Anatomy of a Boyfriend Read Online Free PDF

before the party, however, the tide shifts slightly when he writes: The100MeterDash: You know, Dom, chatting with you is quickly becoming one of the highlights of my day. G‘night.

    After rereading the line a few times to make sure I‘m not imagining things, I‘m unable to form a coherent sentence, so I respond with:

    DominiqueBaylor:
    See ya tomorrow.

    If I were gutsier, I‘d have written back that chatting with him has become the highlight of my day.

    5

    I dedicate the entire afternoon of New Year‘s Eve to preparing for the party. In the shower I loofah my feet, knees, and elbows, and I shave my legs, underarms, and bikini area. I even clean out my belly button with a Q-tip. My carefully planned outfit of dark blue hip-hugger jeans and a green wraparound top won‘t reveal any of those zones, and I certainly won‘t be taking off any clothes tonight, but it‘s fun to feel ready for anything.

    Amy arrives at my place after dinner armed with Revlon‘s entire cosmetics counter. She‘s an expert makeup artist, which makes sense since it‘s a lot like painting. She even plucks my eyebrows for the first time, and I have to admit Grandma was right about it playing up my eyes.

    After she‘s done with my nails and hair, I do a bunch of 360s in front of my full-length mirror and study my posture from all angles.

    ―You look great,‖ Amy reassures me while bouncing impatiently on my bed. ―And you know I‘m not just saying that.‖

    ―I‘m really starting to get nervous, though. What if we just don‘t click?‖

    ―Well, you‘ve got the double-clicking down. Just try not to barf when you see him this time.‖

    ―Ha ha,‖ I drone as I grab my purse. ―Let‘s go.‖

    The closest parking spot we can find to the party is six blocks away. Amy‘s been to Paul‘s before, so after I check myself in the passenger side visor mirror for the twelfth time, I follow her as we make our way up the street and then down a weather-beaten wood stairwell leading to the beach.

    Paul‘s parents‘ beach house—mansion, really—is white, modern, and gorgeous. It‘s lit up like a birthday cake, with strings of Christmas lights suspended from the roof and tiki torches lining the porches. Halfway between the front porch and the shoreline, a huge bonfire casts patches of gold onto the beach, revealing dozens of guests talking, drinking, eating, and making out on blankets.

    Please, Wes, don’t be one of the people making out.

    As we approach the beach house, I recognize a few old friends who used to attend Shorr, but I‘m too intent on finding Wes to concentrate on anyone else. After a couple minutes Amy spots him bent over the mammoth stereo on the patio. We walk toward him.

    ―Nice ass, Gersh,‖ Amy yells over the music. I elbow her in the side.

    Wes jumps up and turns around. He‘s blushing, but it doesn‘t detract from how manly his loose blue jeans and charcoal gray polo make him look. It‘s thrilling being this close to him again, but I can feel my throat tighten I‘m so nervous.

    Wes looks at me first. ―Hi, nice to see you again.‖ Then he turns to Amy. ―Braff, what‘s this crap I hear about you dropping out of track?‖

    ―It‘s not crap,‖ Amy says proudly. ―It‘s my last year, and I want an easy spring.‖

    He shakes his head. ―Slacker.‖

    ―And proud of it! This semester I‘m all about cruising and boozing. Speaking of which,‖ Amy says as she hoists up the shopping bag she‘s carrying, ―we beareth champagne, ‗borrowed‘ from my stepdad‘s cellar especially for tonight‘s festivities.‖

    ―Cool, can you put it in the fridge?‖

    ―With pleasure!‖ She grins at me pointedly before leaving.

    ―And what are these?‖ Wes asks, stepping closer to me and looking down at the tray I‘m carrying. I can feel the sweat drip down my armpits.

    ―I made chocolate-dipped strawberries.‖

    ―Really?‖ he exclaims, wide-eyed. ―Are these all for me?‖

    I like his voice.