Breaking Masks

By Josh Aterovis and Dabeagle

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Chapter 6 - Kody

I couldn't believe I was actually talking to the Golden Boy. And I finally knew his name.

Jake.

Jake Sheridan.

I couldn't stop saying his name in my head. It was the perfect name for the guy of my dreams. And he was so kind, helping me clean up my mess. It was partially his fault, anyway, for being so damn hot. It wasn’t fair to us mere mortals.

All those thoughts were flooding through my head as we mopped up the puddle of water.

His voice suddenly cut through my inner commentary. “So, uh, would you like to—” he began.

Wait. Was I crazy, or was he about to ask me out? My heart literally flipped, then my stomach copied it.

But the question was left unfinished as the bell rang, announcing a customer.

I bolted to my feet, only to come face-to-face with Max.

She stopped in her tracks. “What were you doing on the floor?”

Oh my God! I was behind the counter with a customer — who happened to be the hottest guy I had ever seen — and my manager walked in. I was so cooked. She was going to write me up and fire me. I knew it.

I felt something pop in my temple and wondered if that was what an aneurysm felt like.

Just then Jake stood up next to me, and Max's eyes bulged, darting back and forth between him and me.

“Or maybe I should ask what you were doing on the floor with this USDA Prime cut of beef,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at Jake. “Pretty sure he never turned in an application, and I know for a fact I'd remember hiring him.”

I responded by doing the mature thing — I ran. Leaving Jake to face Max alone, I darted through the office, out the back door of the shop, and into the alley, where I could hyperventilate in private.

Shit!

I leaned against the wall as embarrassment flooded my system, followed immediately by guilt and recrimination. Those were feelings I was very familiar with. We were on a first name basis. I also had more than a passing familiarity with awkwardness and bad timing. And since I’d run away instead of taking accountability, maybe immaturity was mixed in, too.

I'd practically just started this job, and I had customers behind the counter.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

And we were on the floor, which made it look even worse to anyone walking in. Because of course, you had to wonder what two people were doing on the floor. Were zippers being hurriedly pulled back up when the bell rang?

What was I thinking?

I hadn't been thinking. It had all happened so fast. I’d been overwhelmed by everything that is Jake Sheridan.

I slid down the wall into a crouch, the rough brick scratching against my skin even through my shirt.

What was I supposed to tell Max? She was going to fire me. Where was I going to get another job, especially with my limited skills? I didn’t really need the job, but how embarrassing was it to be fired? What would my father say? Charlie would tell me I'm an idiot...and he'd be right.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Worse, if the Golden Boy — Jake, I reminded myself — had been about to ask me out, he'd probably change his mind now that he'd seen me act like a complete coward. I'd blown any chance I had with him by running away. I’d only just gotten his name, and now I’d blown that up like I’d dropped a bomb on it.

Way to go, loser.

My inner monologue was a dark spiral of self-flagellation. I was debating if I should just toss my apron on the ground and start walking home or stay and wait to be fired like a man when the back door opened and Max stepped out.

She stopped when she saw me. “Are you crying?” Shit, had I started to cry at some point?

“No.”

“Dude, why are you crying?”

“'Cause you're going to fire me. Because I had Jake behind the counter. Because it probably looked worse than it was when you walked in.”

I wiped at my eyes, just to try and get myself under control.

“Kody, breathe. Where am I going to find someone with your experience? I mean, yeah, you can't have someone behind the counter, even if he is a fucking hottie with a bangin' body.” She smiled, and I felt my face heating up. “But let's call this a learning experience and move on, okay?”

“You're not going to fire me?”

“Not unless you really want me to. I don't fire people I like. Besides, you're adorable — like a real person, only smaller.”

I laughed a little, sniffing back the congestion that always comes with tears...and maybe a panic attack.

I slowly stood up. As the adrenaline faded, I was starting to feel silly.

“Damn, that guy, though... Whew!” She fanned her face with one hand. “If I was over my ex, I'd go after him in a heartbeat. Oh my God!”

“Yeah, he is hot.”

My head snapped up as I realized I had just outed myself. I wasn't sure if she'd caught it or not.

She sighed. “Fuck! Marla wins. She said you were gay, but I thought you were straight.” She laughed, while I just blinked in disbelief.

Was she serious? Had they really placed a bet on whether or not I was gay? Was I that obvious? Either way, that had to be the easiest coming out in history — aside from the whole getting splashed with scalding hot water part. And the debilitating humiliation. And ruining my one and only chance with the Golden Boy.

But truthfully, who knows what he would have said? Maybe he was just going to ask if I’d like to suggest anything else he’d like to try? Some other caffeinated concoction. He was straight, and I’d just talked myself into thinking he was interested in average-at-best me.

“So is that hot piece of ass gay too?” Max asked.

I sighed. “No such luck. He was in here with some big-boobed bimbo the other night. I don't have a chance in hell.”

“Ah, well. You can't win 'em all, kiddo, and besides, you have to leave us straight girls a few lookers. It's not fair that we're always stuck with the shmucks and shmoes. Hey, what's wrong with your arm?”

I realized I was cradling my arm against my body.

“I, uh, burned myself on the espresso machine like a noob. To be fair, it was kind of that guy's fault. I mean, it was my fault. He didn't do anything wrong. I just turn into an idiot whenever he's around.”

Max gave me a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I do the same thing when my ex is around. Come on, let's go inside. I think I have some burn spray in the first-aid kit.”

“Is he gone yet? I don't want to see him.”

She sighed again and poked her head in the door. “Hey, Mar. Is cutie-patootie gone yet?”

Apparently, Marla had returned from her errand while I was having my breakdown.

“Yeah,” Marla called from inside. “It's safe to come out now.”

Max snorted. “Perfect choice of words.” I followed her back in, and she handed Marla a ten-dollar bill. “You win.”

I blushed again as Marla stared at the money in her hand for a moment before understanding flooded her expression and her face lit up.

“Oh, poor Kody!” She chuckled as she patted me on the back. “Did Max force it out of you?”

“No, it was a slip of the tongue.”

She fought a grin and lost. “That's what he said.”

She and Max laughed heartily while my cheeks reached the approximate temperature of the surface of the sun.

“Come on, that was funny, Kody. Admit it,” she said. “I promise we're all cool. Nobody here cares who you like. And look on the bright side...now we can look at cute guys together.”

I finally cracked a smile and started to relax.

“Oh man, remember Scott, Mar?” Max pulled out her phone and started scrolling through her photos, the first-aid kit already forgotten. “You would have loved him, Kody. He worked here last year. Or was it the year before? Anyway, I think I still have a picture of him on here somewhere. Wait till you see him. Gayer than RuPaul on Halloween, but he had such a sweet ass...”

This was going to take some getting used to. I hadn’t really ever thought about coming out at work or anyplace. I was kind of happy in my little cocoon with Nick, just doing my thing and getting used to life away from home.

Obviously, I’d have admitted to being gay if Jake had asked me out — which he hadn’t, because he’s straight and probably headed back after that disaster this afternoon to bang that girl until her tits gave her black eyes.

Wow. That was a visual I didn’t need. And her chest hadn’t been that big. But maybe he’s energetic?

“Kody? Did you want to just stay here, or will you risk going back out into the world?”

I glanced around, realizing I’d slipped off into the idea of Jake having sex — again — while standing behind the counter.

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, I should get going. Uh. Thanks for not firing me.”

“Just don’t invite hot guys behind the counter without me being here. That’s all I ask.”

I walked home after work with my earpods in, listening to the classic rock channel to remind me of home and my dad. I always left the room when he played it at home, but it was kind of nice at the moment. It grounded me and matched my mood. I reflected that familiarity was probably why I’d been so focused on getting this job. It reminded me of home and my dad’s shop, a little.

His music wasn’t really bad. I listened to a lot of things, but it was fun to rage bait him a little. One time, this song came on the radio — I think it was Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics — and I started to sing along with it. He got this pleased expression and said he was surprised I knew the song. I told him they played oldies over the speakers at school in the morning for homeroom.

He got all pissy, and I laughed and laughed.

I was doing my best to put Jake out of my head, as nice as he'd been. I just couldn't understand beautiful people. Don't they know what kind of effect they have on us mere mortals? It would be so much easier if he had been an asshole — all wrapped up in himself, not even realizing I existed. But no, he has to be nice and considerate and give me a stupid little burst of false hope.

Of course, being nice to someone doesn't mean that you're interested in them. In fact, I was nice to a great many customers every day, and I wouldn't mind a couple of them getting hit by city buses.

Jake hadn’t been just nice, though. Nice would have been showing some concern and then, once he’d realized my skin wasn’t sloughing off from hot liquid, heading off on his merry way. Instead, he’d actually stayed to help set things right, and I didn’t care how many cheerleaders he was cracking — not true, I definitely cared — he was more than just polite.

He’d been kind and considerate. And of course, in true Kody fashion, I’d interpreted that as having a deeper interest in me.

But really...what was he going to ask?

I headed up the stairs to my dorm, opened the door, and headed directly for my room, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it into the hamper as I went. Dad always said I must be warm-blooded, because I’m not a big fan of shirts. If I’m going to be comfortable at home, I generally lose them as soon as I can. I know some people are like that with pants, which don’t bother me as much, though I’d probably sit around in my underwear all the time if I could.

I took a quick shower to get all of the coffee smells and the stink of embarrassment off of me and then got myself into a pair of joggers and a VRU tee shirt. My father had nearly cleaned the campus store out of official school gear, he was so happy to have me there. I smiled, thinking about how proud he was.

Because I didn’t meet my dad until I was older, I’d always been plagued by worries that he wouldn’t like me or that I had to behave to keep his affection. He’d never given me a reason to think any of that — in fact, just the opposite. But it was just the sort of thought spiral I got into with so many things...especially romance.

I think when someone comes into your life late, some part of you is always waiting for them to realize they made a mistake.

Dad loved me effortlessly. He'd never once made me feel like a burden or like a mistake. Once of the first thing he'd done after I moved in was get a family portrait taken, just me and him. And then another one when Charlie came along. And another when Brandon moved in. He bragged about me like I’d personally cured several diseases. Rationally, I knew he loved me. But irrationally? Irrationally, there was still this tiny feral part of my brain sitting in the corner clutching its knees and going, ‘Yeah, but what if one day he changes his mind?’

What if I become too much trouble? What if I was too needy? What if I was too weird? Too gay? Too emotional?

Too disappointing...

I worried about that more than I’d ever admit out loud.

So I compensated by trying to be easy to love, easy to keep around, to forgive...to tolerate. I tried to be agreeable. Helpful. Funny when I could manage it. Low maintenance. The kind of person who said sorry too much and took up as little space as possible emotionally, just in case affection had an invisible expiration date I couldn’t see.

And the stupid thing was, Dad had never treated me like that. Not once. If anything, he loved me harder the older I got, like he was trying to make up for lost time. But brains are assholes sometimes. They take old fears and keep replaying them long after they stop making sense.

Especially mine. Sometimes, my mind is my worst enemy.

It was probably why crushes hit me like natural disasters instead of normal attraction. Other people got little butterflies. I got full psychological collapse.

The moment someone was kind to me in a way that felt specific — not polite, not generic, but intentional — my brain latched on like a barnacle.

One sweet smile and some eye contact, and I was drafting wedding invitations.

Not literally. Usually.

But it became way too big inside me way too fast. Every interaction started carrying emotional weight. A look lingered too long, and I’d replay it for three days. Somebody remembered my coffee order, and suddenly I was wondering if we were soulmates.

It was embarrassing. Worse, I always seemed to fall hardest for people who were never really available to me in the first place. Straight boys. Older guys. Guys who were kind but clearly not interested. It was like my brain preferred crushes that were doomed from the start, because then I could ache dramatically without ever risking anything real.

For example, there was TJ from back home. He worked in a local restaurant and was so nice looking and generated this aura around him that just made him seem effortlessly chill. I always saw him at work in his uniform of well-fitting black pants and a white button up shirt. I’d thought the waiter's uniform looked so elegant on him. I’d had such a crush on him and dreamed about the ultimate thing — holding his hand.

I’m pretty sure TJ saw right through me. He’d treated me much the way Nick had treated Charlie. Kind, but somewhat amused with my awkward affections. It embarrassed me to even think about it now.

Andy had been the worst, though. I was sure I was in love with Andy, so in love that I completely missed the fact that he was in love with someone else, a guy named Jay. Andy had worked with a local band, kind of as a manager for them, and I’d helped get them a gig at Dad’s shop.

Andy’d meant well, but they’d kind of announced how much the band appreciated me, even if Andy didn’t feel that way for me. It was humiliating, and I was sure my heart had broken into tiny pieces. I never really recovered myself after that. Andy, Jay, and the rest of the band never gave me crap about it or anything, but I’d carried it around like I’d been marked. Branded as a dumbass.

To make things even worse, the band had played a song named after me — or a song that shared my name, more accurately. In my mind, it was a mocking thing, which, in retrospect, probably wasn’t really the case. None of them ever treated me badly...aside from that one act of colossal indiscretion.

Real was terrifying.

Real meant they could actually reject me instead of me just assuming they eventually would.

And when I did get attached, it happened frighteningly fast. Like my heart skipped all the normal getting-to-know-you stages and went straight to emotional dependency. I didn’t know how people casually liked someone. My feelings always arrived like they were kicking down a door.

Which was exactly why the whole Jake situation was so dangerous.

Because I already knew myself well enough to recognize the signs. The obsessive thoughts. The constant replaying of conversations. The stupid hope. The emotional investment wildly outpacing reality.

I was already halfway gone over a guy who’d helped me clean up spilled water and maybe almost asked me something before getting interrupted.

That was not healthy behavior.

And yet...the worst part was that I knew if Jake actually did like me back, I’d probably become even more insane about it.

Because underneath all the yearning and fantasizing and hopeless crushes was the same ugly fear I always carried: That eventually people would realize loving me was more work than it was worth.

Shaking myself from my stupid, sad past, I went back out to the common space with my laptop in hand. This was my last weekend before classes started, and I fully intended to spend it doing as little as possible. Gaming didn't count.

Nick and I actually spent most of the weekend doing completely stereotypical guy things: we ordered pizza, played video games, and drank soda. We gamed until the wee hours of the morning and slept late just to do it all again.

Nick reasoned we wouldn’t be able to do that much once classes started, so we teamed up on as much as we could online. I binge-watched some TV shows when he wasn't there just so I wouldn’t get ahead of him too far; it was fun to accomplish things as a team.

All in all, I felt pretty relaxed by the time classes started on Monday morning.

At my request, Max had scheduled me pretty lightly for my first week of classes. I wanted to get a feel for my workload before jumping in with both feet, but after talking to my professors and taking a look at the syllabi for my classes, I felt pretty confident I could juggle school and The Morning Rush.

Max was very relieved. Dad approved. Charlie asked when I was going to get laid.

I spotted Jake the Golden Boy a few times throughout the week, but I was equal parts relieved and disappointed to learn we didn't have any classes together. Each time I saw him, I'd duck into a doorway or behind a tree to avoid any potentially awkward conversations. With my lighter work schedule, I'd managed to avoid him at the shop as well.

Project Get-Over-the-Straight-Boy was well underway.

Reasonably speaking, I was pretty sure he wasn't looking for me and there weren’t any conversations to be had, awkward or otherwise.

The trouble is my brain isn’t always reasonable. I kept imagining him coming into the shop and asking me why I was such a weirdo for running out and leaving him to face Max alone...especially since he’d been helping me. It was a fair question.

In my head, I’d tell him because he was so damn cute and that me burning myself had been his fault and—

Damn it! I didn’t need to do this to myself!

But I couldn't help wondering if he'd even noticed my absence. Which was dumb, because why would a crazy hot straight boy care if the little weirdo at the coffee shop was working or not?

One day I tried distracting myself by sitting on one of the benches in the quad and just observing people. I figured there had to be other attractive people, and maybe looking at some of them would give my mind something to do other than obsess over Jake.

What I learned from that was that my tastes run toward Jake. It wasn’t that I saw a bunch of weirdos — I mean, I did — but rather that so many just looked so...less than when compared to Jake.

I guess the problem was that my mind wasn’t done with the whole Jake thing. I had yet to fully come to terms with him being straight.

Okay, two problems.

The second was that I noticed someone’s appearance first. It’s not shallow, necessarily. It’s just marketing...the packaging gets your attention so you’ll take the time to see if you like what’s inside.

And Jake had some excellent packaging. Like...award winning.

And I was sold. But I wasn't his target audience.

I'd just finished my last class of the week on Friday afternoon when I decided a shopping trip was in order. I'd discovered a few things I needed over the last few days...like underwear.

Charlie had thought it was funny to take most of mine out of my suitcases before I left. Dad had promised to send them, but he was notorious for forgetting packages. Sometimes that extended to things he’d ordered. We’d get a box, and Dad would actually say ‘What did I order’? I'd been rinsing out the couple pairs I'd worn as we’d crossed the country, but that was getting old fast.

I checked my phone for my bus fare app — Dad insisted that public transit was better than ride-shares — as I walked back to my room to grab my wallet. I ran into Nick in the lobby, his arms loaded with several grocery bags. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who had shopping on his mind.

“Need a hand?” I asked.

“If you start clapping, I'll beat you senseless with a bag of Cheetos,” he said with a laugh, then gratefully handed me a few of the bags.

“No clapping. Got it,” I replied with a grin.

He used his newly freed hand to push the button for the elevator, and we got on.

As soon as the door closed, Nick turned to me. “Hey, bro, this guy on the team is having a party later tonight. Why don’t you go with me?”

“Um, I don't know...” I wasn't sure I was ready for my first college party. They always looked kind of wild in the movies.

“Aw, come on. It'll be a good way to meet people. And I promise it won't be too crazy.”

Was I that easy to read? I must have looked as nervous as I felt.

“What else are you gonna do? Sit around the room by yourself?”

He wasn't wrong. That was exactly what I'd planned to do.

“And I'll be there, so you'll know at least one person.” Nick must have noticed the hesitation on my face, because he doubled down. “Hey,” he said, bumping my shoulder with his, “just come. You do know that nobody will be grading you on your party performance, right?”

“That sounds fake,” I replied immediately.

He laughed. “I’m serious. You don’t have to walk in there like some TikTok thirst trap.”

“I don’t even know how people act at parties,” I admitted. “What if I just stand in the corner looking like someone brought their little cousin?”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re cute and funny and weird in an entertaining way,” he said casually, like that was an objective fact. “People like you.”

I looked away, pretending to inspect the groceries instead of dealing with the tiny emotional crisis those three words caused.

People like you.

That always felt suspiciously temporary to me. Like maybe people liked me in small doses until I became too awkward or too clingy or too much of whatever invisible thing I always worried I was too much of.

Nick either didn’t notice me freaking out or politely chose not to acknowledge it.

“And honestly,” he continued, “college parties are mostly just loud music and people pretending they’re cooler than they are. You’ll fit right in.”

“I don’t know if that’s reassuring.”

“It should be. Half the guys there are gonna spend the night flexing near a speaker and yelling over Pitbull songs.”

I snorted.

“And besides,” he added, pointing at me, “you already survived a public emotional collapse at the coffee shop this week. This is gonna be way easier.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned. “Can we retire that storyline?”

“Absolutely not.”

I had a feeling he wouldn't give up until I gave in, so I decided to surrender with dignity. “Okay, I'll go.”

“Great! It's gonna be lit. Meet me back here around nine, and we can head over together.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks,” I stammered as the elevator opened.

I dropped the bags on the counter, grabbed my wallet, and headed out before I could be roped into any more social gatherings.

Well, that was interesting! A party? With a bunch of other college guys?

Maybe Nick was right and I'd meet some people. Then I could finally forget about the Golden Boy. Knowing me, I could find another unavailable guy to crush on and eventually be embarrassed over.

I set off for the bus stop with my mood buoyed considerably. Capital District Transportation Authority, or CDTA, ran the bus system, and I guess it was fairly decent. The seats sucked on most of them, like most city buses, but they ran more or less on time.

One of the first things I'd done upon arriving at school was find out where the closest mall was and the easiest route to get there. While a lot of malls had closed over the years, Crossgates Mall, a huge shrine built to pay homage to the gods of capitalism, still seemed to be going strong. It boasted about a hundred and fifty retail stores, including a Human Claw Machine, whatever the hell that was. The website boasted one point six million square feet of retail nirvana.

Yeah, I liked to shop.

Online shopping was fun for some stuff; I liked window shopping in general. But when it came to clothes, I mostly wanted to go try them on, so I didn’t have to think about sending things back and waiting for replacements to be shipped.

The ride took about twenty minutes, and I spent it looking at the mixed styles of the storefronts and churches, until the bus took a left at a split in the road, and the mix turned residential.

I got off in front of the north entrance. The two-level mall had all sorts of shops to explore, and I blissfully browsed for a while before heading into a discount department store.

On my way to the socks and underwear section at the back of the store, I strolled through the aisles, looking at the jeans and the name brand shirts that were defective for reasons I usually couldn't discern.

I perused the underwear selection, checking out all the prices before making a final decision. I like to shop, but I don't like to blow money. I also wasn't going to just buy the cheapest brand. For instance, I never buy Fruit of the Loom because of that FTL they put on them. It looks tacky, like a house brand cheap garment, or something made in a sweat shop. Not to mention they fit poorly. Let's just say things never stayed where I put them.

I froze when I spotted a brand of underwear called Jake & Co. Was this some kind of cosmic joke? Everywhere I went there was a Jake, even down to underwear! It was too much, but I could take a hint.

I laughed to myself as I pawed through them to find two packages in my size. I figured that would be the only way Jake was getting in my pants.

Undies in hand, I walked to the counter feeling incredibly pathetic, as if the clerk would somehow know my reason for buying that brand and call me for it over the intercom.

“Attention, shoppers. Kody Kingsley just brought two packages of Jake & Co. boxer briefs to the counter because he has a ridiculously hopeless crush on someone named Jake. Can we have someone from security over here?”

Of course, that didn't happen, and a few minutes later I walked out with my shameful purchase safely hidden in a bag.

And that was when the overthinking kicked it. Had buying underwear with Jake's name on them crossed the line into obsessive stalker territory? Was I setting myself up to be the subject of a Netflix documentary?

I could see it now... Jake comes in for coffee one morning. In my usual imbecilic state that I slip into whenever he's around, I drop a mug, and when I bend over to pick it up, he sees the waistband of my underwear. Naturally, he'd say something, like, “Hey, is my name on your underwear, you creepy little psycho?” And then I'd have two choices: Either bludgeon him to death with a coffee pot or drop out of school and enter the witness protection program. There were no other options.

Maybe I should just take them back, get a refund, and buy some other brand. No! That wasn't going to happen. Those babies were going home with me no matter what.

I'd lost my zest for shopping, though, so I headed home with my new underwear, wondering what was wrong with me.

As I got off the bus, my phone buzzed with a text. It was Nick reminding me about the party. I told him I was on my way back and to cool his jets.

Who says that? was his reply.

Me, I sent back.

As soon as I got in the room, Nick started bugging me to hurry up and get ready.

“What's your hurry?” I asked as I headed for my room to change. “You have a hot date or something?”

“No, but I don't want all the hot guys to pair up before I get there.”

I paused. “Is it that kind of party?”

“Kody, I'm kidding. I promised my buddy I'd help him set up the rage cage table. I've got the cups.” He pointed to a bag of red solo cups sitting on the floor by the door. I'd walked right past them.

“Rage cage?”

“It's a drinking game. Sort of like beer pong. You know beer pong?”

“I know of beer pong. As in, I know it's a thing that exists.”

“Never mind. I'll teach you.”

I wasn't sure I wanted to play, but I'd cross that bridge when we got there. In the meantime, I had a slightly bigger concern. Concerns.

“Uh, wait. First…will there be guys there? I mean…single guys?”

“Oh, I’m sure there will be. No idea of the mix though. Like, I contain multitudes, you know?”

I stared at him. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I’m an athlete, but I also like drag performers and sexy outfits. So even though a guy on the team is throwing the party and you might think it’s all straight people, I’ll be there, and you’ll be there. We might be the only two on our team, but I can’t be sure.”

I scrunched my lips together.

“Do you want to dress up a bit? We can certainly get you some attention.”

My eyes went wide. “Uh. No. I don’t think I’m really looking.”

“Still thinking about that blond stack of sexiness we saw?”

I felt hot. “Uh. Trying not to.”

“Well, that’s not easy.” He paused and looked at me. “Wait. Did you meet him?”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“Whoa. Wait. Are you pregnant? No alcohol for you tonight!”

I couldn’t help but to laugh. “No. He came in for coffee, and I acted like a moron, because that’s what I do.”

“Some guys like it when we give their ego a boost like that.”

I shook my head. “Nah. He’s straight anyway. Saw him with some girl down at the shop the other night.”

“Maybe it was his sister?”

“Weird family if so; she was showing her brother a lot of cleavage.”

“Oh. Well, lots of cute guys. Let’s get you all tarted up for a night out.”

“I don’t think I want to draw any attention. I need to…let this obsession out of my head.”

I changed quickly, thinking briefly about trying out one of the new pairs of underwear, but decided to save them for a special occasion. Like, after a shower.

I combed my hair, adding a little dry wax to get it to flip up in the front, and then followed Nick out the door.

We were off to my first college party.

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