Anatomy of a Boyfriend Read Online Free PDF Page B

It‘s masculine, but not too deep.

    ―Well, they‘re for everybody. But I remember we were, um, IM-ing about our favorite foods, and you said strawberries were yours.‖

    As I watch him devour two of them, my stomach gets that same satiny sensation I used to feel while swinging in the playground.

    ―Mmm,‖ he says, wiping off some strawberry dribble from his very cute cleft chin. ―That was so good.‖

    ―I‘m glad you like them…. Um, do you deejay all the parties you go to?‖

    ―Well, I hate small talk. But if I put myself in charge of something, like the stereo, then I can do that and not worry about making conversation.‖

    ―I totally know what you mean. I can‘t stand small talk either.‖

    I grin at him. He grins at me. Then…nothing. Awkward silence alert! He‘s looking at me anxiously.

    I force a smile. ―Um, I guess it would help if we liked small talk, huh?‖

    ―Yeah, I guess.‖ He grins back.

    Suddenly some guy yells from the living room, ―Hey, Gersh, come on! We‘re playing Grand Theft Auto!‖

    Wes looks at me sheepishly, and I say, ―Go ahead. Kick ass. Here, take the strawberries and share them.‖

    Our fingers brush when I hand him the tray.

    ―Thanks, Dom. I‘ll catch you after.‖

    ―Yeah. Sure.‖

    So much for my being one of the highlights of his day. A minute later I peer in through the living room‘s panoramic window and watch as the boys dive into my strawberries and their virtual world. I once read in a teen magazine that guys think about sex almost constantly. If that‘s true, how come we girls get upstaged by sports and video games?

    I retreat to the kitchen to look for Amy, but, not to my surprise, I find her on the pool table making out with one of her designated hookups from her art history class. So I spend the remaining two hours of the year on the patio, pretending to join the boring conversation of some girls Amy and I knew from middle school. They devote fifteen minutes to the topic of perfume alone. At one point we dance in a circle to the music, but the juvenility of it all makes me feel pathetic. All the while I keep an eye on Wes through the window. He never takes his eyes off the TV screen, and I start wondering what I‘m even doing here.

    At about five to midnight, everyone descends upon the living room, where the boys reluctantly shut off their game and switch to MTV so we can watch the ball drop in Times Square.

    Several couples start embracing, and for a moment I lose sight of Wes in the crowd. I sense someone come up behind me. I freeze. Then that someone gently tugs my hair. I spin around…it‘s just Amy.

    We watch as Wes and his friends toast with their beer mugs and chug. I know Amy has already told me she thinks he‘s single, but it‘s still a relief to see he doesn‘t kiss anyone at midnight.

    Once the ruckus subsides, Amy whispers to me, ―Carpe diem.‖

    I take a few deep breaths as we approach my prey. Hope wells up inside of me again.

    Wes turns to us and says, ―Heya, Braff. Dom, this is Paul.‖

    ―Hey, Paul!‖ I chirrup as we shake hands. ―Great job on the game the other day!‖ It‘s like my voice has gone into hyperoverdrive and I‘ve lost the ability to sound chill. I press my lips together.

    ―Thanks,‖ Paul says indifferently.

    Awkward silence. Again.

    ―So,‖ Amy addresses Paul, ―I heard they renovated EFM‘s library over break. Have you seen it yet?‖

    ―No, but it‘s supposed to be sweet. All-new computers with voice recognition software and…‖

    While Amy and Paul jabber on, Wes and I stand there listening, occasionally exchanging glances and half smiles. I notice a tiny scar on Wes‘s right cheek, right below his eye, and his two front teeth overlap ever so slightly. It‘s really adorable. But then he says he needs to get going.

    ―Oh,‖ I finally speak up, ―but it‘s barely after midnight.‖

    ―I‘ve been here since seven, and I‘m sure Jessica needs a bathroom break