Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
The corners of his mouth quiver. “Boyfriend.”
A deep flush covers my neck and crawls over my face. My heart expands to encompass the universe. It’s at risk of bursting. I’m almost too happy to form a cohesive sentence. God knows what will come out if I try to speak now, so I don’t.
“Yeah, I figured you should make an honest man out of me. We don’t want rumors spreading that I’m some kinda player.”
After two minutes of silence, the humor falls off his face and he suddenly looks stricken. “Dora…”
It kills me to see him look so vulnerable. And it reminds me to be gentle with him. Some of us wear our insecurities on our sleeves. Some of us camouflage them better than others.
“If you don’t––”
“You want to be my b-boyfriend?” I rush in, cutting him off before he goes any further down that line of thought.
“I don’t think it would go over well with my grandfather if I introduced you as my sex-pupil. You think Jay and Evan would appreciate it if I told them I’ve been upgraded from friend to sex-educator?”
Yeah, I can just imagine my parents’ faces. Closing the gap between us, I reach out and trace the sharp line of his straight nose, the steep angle of his cheekbone, following it down his cheek to stroke his lips still swollen from all the kissing.
Then in the name of this new bold brave me, I push the thoughts in my head and the feelings in my heart out of my mouth one slow syllable at a time.
“I want to be your girlfriend.” No stutter. No hesitation. No doubt.
His expression transforms from serious to tentatively hopeful. He’s not entirely sure he can trust it yet and I understand. He’s more guarded with my feelings than I am.
“I do,” I repeat, my voice carrying twice the strength and ten times the conviction.
Taking my face in his hands, he pulls me closer and covers my mouth with his. And in that kiss that lasts and lasts and lasts are a million silent words.
Promises. Confessions. Assurances.
Words have always been difficult for me so I’ve learned to pay attention to what a person does rather than what he or she says. And in every act Dallas has ever committed, he tells me that I’m needed and treasured. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.
“Ready?” my friend, my partner in crime and tattoos and great sex and––and other misadventures asks me. Sitting in the passenger seat, he looks more handsome than ever in his dress shirt and gray slacks, his face the very picture of encouragement.
Talk about fantasies. If a magic genie had told me all those months ago that the boy passed out in a tub wearing an adult diaper would end up becoming the agent of my transformation and the champion of my dreams, I would’ve laughed myself dead.
And yet here I am, sitting in my car a block from Katherine Hamilton’s office on the corner of Ashbury and Haight with the same boy who’s turning into the man not even my wildest dreams could conjure. I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.
He’s proven to be the best person I know. I wish he knew that about himself. Sometimes I’m afraid he doesn’t. He’s given me so much, but what have I given him in return?
“H-H-Have I told you h-how much”––I take a deep breath––“how much I appreciate you?”
He gives me a small encouraging smile, his eyes filled with affection. I wish I could say love but all I see is affection. Affection is good though. I can make affection work.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can turn the car around and drive straight home, or back to a hotel.”
Slowly nodding, he holds my gaze and says, “We could go out…we never made it out of the room last night.”
Yes. And thank god for that. “In c-case you were w-wondering I’m glad we s-stayed in last night.”
Both of us smiling now––his bright white teeth peeking out between his pouty lips. “A guy likes to show off his girl once in a while…”
I’m seriously tempted to turn the car around now, but I know I’d regret it later. The driving force to stand before my mother and face her is as irrational an urge as it is too strong to deny.
“I n-need to do this.”
Unconsciously, I reach over and brush the small cursive tattoo written on the side of my ribcage.
“Let’s go crush some ass, then.”
I start laughing and the tension is magically lifted, even if only for a moment.
As we get out of the car, I take in my surroundings. The Victorian houses, the landmarks, the history. Almost immediately a homeless man––an addict by the looks of him––approaches Dallas for money. Dallas waves him off and promises to bring him some food later, but the guy curses him out and continues walking down the street.