by Chris Cannon
And then I remembered something. “I wanted to ask everyone’s opinion on something.” Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out the project I’d started last night when I couldn’t sleep. “I’m trying to come up with a new product to sell at the Christmas Flea Market, and I need to know if this is a dumb idea.” I laid out the dog collars I’d made from weaving strips of fabric together. “Can you tell what they are?”
“They’re too big to be bracelets,” Aiden said.
“Not if you wrapped them around twice,” said Zoe.
I picked one up and wrapped it around my wrist twice. “Not a bad idea, but they’re supposed to be dog collars.”
“That makes much more sense,” Aiden said.
“So they work?” I asked. “Because I’m not feeling up to doing portraits.”
“Yes,” Zoe said. “They’re pretty cool.”
“Good.” I picked up the small red, black, and gold collar I’d made for Buddy. “I’ll be right back.”
I stood and walked over to where Jack sat with Trevor and held the collar out to Jack. “I’m selling dog collars at the Christmas Flea Market, and I made one for Buddy.”
Jack took the collar and studied it for a moment. “Iron Man’s colors?”
I nodded.
“Thanks,” he said.
And the conversation was dead in the water, so I turned around and walked back to Zoe. I should have given the collar to her. What had I been thinking?
The bell rang, and it was time to go to our next class. I kept a lookout for Jack but didn’t see him for the rest of the day. I did notice Aiden talking with Devon and some other guys on campus that he hadn’t hung around before. Some of those guys were holding hands. Maybe Aiden was ready to be who he really was. If he did that, then I wouldn’t have to keep his secret anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jack
The new guy seemed to be drawing a lot of attention. At the end of the day, he was standing with a group of guys in the parking lot. Trevor and I nodded at him when he looked over at us, and he nodded back. Good to know he wasn’t stuck up.
When we were halfway to our cars, Trevor said, “This may sound weird, but I’m glad that guy is gay.”
I stopped walking. “What?”
“Dude, he’s too good looking. I don’t want to compete with that.”
“I get it, but how do you know he’s gay?”
“He’s hanging out with Josh and Eric, who’ve been together forever. He hasn’t checked out any of the girls who’ve stopped to talk to him.”
“Huh.” I continued walking, and when I reached my car, I stood so I could observe Devon and the guys he was talking to. “Aiden was showing him around today, so Zoe probably has the inside scoop.”
“Aiden’s still over there talking to him,” Trevor said.
And that’s when it clicked into place. “Wait a minute. That must be the secret Delia didn’t want to share and the reason she’s fine being friends with Aiden. He’s gay.”
“That would make sense,” Trevor said.
I looked around the parking lot for Delia’s truck but couldn’t spot it. “I need to talk to her.” Pulling out my cell, I called her and waited. She didn’t pick up.
“She’s probably driving,” Trevor said.
If the secret was that Aiden was gay but not out yet, then everything made sense. Where was Zoe? I spotted my sister standing by Francine.
I jogged over to her. “Where’s Delia?”
“I think she went to buy more fabric for dog collars. Why?”
I told her about my Aiden theory.
She blinked. “Oh my gosh. That would make so much sense.”
“Now that I understand why Delia kept his secret, how do I make this right?”
“Do you work tonight?” Zoe asked.
“No. I don’t think she does, either.”
“Go. Talk to her. Work this out, and then I’m punching both of you for putting me through this drama.”
I’d put Delia in a hard spot when she was trying to do the right thing by Aiden. Now, I wanted to do something nice for her. But what? And then it hit me. “I need you to keep Delia busy for a few hours. Can you do that?”
“Why?” Zoe asked.
I told her my plan and then ran back to Trevor because I was going to need his help to make this work. Maybe not everything in my life had to go bad. Maybe it was time for me to stop running away…time to work at something and make sure it went right.
…
Delia
I stood in line at Goodwill with some clothes made of interesting fabrics that would make cool dog collars. The lady in front of me was arguing about the price of an item. My mind drifted to Aiden. Devon was into him, and I couldn’t imagine anyone who was alive and breathing not being into Devon. He was hot and funny and very at ease with himself. He’d do Aiden a lot of good.
If Aiden and Devon got together, then I wouldn’t have to be his secret keeper anymore. I could tell Jack the truth and then maybe things would work out in my favor. My cell buzzed as I paid for my purchases. I checked the text. It was from Zoe. She wanted me to meet her at the Art of Tea. It’s not like I had any other plans.
Zoe already had a table when I arrived. And she’d started a painting, which was beyond terrible. She’d mixed lime green slashes with bubblegum pink circles and orange triangles. Zoe didn’t paint. And this painting proved why she never should. She turned to me with a giant grin on her face.
“What do you think?” She gestured at the atrocity. “I finally did what you told me to do. I just went with my gut.”
The color combination burned my eyes, but she was so excited. “I can’t believe you’re painting.”
“I wanted to come up with a really cool Christmas gift for Grant. What do you think? Is it too feminine?”
And here was my way in. “Since it’s for Grant, I think you should choose a darker color pallet.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Zoe turned back around and studied the painting. “Should I add a really dark purple?”
“Go over the pink with the dark purple,” I suggested. “I’m going to go grab a raspberry tea. Do you need a refill?”
“No. I’m good.”
I headed up to the line and ordered a large tea. It looked like we might be here a while.
Two hours later, Zoe’s painting wasn’t horrible. I’d steered her toward purples, blues, and black. Her shapes were a bit off balance, but it wasn’t the eyesore it had been when she started. Lesson learned. I would never encourage her to paint again. She’d been right to stick with baking and crocheting.
On the drive home, I thought about the upcoming flea market. How many collars should I make for Sunday? I probably wouldn’t need more than a dozen, and I’d be lucky if I sold half of those. At least they were fun and cheap to make. Maybe that was the key to being a happy artist—low cost, enjoyable-to-make art that had commercial appeal. Everything didn’t have to be flashy and showy. To commemorate this new discovery, maybe it was time for me to pick a new hair color. I could scale the pink back to strawberry blond. Not that my pink hair was a cry for attention… Okay, maybe it had been…but maybe I needed to be happy with myself for a little while. Not that I’d give up my sparkly lip gloss and eyeliner, because those were awesome, but it wouldn’t hurt if I blended a tiny bit better with the population. Then a guy might notice me for who I was rather than the bright pink color of my hair.
When I pulled into my driveway, I was happy to see my mom’s car. Maybe I wouldn’t be eating alone tonight. When I let myself in the house, I smelled barbecue. Yum.
“Hello?” I walked into the kitchen and opened the Crock-Pot, which was full of barbecued beef. Where was my mom? I listened but didn’t hear the giant fan noise from upstairs that meant she was sleeping.
“Mom?” I headed into the living room and heard a door slam in the back of the house.
“Delia, did you see what’s in the Crock-Pot?” My mom came toward me, smiling. “I
just need to put some rolls in the oven.”
A hammering sound came from the back of the house. “What was that?”
“What was what?” My mom put her arm around my shoulders and propelled me toward the kitchen.
“Is Dad working on something out back?”
“What? No.” She pointed at the fridge. “Grab the rolls and set the temperature on the oven.”
Something was going on here. I opened the refrigerator and smiled at the six cardboard tubes stacked on the shelf. Who knew having food around the house would make me feel so happy? I picked out the kind of rolls that pulled apart in layers and set the oven to the right temperature.
My cell buzzed. It was a text from Jack. Crap. What was I going to do about him? “I’m here. Can we talk?” And then I heard a knock on the front door.
That didn’t give me a lot of options, since he knew I was home. So I walked into the foyer and checked out the window. Sure enough, Jack stood on my porch. I opened the door and waved him in. “We were just about to eat, if you want to join us.”
“That sounds great, but can we talk first?”
“Sure.” I led him into the living room and sat on the couch.
He pointed toward the back door that led to my studio. “Let’s talk out there.”
“Why?”
He grabbed my hands and tugged me to my feet. “Humor me.”
Why was he acting so weird? Did he think I was going to freak out and he didn’t want my mom to hear?
“You’re up to something,” I said as he led me toward the door.
“I am.” He smiled. “I wanted to do something for you to show you how special you are and that I think this relationship is worth fighting for.”
Holy crap. What had he done?
He stepped in front of me and opened the door to my studio. Except it didn’t look like my studio anymore. I stepped through the door and tried to take it all in. A large shaggy area rug covered most of the concrete floor. A well-worn brown leather couch sat against one wall. There was a wooden coffee table in front of it. Clear Christmas lights were draped from the ceiling beams, and the far wall was covered with bright pink curtain panels—the same color as my hair. A coffeemaker sat on what looked like an antique end table.
“Delia?” Jack said, like he wasn’t so sure of himself anymore.
And I burst into tears.
“Oh, crap. My grandma has other furniture we can use. Or I can take it all down.”
“What? No. I love it.” I threw my arms around him in a hug.
He hugged me back and kissed the top of my head. “Then why are you crying?”
How to explain without sounding like I was whining? “Everything I do has always just been me. It took me weeks to clean this garage out so I could have a place to paint. I always wanted to make it nice, but it just seemed like so much work. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He leaned down and kissed me. It was a slow, sweet kiss that ended too soon. “This is my way of apologizing for being a jerk about you being friends with Aiden and keeping his secret, which I’m pretty sure I figured out.”
“If you were hanging out with an ex and acting like it was no big deal, I’d probably be annoyed, too.”
“So we’re good now?” he asked.
There was only one other possible complication. “What about Zoe?”
“She plans on punching both of us for putting her through the drama, but other than that, she’s okay.”
“Good.” And then it clicked. “Please tell me her terrible painting was just your way of keeping me busy so you could do all this.”
“It was,” he said.
“Thank God. New rule from now on: Zoe isn’t allowed to paint.” It seemed like the last barrier between us had fallen. “So does this mean I’m welcome at all your family gatherings but I’m no longer a family member?”
“Pretty much, because that would be kind of incestuous and creepy.”
“Agreed.”
“There’s one more thing.” He pointed at a box on the coffee table. It took me a minute to realize it was a box of hair highlighter.
I laughed. “You’re really going to let me highlight your hair?”
“I would,” he said, “because I trust you.”
“Thank you, but I’m pretty sure that you’re perfect just the way you are.”
A knock sounded on the door. “Hello? Can I come in without interrupting anything embarrassing?” my mom called out.
“Yes.”
She walked in and said, “Now, when he does something stupid, which all guys do sooner or later, and you want to smack him in the head with a frying pan, just remember that he showed up and did all of this for you as a surprise. So he’s probably a keeper.”
“Mom.”
“Please, I’m your mother. It’s my job to pass along feminine wisdom. Now I’m about to take the rolls out of the oven, so come eat.”
I sighed, knowing my mom was going to say something to embarrass the crap out of me, but that was okay. I needed one more reassurance from Jack.
“No matter what happens, even if we fight, promise me you won’t run away.”
“No. I’m done running. You’re stuck with me. And if I do freak out and need some time to myself, I will always come back.”
“Like a boomerang?” I asked.
“Weird comparison, but yeah.”
I would so have to tell Aiden about that later. “Okay, Boomerang Boyfriend. Here’s your first test. You do realize we’ll have to double date with Grant and Zoe.”
“The compulsion to run is strong.” He pulled me toward the kitchen. “Let’s eat, and then we’ll negotiate who we double date with.”
“It’s non-negotiable,” I said. “Best friends double date.”
“Then we need to find Trevor a girlfriend as soon as possible.”
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Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank Erin Molta and Stacy Abrams for editing my Boyfriends into shape. I’d like to thank Entangled Publishing for investing time and money in my books. I’d like to thank my family for all their encouragement and support.
About the Author
Chris Cannon is the award-winning author of the Going Down In Flames series and the Boyfriend Chronicles. She lives in Southern Illinois with her husband and several furry beasts.
She believes coffee is the Elixir of Life. Most evenings after work, you can find her sucking down caffeine and writing fire-breathing paranormal adventures or romantic comedies. You can find her online at www.chriscannonauthor.com.
Discover the Boyfriend Chronicles series
Blackmail Boyfriend
The Boyfriend Bet
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the Going Down in Flames series
Going Down in Flames
Bridges Burned
Trial by Fire
Fanning the Flames
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