The Fill-In Boyfriend
Page 22
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Really? How did that happen?”
“My mom entered some paintings into an art show put on by the church my dad attended. Twenty years later and they’re still together.”
“Cool.”
“Yes, they are pretty cool.”
I stared at the glowing numbers of the radio station. It wasn’t a station I ever listened to, so I didn’t recognize the quietly playing song at all. “You know what we’ve succeeded in doing with this game?”
“What’s that?”
“Increasing the anticipation.”
He laughed. “I know, right? Can I just be fill-in Bradley forever?”
“No.” I turned toward him in my seat. “I really want to know your name.”
He gripped the wheel and stared at the road. The sun had set and the sky had turned gray and was darkening more with each passing minute. He licked his lips and his voice went husky and soft. “‘The seen, the known, dissolve in iridescence, become illusive flesh of light that was not, was, forever is.’”
I wasn’t sure what he had just said but I knew I wanted him to say it again. “That’s beautiful. What is it?”
“Part of a poem. When my mom was pregnant with me, she went to see an art show that came through town. Monet’s “Water Lilies” were some of those paintings and a poem by Robert Hayden was displayed with them. She had always loved the painting but that day she fell in love with the poem. So she named me after the poet.”
“Robert?”
“No.”
“Hayden . . .” I realized I had said it with a bit of reverence and I cleared my throat to pretend that was why.
“Is it disappointing?”
“No, not at all. I like it a lot.”
“I’m kind of fond of it as well.”
“Way better than fill-in Bradley.”
“How is Bradley anyway?” He gave me a sideways glance.
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since that night.” I’d been telling too many lies lately, so I felt the need to add, “He texted me. I tried to call him back and he didn’t answer. Then he called me back but I missed it. Then I left a message for him. I haven’t decided if I’m going to call him again.”
“What’s the deciding factor?”
That was a good question. He should’ve been gone. I didn’t need to call him for him to be gone. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t be deciding at all. He left me at prom. In the parking lot. I wasn’t expecting it.” I was talking aloud without filtering my thoughts at all, so I shut my mouth before I said other things I didn’t mean to.
He raised his eyebrows, but I couldn’t read his expression. A large bug hit the windshield with a thump. He turned on the wipers, spraying water to clear it away. “You wanted it to end on your terms?”
“Yes. I mean, no, I didn’t want it to end . . . maybe. What about you? Bec was right, wasn’t she? You really do want your girlfriend back.”
He let out a breath. “Possibly.”
That was as close to “of course I do” as it got for guys, I thought, but I played along. “What’s the deciding factor?”
He tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs, took a deep breath, and said, “Tonight, I guess.”
CHAPTER 13
“Hayden.”
He laughed as he turned off the engine. “Are you just saying it to say it again or do you actually have something to say this time?”
“Mostly I’m just saying it because I can, but I do have a question.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you studying acting?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’re very talented at it.”
He met my eyes. “Thank you.”
“And what about poetry? Your mom named you after a poet. Did you come to appreciate it?”
“Are you nervous about getting out of the car?”
“Unlike you, I am not an actor.” I was afraid I’d ruin his ploy to get back with Eve due to my terrible acting skills.
“No need to be. We’re here as friends, right? No acting involved.”
“Right.”
He reached for the car door handle.
“Wait! Let me fix your hair.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. You want her to want you, right?” I thought he’d leave but instead he turned toward me with a tired look on his face. I quickly grabbed the gel from my purse before he changed his mind. “The key is to only use a little.” The gel was blue and claimed “Super Support,” so I squeezed out a dime-sized drop onto my palm, rubbed my hands together, then pushed them through his hair.
“You actually have really great hair. It just looks like your mom cut it.”
“You don’t even know my mom.”
“Well, any mom.” The front of his hair was drooping a bit so I gave it one last pass then smiled. “There.”
“Your work is done?” he asked.
I met his eyes and realized my styling process had closed the space between us. I backed up. “Yes, she’ll be all over you by the end of the night.”
“Who knew hair was that powerful?” He kept his gaze on me, the one that seemed to search my soul, then a smile spread across his lips. My heart gave a jump that surprised me and I quickly dropped my gaze.
I took my cell phone and lip gloss out of my purse and slipped them into my pocket while he opened his door and got out. By the time I’d tucked my purse with the rest of its contents under the seat, he was on my side of the car opening my door. He gave me a hand out. After he shut and locked the doors, he faced the house and I could see him visibly take a breath, the air flowing into his lungs causing his shoulders to rise and fall.
“My mom entered some paintings into an art show put on by the church my dad attended. Twenty years later and they’re still together.”
“Cool.”
“Yes, they are pretty cool.”
I stared at the glowing numbers of the radio station. It wasn’t a station I ever listened to, so I didn’t recognize the quietly playing song at all. “You know what we’ve succeeded in doing with this game?”
“What’s that?”
“Increasing the anticipation.”
He laughed. “I know, right? Can I just be fill-in Bradley forever?”
“No.” I turned toward him in my seat. “I really want to know your name.”
He gripped the wheel and stared at the road. The sun had set and the sky had turned gray and was darkening more with each passing minute. He licked his lips and his voice went husky and soft. “‘The seen, the known, dissolve in iridescence, become illusive flesh of light that was not, was, forever is.’”
I wasn’t sure what he had just said but I knew I wanted him to say it again. “That’s beautiful. What is it?”
“Part of a poem. When my mom was pregnant with me, she went to see an art show that came through town. Monet’s “Water Lilies” were some of those paintings and a poem by Robert Hayden was displayed with them. She had always loved the painting but that day she fell in love with the poem. So she named me after the poet.”
“Robert?”
“No.”
“Hayden . . .” I realized I had said it with a bit of reverence and I cleared my throat to pretend that was why.
“Is it disappointing?”
“No, not at all. I like it a lot.”
“I’m kind of fond of it as well.”
“Way better than fill-in Bradley.”
“How is Bradley anyway?” He gave me a sideways glance.
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since that night.” I’d been telling too many lies lately, so I felt the need to add, “He texted me. I tried to call him back and he didn’t answer. Then he called me back but I missed it. Then I left a message for him. I haven’t decided if I’m going to call him again.”
“What’s the deciding factor?”
That was a good question. He should’ve been gone. I didn’t need to call him for him to be gone. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t be deciding at all. He left me at prom. In the parking lot. I wasn’t expecting it.” I was talking aloud without filtering my thoughts at all, so I shut my mouth before I said other things I didn’t mean to.
He raised his eyebrows, but I couldn’t read his expression. A large bug hit the windshield with a thump. He turned on the wipers, spraying water to clear it away. “You wanted it to end on your terms?”
“Yes. I mean, no, I didn’t want it to end . . . maybe. What about you? Bec was right, wasn’t she? You really do want your girlfriend back.”
He let out a breath. “Possibly.”
That was as close to “of course I do” as it got for guys, I thought, but I played along. “What’s the deciding factor?”
He tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs, took a deep breath, and said, “Tonight, I guess.”
CHAPTER 13
“Hayden.”
He laughed as he turned off the engine. “Are you just saying it to say it again or do you actually have something to say this time?”
“Mostly I’m just saying it because I can, but I do have a question.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you studying acting?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’re very talented at it.”
He met my eyes. “Thank you.”
“And what about poetry? Your mom named you after a poet. Did you come to appreciate it?”
“Are you nervous about getting out of the car?”
“Unlike you, I am not an actor.” I was afraid I’d ruin his ploy to get back with Eve due to my terrible acting skills.
“No need to be. We’re here as friends, right? No acting involved.”
“Right.”
He reached for the car door handle.
“Wait! Let me fix your hair.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. You want her to want you, right?” I thought he’d leave but instead he turned toward me with a tired look on his face. I quickly grabbed the gel from my purse before he changed his mind. “The key is to only use a little.” The gel was blue and claimed “Super Support,” so I squeezed out a dime-sized drop onto my palm, rubbed my hands together, then pushed them through his hair.
“You actually have really great hair. It just looks like your mom cut it.”
“You don’t even know my mom.”
“Well, any mom.” The front of his hair was drooping a bit so I gave it one last pass then smiled. “There.”
“Your work is done?” he asked.
I met his eyes and realized my styling process had closed the space between us. I backed up. “Yes, she’ll be all over you by the end of the night.”
“Who knew hair was that powerful?” He kept his gaze on me, the one that seemed to search my soul, then a smile spread across his lips. My heart gave a jump that surprised me and I quickly dropped my gaze.
I took my cell phone and lip gloss out of my purse and slipped them into my pocket while he opened his door and got out. By the time I’d tucked my purse with the rest of its contents under the seat, he was on my side of the car opening my door. He gave me a hand out. After he shut and locked the doors, he faced the house and I could see him visibly take a breath, the air flowing into his lungs causing his shoulders to rise and fall.
