Rear Entrance Video 02 - Wallflower (MM) by Heidi Belleau

Author:Heidi Belleau [Belleau, Heidi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-07-03T04:00:00+00:00

“You did what last night?” Bernice shrieked.

Rob stared down at the white lid of his Starbucks and pursed his lips, trying to ignore the heat of his cheeks.

And then, because either his embarrassment wasn’t apparent to her or she just was too excited to care, she added “In an alley?”

“C’mon, Bernie, keep it down. I don’t think the barista needs to know about my sex life.” He snuck a look at the girl behind the counter, but she wasn’t watching him too closely. He hoped it was because the whoosh of the steamer had drowned out his words, but more likely she was just used to pretending she didn’t hear awkward conversations from her customers.

Damn, ever since Rear Entrance Video, he couldn’t look at people in service jobs the same way.

“Wow,” Bernice said, and leaned back in her seat, practically tilting it onto its back legs. She took a loud sip on the straw of her no-whip strawberry frappuccino, scrutinizing him through scrunched up eyes. “And this was with your new boyfriend? I mean, I hope it was!”

“Uh . . .” Rob said, not sure how to answer that. “About that . . .”

“Oh my God, Rob! Oh my God! You didn’t! Oh my God!”

“It’s not that!” Rob protested, face as hot as a furnace now. “Jeez, I come out and suddenly my sister thinks I’m doing the whole 1970s-gloryhole no-condoms thing, high off my mind on poppers . . .”

“What are poppers?”

“Ugh, don’t ask. Look, what I mean is, I don’t know if Dylan is my boyfriend or not. I kinda lied to you last week. Well, not about being gay, but about having a boyfriend. Sorry. I just . . . needed an excuse to leave, you know?”

Bernice pouted, pretty brow furrowed, and stabbed her frappuccino with her straw. “Well, that was shitty of you.”

“Yeah, I know. I really am sorry, I’m just . . . I’m going through a weird time in my life right now.”

“You’re safe, right?” She reached out and clasped his hand tightly, peering into his eyes as if she could see the truth there. She probably could.

“Yes, Bernice. I am. Well, except for this cold.” He sniffled for effect and took a sip of his chamomile tea.

“Well, that’s good.” She gave him a judgmental look for a second longer, eyelids low, body language closed off, and then a switch flipped inside her and she sat forward again, eyes sparkling. Rob wished he could ask her how she got her eyelashes like that. She seemed to have a way better handle on her mascara than he did. “So? Are you going to tell me about this guy Dylan, or what?”

“Will you forgive me if I do?” He batted his eyelashes at her.

She tsked. “You know you’re forgiven already. But sure. Now dish.”

“He’s, um . . . he’s in school with me. Older than me—oh my God, would you lose the scandalized look, he’s not even twenty-five, okay?—and he does indie comics. I don’t know,

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