely as she cuts a bite of baked potato.
When Dean recovers from his laughter, he gazes over at Cole, as if deferring to him. Cole notices, makes a quick adjustment of his facial expression, puts on a smile, and shrugs. “Speedo, it is!”
“That’s the spirit!” cheers Nadine, her mouth full.
Dean snorts and shakes his head, tears of laughter still in his eyes. “Way to take one for the team, Mr. Cole! I admire you!”
Cole chuckles with a note of anxiety. “Well, if … if you don’t go all out, what’s the point of going at all? Right?”
“Damn right!” agrees Dean, then reaches around to give Cole an encouraging pat on the back.
Soon, the table is back to chatting away. Cole continues to talk and have fun, too, though I can tell that his mind is crowded with conflicting views about everything. It’s evident every time he tries to laugh at something someone says. His laughter dies too fast. There is a clear and constant edge in his eyes. The misgivings he shared with me yesterday while we were out with his dog are still fresh on my mind.
Maybe I should have listened to him more.
I find myself struck with sympathy for him.
The very next instant, I picture Cole standing on a stage in the bright spotlights, the whole town of Spruce there to watch, while he wears nothing but a pair of tight, crotch-hugging Speedos.
I see his confidence return.
I’m in the front row.
He grins down at me as if from the top of a mountain, smirks, then cups his crotch with a hand. “You like what you see, Noah?” he asks me. “Wanna put in a bid on me?”
Then the real Cole glances at me, shattering the fantasy.
He meets my eyes.
I panic and look away.
“My stars, Nadine, really,” says Dean as he leans over the table and brings his voice down so no one else hears, “what possessed you to invite that mad and troubled boy as our third bachelor?”
“Oh, he isn’tthatbad,” she says.
“You can’t possibly think a guy likethatwould be onboard for wearingswimsuitsandformalwearand doing atalentshow. He was barely able to handle a simple photo shoot.”
“You’d be surprised what I can talk people into.”
“Nadine, he was drunk today. Drunk and foul and … and, to be frank, uncomely.”
I glance at Cole again. He’s listening to another one of Mindy’s stories about her nightmare kids. I watch him laugh, face lighting up, a sparkle of joy in his eyes.
He really is so beautiful.
How can someone so beautiful, inside and out, actually like a person as awkward, reclusive, and unappealing as me? I’m an odd-faced Jiggle-Wiggle. He’s a hidden son of Apollo, a demigod hidden away in a small Texas town, out of sight from the other jealous gods and goddesses that would bring him harm.
Everything in the universe, if thought out enough, is logical.
Like math. Like history and its indubitably tangled thread of cause and effect that stretches to the birth of all things. Like the stars and the speed of light and why we can’t see black holes.
But Cole’s attraction to me …?
That makes no sense at all.
“He’s had a tough time, Dean, a real tough time,” says Nadine with overflowing sympathy. “Please go easy on him, will you?”
