block.
block.
interested in and your friend comes along and lays claim to him.
That’s my
life—except it’s worse. My friend who keeps “jamming” me is my gay roommate and
if that isn’t a W.T.F. moment, I’m not sure what is.
three—of the guys I had been so sure were into me.
Fact: He’s really
pissing me off. I mean, hello? I’m trying to get back in the saddle, but I’ll
never manage to get a boyfriend before the age of fifty if he keeps this up.
Fact: Secretly, I wonder
what it would be like if he weren’t gay. Why do all the hot, sweet,
tender-hearted guys have to be gay?
Fact: My gay-dar needs a
serious tune-up.
The day I
interviewed for the room to rent, everything changed. I knew I had met “the
girl”, except there was one small problem: she didn’t want anything to do with
men. I recognized a top-notch force field when I saw one. She’d been burned
badly and didn’t want to deal with a heterosexual guy as a roommate. I could’ve
turned around and found another place to live, but I wanted to live there—with
her.
go “undercover”.
Fact: I’m a likely
candidate for carpal tunnel surgery since all the action I’ve had for the past
year has been my hand.
Fact: She’s going to
hate me if I come clean now.
Fact: I’m not giving
up. Which means, I’ll just have to continue to run defense until I figure out a
way to get Maggie to see the “real” me.
loves her.
would never do her wrong.
I’ll keep running off every guy who shows any interest.
I’ll continue to Clam Jam.
“But she doesn’t want anything to do with men, Ry. What are you going to do? Just casually bring it up one morning that you’re actually hetero?” He scoffs, shaking his head at me. “I see that going over real well.”
“I haven’t gotten that far but, this way, I can get to know her without all that shit getting in the way. The whole nervousness, the whole showing the other person your best at all times until you’re really committed and then it all comes out.”
“And you’re going to do this by being dishonest from the get-go.”
Running my hands down my face, I let out a frustrated groan. “What was my other option? To let her go, to never have an opportunity to get to know her—to never get to be her friend, at the very least—without her feeling like I have any ulterior motives—”
“Which you do.”
“—and be faced with the possibility of me being too late and another guy getting to her when she decides she’s ready to start dating again?”
“I’d like to go on record and say that you’ve been watching too many damn chick flicks.”
“Whatever.”
He’s silent for a moment, staring at me before his lips twitch, slowly forming a smirk. “So how long have we been together, love muffin?”
The breath I’ve been holding in comes out in a slow exhale. “For a while.” Holding up a finger, I add, “But we have an ‘open’ relationship.”
His eyebrows arch at that. “Why, you little player, you. Won’t commit to being monogamous, huh?” He tips his beer to his lips, takes a swig, and grins. “I bet I can convince you to be mine within a few months tops, pookie bear.”
I make a face, scoffing, “Not likely.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “You’ll be putting out before long. Mark my words.”
“You’re not right.” I laugh, shaking my head at him.
“You’re the one who’s pretending to be gay.”
“Point taken.”
We both take a swig of beer and fall silent for a moment before Jack finally speaks.
“Can’t say that I’ve ever pretended to be someone’s gay lover before.” His face stretches into a wide, toothy grin.
And, just like that, my best friend is officially involved in my game plan. All for the sake of a woman I’m convinced is “the one.”
Boldt, a retired Navy Chief, mother of Little Miss Boldt, and former teacher of
many students. She currently lives on the southeastern coast of North Carolina,
enjoys long walks on the beach, running, reading, people watching, and singing
karaoke. If you’re in the mood for some killer homemade mojitos, can’t recall
the lyrics to a particular 80’s song, or just need to hang around a
nonconformist who will do almost anything for a laugh, she’s your girl.
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