Page 32 of Afterglow
I’m No Better Than a Man
Behraz
I’m definitely stupid.
Because why else would I ask my crush and roommate to go on multiple fake dates with me while I pretend they’re not real dates? Oh, I’m so screwed. Or rather,notscrewed by Fletcher Donovan. Only screwed by myself and my small collection of sex toys.
I definitelyneedto go on a date with Fletcher. Just to see how it is. Maybe it’ll suck, and then I put this impossible fantasy to bed once and for all. Or maybe he’ll throw me in a bed, once and for all. No! This is for him. You’re helpinghimout. He’s helped you, now you help him.
I check my nose in the mirror. “It hasn’t grown, so I’m not lying to myself or anything,” I say quietly, turning off the washroom fan. I pop my lips to make sure the rosy-pink stain doesn’t spread, adjusting my bra one last time to make sure the girls are secure. “Here we go.”
Fletcher gets to his feet from his seat on the sofa, face painted with shock.
“Well, look at you all cleaned up,” I state, checking out the denim button-up with rolled sleeves he paired with tan chino shorts. It’s a significant step up from the usual sweats and tees, and almost as slutty as those injurious-to-my-health crop tops. “Ready for our date?”
He clears his throat. “Yeah.” But he doesn’t move.
“Fletcher?”
“Oh, right.” A bouquet of peonies wrapped in burlap and tied with twine is handed over. “These are for you.”
“My first flowers from a boy,” I gush. My stomach does a happy dance. This smile is not going to go away anytime soon. “Thank you.”
He still doesn’t move. “You look…”
God, he’s so sweet. I smooth a hand over the belly of this blush pink milkmaid dress, then puff the sleeves. “This dress is cute, right?”
“I was gonna say gorgeous.”
Yeah, this smile isn’t going anywhere.
“See?” I wink, eliciting a rampant blush from him. “You’re doing an amazing job on this date already. Now let’s go.”
I practically float to the Rideau Canal.
Fletcher picks a shady spot and lays a classic gingham blanket down, placing the basket in the middle.
I slip off my sandals and sit, shoving my sunglasses to the top of my head. “It’s beautiful today.”
“Yeah, it’s really beautiful,” he echoes.
When I glance over, he’s looking at me.
“That was smooth, Casanova.” My sunglasses return to hide my eyes.
Fletcher kneels to unpack our dinner, arranging a wooden tray with grapes, sliced cheese squares, and some fancy water crackers. It gets placed between us before he retrieves twoglasses and a can from the woven basket. “It’s Leinenkugel’s Summer Shandy.”
“Is that a beer?”
“If beer were a lemonade.”
“Sounds delicious.”
A thin layer of foam builds in both cups as he pours. We clink the glasses together and take a sip. He’s right. It’s citrusy and crisp, bubbly the whole way down my throat, and warms my belly. Though that could be the company, too. I nibble on a cracker paired with a spreadable goat cheese, motioning to the path adjacent to the canal. “Good people watching, too. Check out those two.” I vaguely point to a couple having an intense discussion and imitate a Newfoundland accent. “This is the last time, Fred. If you leave your filthy drars outside the laundry basketone more time, I’m gonna lose it!”
Fletcher chokes on his grape. I keep going.
“Or those bros.” Two meaty, sweaty joggers speed along, passing the arguing couple. I lower my voice an octave and put on a California surfer accent. “Nah, man. I’m telling you, the whey isolate protein powder is the way to go. It’s expensive and gives you diarrhea, but it’s the only way to effectively bulk up without shrinking your balls down to the size of peas.”
