Page 158 of Charming Like Us
I rake a hand across my unshaven jaw.
Jack tries to hold eye-contact, butRodrigois shaking his hand for two beats longer than normal.
I’m thirty-two. My dad shouldn’t be treating meeting a boyfriend like a job interview into the family.
Jack Highland is qualified to be with me because I say so. “Dad,” I interject, “is this a staring contest or are you going to talk to him?”
He gives me an annoyed look, then tells Jack, “I read about you online, of what Oscar didn’t tell me.”
I catch a rough noise in my throat.
“All good things?” Jack asks with a charismatic smile.
“Eh.” He lifts a shoulder, then walks away.
Jack looks baffled, his face slowly dropping.
I wrap an arm around Highland. “It’s not you. He’s just playing around.”
“Rodrigo,” Mom chastises.
“Dad,” Jo snaps.
He spins back then tells Jack, “You have a good handshake.” He eyes Jack’s six-four height. “Collegiate swimmer? I saw an article about your high school championship. You must work hard.”
Jack nods, ejecting a tense breath. “It wasn’t easy.”
My dad nods back, eyes shifting to me. “He’s a good fit.” His lip rises, just slightly, but that might as well be a million-watt smile from Rodrigo.
I excuse myself from my family to say goodbye to Jack. In the hallway alone together, he combs a hand through his hair. “I almost shit myself.”
I laugh, and he keeps breathing out in relief until he laughs with me. Our eyes fasten, and the noise tapers off, replaced with something sweeter.
“I have a question,” Jack breathes in. “How long have you been keeping that secret?”
“That I’m in love with you?”
“Yeah.” He nods.
My pulse speeds. “A while.” I pause. “You don’t have to say it back if it’s…” I taper off, and I grin at his emerging smile. “What’s so hilarious, Long Beach?”
“You really think I don’t love you?” Jack says with a laugh. “Oscar.” He shakes his head, and then his face contorts in seriouslybademotions. Ones that’ve been plaguing him lately. “Your love is one of the only things keeping me afloat right now. I feel like I’m…” He sighs out heavy tension.
“Hey.” I curve an arm around his shoulders. We hug tight and sway to the tempo of our breath and pulse. A minute passes, and I start singing to him. Not a slow sensual song, but something upbeat and fun.
“Faith” by George Michael.
He instantly laughs. Jack snaps his fingers and joins me in hallway karaoke. He sings, “baby,” against my mouth, and our lips meet in playful passion.
We’re smiling in a deeper kiss, our chests welded, legs threaded, hands roaming—it’s a perfect moment, one for theOscar Oliveirahistory books.
I almost wish he’d have his camera out.
Film us.
Our genuine feel-good love.
It’s worthy of the spotlight. He’s not background. Neither am I. And we should be the favorite ship online. Fans should be making cupcakes with our mother-effing names and hoisting up posters that say,Oscar & Jack for All Time.
