“This is a separate issue. Mr Barker and Dad used to play golf together. Mrs Barker and my mother were best friends. And what if Mr Barker’s just using Mom as a rebound woman?”
“You honestly believe that? Pete seems like a good guy.”
He huffs but doesn’t reply. I know he knows I’m right.
“Last night I found out that Mom’s been checking out this dating-slash-porn website on my computer—Miss Piggy or something.”
I stiffen in my seat, suddenly tense. “Miz Peggy,” I correct him automatically.
“That’s not your doing, too, is it? It’s pretty sick shit with these dancing penises and sex toys.”
I’m torn between the urge to throttle him for maligning my baby, and denying all and any association to my website. “Heather’s a grown woman, Keats. Maybe she’s lonely. What are you doing checking out your mother’s search history anyway?”
“I started typing ‘Melbourne’. It popped up as an option on the address line as soon as I typed in the ‘m’.”
“You’re nosey.”
He scoffs. “If I was nosey, I would’ve started this conversation asking you about Neil. Which I haven’t. Till now. Well?”
“You wanna date him?” I ask with a healthy dose of sarcasm. What I really want him to ask me is for another kiss.
“Look, you can tell me. I thought we’ve become buddies in the last few months.” Keats’ cheeky, boyish grin is infectious.
“We’re ‘buddies’?” This is the second time he’s friend-zoned me.
“Aren’t we? I don’t know. I haven’t really had female friends since I was five.”
“You haven’t had female friends?” I seem to be repeating a lot of what he’s saying. “You were surrounded by girls in high school.”
“None of whom were my friend.”
“What were they then?”
“Girlfriends, ex-girlfriends…friends with benefits, and the girls who wanted me but I wasn’t interested.”
“All of them?”
He thinks about it, pursing his lips before saying, “Yep.”
“What about Isabella? You can’t tell me she wasn’t your friend in high school.”
“She wasn’t. She was my parents’ friends’ kid, and my brother’s friend. Plus, she was kinda butch.”
He’s right, but I still feign offense on behalf of my friend.
“Look, I was too stupid to go for someone as smart and together as Isabella. And now that I know what it’s like to have that kind of connection with a woman, I’m not sure I can go back to what used to catch my eye.”
“So, the orange girl at Vantage Point was a brain surgeon?”
“That was me being an idiot. But since you and I started this deal, I’m back on track. I can almost feel my personal growth. I’ve got a female friend and it’s all thanks to keeping away from all attractive women—the kind that used to turn my head.”
I flinch, and shift in my seat to look out his window, chin on my fist. I can’t believe I keep thinking I don’t care, but then he says something like that and it’s like I got dumped without the fun part first.
“Fuck, he drives slowly. Would it be rude if I beeped at Mr Barker? He’s going twenty below the speed limit.”
I shrug, unable to feign interest in chitchat.
“Hay-gen? Aw, shit. Have I pissed you off?”
“No.”
“Am I missing something here? You sound pissed.”
I try to bite down my annoyance. But it doesn’t stay down. “I’m assuming you don’t mean I sound drunk.” Usually, I find his little Americanisms cute, or downright charming. Right now I want to hit him with an Australian English dictionary. A thick one.
“See, pissed off. What the fuck? We were having a nice conversation and now you’re all pissy. Is this woman friend territory?”
“No. This is you’re an insensitive arsehole territory. You just essentially called me ugly. How do you expect me to react?”
“What are you talking about?”
“‘Keeping away from ‘attractive women’?” I quote, mocking his deeper voice. “And now you have a ‘female friend’? Smooth Keats. How did you ever get so many girlfriends when your foot’s in your mouth half the time? Oh right, you only used to date bimbos who probably only half-understood you.”
“Are you done?”
“For now.” I could say more but I’d probably need to follow what I say next with a dramatic exit out of his car, but we’re in the middle of a highway and it’s a long walk back to a bus stop.
“Okay. Well, can I just say, I did not mean you’re unattractive. I meant, I’m looking for more than just looks in a relationship now. You’re very pretty. And don’t roll your eyes,” he says without turning his attention away from the road. “I mean it.”
“How do you—?”
“Because every time I pay you any sort of compliment, you do that. You rolled them, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I admit grudgingly, at the same time kind of pleased he’s noticed things about me. And does he really think I’m pretty? I hate myself for needing his approval, but I do. The fact that he sees me as attractive just makes me feel ten times sexier than a five-kilo weight loss. Still, I can’t believe him. “My eyes have a very good, built-in bullshit-radar.”
“Are you fishing for a compliment?”
I turn to face him. “I’m challenging your claims that you find me at all attractive.”
He gives me a sideways glance. “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Hay-gen.”
“Tell me one thing you find appealing.”
“I’ll tell you two. Your hair, and your boobs. Or is that three…?”
The heart behind said boobs stops. Did he really just say that? Heat spreads through my cheeks faster than an atomic blast, and little, radioactive butterflies do pleasant, happy dancing in my stomach.
“Look, Hay-gen, the fact that we’re together a lot and I haven’t hit on you…much—that’s huge for me.”
“You’ve hit on me?”
“Hm? Oh, no. I guess not. Not really. Believe me, you’ll feel the force when I do.” He chuckles after saying this, and I join him, instantly lifting the mood in the car. “So, if you’ve been seeing this
