Before I launched myself on the bed and strangled him to the edge of consciousness, I left him alone.
An hour later, the four of us were eating dinner at the stone table in my parents’ kitchen. Since the first guests would arrive tomorrow afternoon for Christmas Eve, tonight would be the only informal dinner we shared as a family. I hoped my mom would be busy fussing over last-minute details for the following day and my dad too sidetracked with work to make it an extended affair. An “eat and run” scenario would be ideal.
“Where in the city is your rent-stabilized residence located?” my mom asked Perry. She took a bite of quinoa salad and wiped her mouth with a napkin.
Perry sipped his French Chardonnay. “Hell’s Kitchen, ma’am. The backyard of Broadway.”
“Drop the formalities and call me Barbara. We’re practically family, after all,” my mom said, causing me to choke on the corn tortilla in my mouth.
While I attempted to dislodge it from my throat, Perry patted my back. “You okay, Cherry Bomb?”
Once I got my bearings, I muttered, “It went down the wrong pipe.”
“Good thing Perry was around to save you,” my mom said.
“Sid would rather spend all day doing document review than meet a client near Times Square,” my dad said with a chuckle.
“Perry doesn’t know what document review is, Dad.” I raised my hand to preempt his next words. “Please don’t bore my boyfriend with an explanation.”
My dad gave me a wounded look. To Perry he said, “I bet she refuses to go to your neck of the woods.”
“We both prefer spending time at my place,” I said.
“Sidney’s practically moved into my studio.” Perry spooned more salad onto his plate. “This is delicious, Barbara.”
My mom’s face brightened at Perry’s compliment, while my dad placed his fork on the edge of his plate. “That explains why you’ve been late to work so much lately.”
My mouth opened and shut without a word. “I’m always on time in the morning, if not early,” I argued. I was never late to work because I didn’t want to give assholes like Michael Goldberg any ammunition to use against me.
Perry placed his hand on top of mine. “Sorry about that, Mr. Bellows. I try to get her out the door, but she clings to me like static every morning. She says she misses me too much when she’s at the office.”
I removed my hand from under his, desperate for a subject change. “Will Lauren be here tomorrow or Friday?” Lauren was one of my cousins, and I knew from Facebook she and her husband were arriving on Christmas morning, but it was the first thing out of my mouth.
Ignoring my question, my mom said, “Has Sidney seen you perform much?”
I said, “We haven’t been dating long—”
Interrupting me, Perry said, “My luck finding professional gigs has been a little thin lately, but I’ve been standing in for the singer of a cover band every Tuesday night. Sidney comes to the bar every week. She says it’s because she loves my voice, but I think she wants to make sure I behave myself.” He winked at me.
My mom’s mouth dropped open. “Sidney hasn’t been the jealous type since Jake. This must be serious.” The color drained from her face and she frowned at me. “I shouldn’t have brought up the ex. I’m sorry.”
“Your daughter and I have no secrets from each other. I know all about Jake,” Perry said.
As my face burned the color of my hair, I kicked Perry under the table. Was this what he considered following my lead?
When my mom stood up and brought her dishes to the sink, I allowed myself a small breath. Dinner was almost over. Once my parents retired to their rooms, they’d leave us alone for the rest of the night. Perry could watch television in his room or listen to his music collection. I wanted to call Will and see how things were going with Robyn.
My mom turned away from the sink. “I have an idea. It’s a Wonderful Life is on television tonight. How about the four of us watch it?”
“I’m sure Dad has work he needs to do tonight. Right?” I turned to my dad, certain he’d never choose an old movie over work.
He stroked his chin. “A two-hour break wouldn’t kill me.”
I gripped my wineglass like a vice. What was happening here? I brought home an artist whose resume wouldn’t even qualify him as an actor on the D-list, and not only was my mom encouraging our relationship, but my dad was willing to lose billable time to watch a movie with him—a film all of us had probably seen at least ten times. “I think the movie is three hours long. Besides, Perry has that script he needs to rehearse for an audition. Don’t you, hon?” I widened my eyes at Perry.
Perry nodded. “Cherry’s right.”
I smiled. Thank God.
“But it can wait until later.”
I was going to kill him in his sleep.
Robyn
I couldn’t look at my family while Will sang “Stayin’ Alive.” It was my father’s turn to come up with the theme for the night, and he had chosen “songs from the decades—movie edition.” I’d thought if they saw that a white-collar businessman at a Lane dinner was like a “one of these things is not like the others” quiz, they’d reconsider their nagging about my taste in men. But observing Will have the time of his life belting out lyrics into the microphone—hips thankfully in perfect time to the music because even Will Brady couldn’t make bad dancing sexy—my heart hurt at what they must be thinking. He was so confident despite knowing he sucked, but what if one comment or cold shoulder from my folks destroyed his easy self-acceptance?
With one last note and a move from “The Hustle,” Will concluded his performance and silence choked the family room. I brought my hands together and clapped quietly in a desire to move on with as little fanfare as possible and make a smooth transition to the next performance. My subtle appreciation was drowned out by my family’s rambunctious applause, wolf whistles, and stomping feet. I glanced at my parents and brother in awe as they rose from their seats in a standing ovation.
Slapping Will congenially on the back, my dad said, “Without a doubt the most original performance this family room has ever witnessed.” He clapped. “Nice job.”
“Seriously, you’ve got moves to rival Travolta,” my mom agreed.
“It’s a good thing I’ve got rhythm since your daughter informed me I can’t sing to save the human race.” Will smiled playfully at me before kissing the top of my head in what I assumed was one of the “small acts of affection” we’d discussed on the drive here.
Jordy wrinkled his nose. “Even an immortal being wouldn’t be safe from your voice, but I agree with my mom. At least you can dance.”
“It’s not about how good or bad you are. It’s about having fun,” my mom said before pointing at me. “Right?”
“Right,” I said with a nod. I smiled up at Will.
“My turn.” Jordy said. “Up for a duet, Will?”
While the two of them pondered their next song and my parents laughed over a private joke, I eased myself onto the couch. Will’s performance didn’t have the desired response of turning my parents against him, but as I took a long sip of wine, I realized I wasn’t at all disappointed.
Many hours and countless songs later, I was exhausted and led an equally pooped Will back to my bedroom. “That went well,” I said, turning on the light and placing my suitcase against the closet door.
Standing at the edge of my room, Will yawned. “What did you think would happen?”
“You’re the first guy I ever brought home who couldn’t…” My cheeks heated up.
He raised his eyebrows. “Sing?”
I nodded. “Even though my parents beg me to expand my dating horizons, I honestly wasn’t sure how they’d react to you.” I shook his comical performance of “Ghostbusters” out of my mind. “I was genuinely shocked they took it so well.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but when you went to the bathroom, they threatened to sell me into slavery for daring to be tone deaf.” He rolled his eyes. “What did you expect? They’re not the ones who care how well I can sing—you are.”
With a teasing smile at him, I said, “I don’t care either. I’m dating you, aren’t I?”
Will’s grin was replaced by a serious expression.
I whipped my head back at the sudden change. “What’s the matter?”
He opened and closed his mouth without saying anything before blurting out, “What is the deal with all of the creative types?”
My eyes widened in surprise and I said, “What do you mean?” before removing the lavender shams from the pillows on my full-sized canopy bed to avoid eye contact. Of course, I knew exactly what he meant and only requested clarification to delay my requirement to respond.
Pointing at the bed, Will said, “May I?”
I slid over to give him room to sit next to me on the edge. “I used to have a rocking chair in here, but my parents must have relocated it to another room after I moved out.” I hoped he’d ask more questions about the décor in my bedroom and drop the subject of my love life.
“Your parents seem to think you have a very particular type. And the corporate Wall Street guys and other white-collar types aren’t it. Is that true?”
“Yes, it’s true.” I twisted a strand of hair around my finger.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I stood up, suddenly angry at the line of questioning. “Why do you like redheads? I can’t help who I’m attracted to any more than you can.”
Will snorted. He clearly wasn’t buying it.
Exhaling loudly, I said, “Creative guys are more easygoing and fun. They don’t have set hours for work locking them into a nine-to-five monotonous existence. I never want to be a boring married couple. I want to do stuff—not just come home, eat dinner, watch the boob tube, and go to sleep just to repeat it again the next day.” I placed my hands on my hips. “You satisfied?”
This was my token answer, but there was more to it I’d never admit to Will. At high school dances, all the popular guys like Will avoided the dance floor as if they’d catch rabies, and I imagined them laughing at my inability to stop my hips from moving whenever and wherever a song with a decent beat came on the radio. Then I met a cute guy at a party in college who told me I moved like no one was watching and it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He was a drama major and became my first boyfriend. After we broke up, I sat a few seats away from a guy at a performance of Hairspray who approached me at intermission to ask why I was crying. If I didn’t shed tears after a musical, it meant it didn’t move me at all. I was positive he was making fun of me, but he asked me on a date instead. He was a music major and became my second boyfriend. My third boyfriend was a guy who stopped me in the university library to tell me how much he appreciated my colorful wardrobe. He was an art major. Musicians, actors, and artists made me feel sexy and accepted for who I was like no “regular” guy ever had. And even though as a teacher, I lived on the outskirts of their life, I felt welcome in their world.
Will shook his head at me. “I’m not knocking entertainers, but why are you generalizing all guys with ‘professional’ jobs as rigid and unable to have fun?”
Shrugging, I said, “It’s just been my experience” before sitting down again.
Will arched an eyebrow. “According to your parents, you don’t have any experience with anyone except actors and artists and wouldn’t know.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Forget I said anything.” Bumping his shoulder against mine, he said, “I’m crazy tired. Where am I sleeping?”
I smiled timidly. “I guess now would be a good time to mention you’ll be sleeping with me.”
Will’s eyes opened wide.
“My parents are very liberal—we’re all adults, and it’s not like they think I’m a virgin.” I swallowed hard as warmth flooded my cheeks. It was like I wore a chastity belt from the way my body responded to the topic of sex in Will’s company. “I hope it’s all right.”
“I’m not sure how Sidney would feel about it.” He scratched his jaw. “Best not to say anything for now. I don’t want to upset her over nothing.”
Perry wouldn’t delight in these sleeping arrangements either, but I didn’t see a way out. “It would raise suspicion if I asked them to make up the bed in the guest room.” I bit a decorative gold bead off my holiday-inspired painted nails.
“Yes, I can imagine your folks would be surprised if you didn’t want to share a bed with your boyfriend, especially because of your epic crush on me in high school.” Will raised and lowered his eyebrows suggestively.
Punching him in the arm, I said, “Stop it,” before standing up and giving him my back.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Robyn. I’m flattered,” he said softly.
I bravely faced him with a disbelieving look. “You’re telling me you didn’t know?” Even though I’d only confessed my feelings for Will to my mom and James, I was paranoid I wore my crush like a permanent tattoo. Some girls knew how to play it cool. And then there was me…at least back then.
He shrugged. “I might have had an inkling from all of that.” He pointed at my face. “All the blushing, but it’s not as if you threw yourself at me or did anything remotely forward.”
I wondered if he even remembered the night we kissed. For him, it was just another game of Spin the Bottle, but for me, it was a dream come true. It happened at a party my sophomore year when the upperclassmen upped the ante on the more middle-school appropriate game by implementing the rule that if the same two people got each other back to back, they had to kiss for real—with tongue. As an inexperienced fifteen-year-old, I was intimidated by the prospect of kissing an older boy or smooching anyone in the public eye. But Will was playing, and I’d have never forgiven myself if I sat out of an opportunity to kiss him. Eleven years later, and I could still summon how nervous I was. When Will spun the bottle ten minutes into the game, I gasped out loud when it stopped and pointed at me. It felt like an out-of-body experience as I met him in the middle of the circle, and I couldn’t even look at him in the moment before he delivered a chaste kiss to my lips. My stomach quaking with nerves, I slid back to my spot and took my turn. I held my breath as the bottle spun until it stopped in front of Will again. He smirked as if predicting the probability of kissing a high school sophomore would be less than mind-blowing to an experienced junior like him. I had only made out with two other people in my life, but my hunger to feel Will’s mouth on my mine for real instead of in my dreams took over and I was determined to prove him wrong.
For me, the kiss was magical. It was like our lips were created to be conjoined, and when Will brought his hands up to stroke my cheeks mid-smooch, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I’d promptly removed myself from the game—I wanted the last lips on mine of the night to be Will’s—and excused myself to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. Will never mentioned it, and I’d heartbreakingly assumed it had no effect on him whatsoever.
He probably forgot all about it. “If you knew how I felt, would it have made a difference?” I asked, immediately regretting my boldness. I wasn’t Rachel Berry, Will wasn’t Finn Hudson, and this wasn’t Glee. In real life, guys like Will dated girls like Quinn Fabray and Adrienne, not me.
His silence confirmed this, and I frowned before I could stop myself.
“I don’t know, Robyn. You were pretty and all, but I never gave dating you much thought. You were Snow White. I was seventeen. I wanted to date someone who would…”
I answered for him. “Put out?”
He smiled at me guiltily and shrugged. “I was a teenage boy.”
Shaking my head at him, I said, “You said yourself my nickname had nothing to do with my purity. I might have been a naughty schoolgirl, but I gue
ss you’ll never know.”
As his eyes scanned the length of my body, I held my breath until he met my eyes. “My loss, I’m sure.”
A little while later, we lay side by side in my bed on our backs. We were both wearing shorts and t-shirts, although I tried not to notice that my shorts were “shorts” shorts and Will’s were of the “boxer” variety. When my mother said the teenage version of me would want to grow up immediately if she knew the twenty-something model would share a bed with Will, she wasn’t exaggerating. Only if I told sixteen-year-old Robyn it would all be a farce to trick my parents into believing we were a couple, she wouldn’t believe me and might actually cry herself to sleep. It was almost comical and before I could stop myself, I giggled.
“What’s so funny, Snow White?”
I turned onto my side with my back facing Will. “Nothing.” I stifled another laugh.
“You do that a lot, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Humor yourself.”
“I’m very funny.”
He said, “I agree,” and I could almost hear him smile.
I grinned into my pillow. “Thanks for being so great today. I was worried, but you’re good at this.” I swallowed hard. “Pretending to like me, I mean.”
“It’s not hard.” Silence filled the room for a moment until he clarified, “Pretending to like you, I mean.”
Even with my back to Will and the lights off, I blushed. “Goodnight, Will.”
“Night, Snow.”
We didn’t speak after that and for the next few minutes, I was fully aware of the sound of my breathing and worried it was keeping Will awake. This had the unfortunate result of my breathing harder and silently willing myself to fall asleep. Even without looking at Will, I knew when he was no longer awake from the rhythm of his breaths and finally felt my body relax as well. Just as I was about to drift off, I sat up abruptly. I hadn’t texted Perry all night. I knew he wanted to remain in character as much as possible, but I missed him. Hoping it wasn’t too late, I removed my phone from the dresser and sent him a text asking how things were going. While I waited for his return text, I checked my email. There was one from Lance. I gasped when I read the subject line: Budget cuts?
The Boyfriend Swap Page 10
