Page 77 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
He kicked at a rock in the path. “Not waiting tables.”
“Probably not. But you have a first-rate education, and whatever you do, a house with a poison garden is probably within your reach.”
“Would you come and visit me?” He shot me a wicked smile.
“Hell no. You’d probably offer me tea, and how would I know it’s safe to drink?”
“I wouldn’t poison you.” He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“Were you a scout?”
“No.”
“Hm.” I leaned over to read a plaque next to a pretty blue-flowered shrub. “Nipomo Mesa Ceanothus. Say that three times fast.”
He did.
“Show off.”
“Am not.” He casually bumped me with his shoulder, then took my arm. It brought us closer than handholding and placed us squarely into the couple category. Two motherly women on the path ahead of usaw’ddiscreetly.
Our difference in ages brought us totally different perspectives on PDA. At his age, I would never have so casually signaled a partnership in public.
There was plenty of vitriol left in the world against LGBTQ individuals, but when I was his age, gay people were casually discriminated against in churches, on the street, in businesses, bars, and restaurants. There was no protection for employees, no respect from most police.
I was torn between envy of Epic’s confidence and exasperation with it. It had taken me thousands of dollars’ worth of therapy and twenty years of exhausting uphill battles to get to the place of “no fucks given” Epic took for granted.
No. That wasn’t right.
Good for him.
Good for himand still good for me.We all stand on the shoulders of giants.
“You’re awfully quiet.” He wrapped his arm around my neck and pulled me even closer. “Deep thoughts?”
I shook my head. “Just thoughts. Nothing deep.”
“I don’t believe that for a second, Thinky McOverthinker. All your thoughts are probably deep.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s what I like about you.” He leaned over to give some plum-sweet bearded irises a sniff, taking me with him. “You care about things that matter to me.”
“Thank you. That’s very nice. I like that about you too.”
“What’s next for you?” He broke away and jammed his hands into his pockets. “A few days in St. Nacho’s and then what?”
“I go back to work.”
“Better take it slow. You’ll get decompression sickness after all this frivolity.”
“I’ll be sure to watch my ascent. Descent?” The laptop in my trunk was already calling me. “I’ll probably spend a little time assessing where I stand from St. Nacho’s. I wonder if Dan and Cam have broadband or FIOS?”
“You’re staying with them? Cool. I mean you could stay with me, but it’s barely better than dorm living. We have an actual brick-and-board bookcase, no lie, and Bea’s got a bra perpetually hanging in the bathroom to dry.”
“Not cool. I planned to stay a few more nights at a resort, not in someone’s guest room, but if I must, at least Dan and Cam’s place has a private bath for me.”
“You could stay at the SeaView, but after the Four Seasons it might seem a little depressing. Why don’t you see if there’s an Airbnb? There are a couple of nice ones, probably.”
