Read Online Let's Hear It for the Boy by T. A. Webb - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T. A. Webb
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night.
Sonia and I were at the bar, laughing, and Patrick went off to dance with some guy while we watched.
“So when are you gonna grow a set and ask him out?”
I choked on the beer I was sipping. “What do…what are you talking about?”
She flipped her strawberry blond bangs back out of her face, dykey little thing she was, and rolled her eyes at me. “God, men are so fucking stupid. You either think with your dicks, or totally make moon-pie eyes at each other. Look”—she tapped me on the chest and leaned in—“everyone, and I mean everyone , knows you have it bad for him. Hell, even he knows it. And he plays you like a fucking violin. Ask. Him. Out. Shit or get off the pot, boy.”
I was mortified. Patrick knew? I didn’t know what was worse, that he did, or that he was out there dancing with a guy ten times hotter than me and…and that’s when I noticed he wasn’t out on the dance floor.
“Yeah. He went toward the back about five minutes ago.” Her voice was as soft as cotton, and when I moved to go find him, she grabbed my arm and pulled me up short. “Matthew, it’s his choice. Listen”—she reached up and wiped away a tear I didn’t know had escaped—“you deserve better. He knows how you feel and he…if he’s doing this, it looks like he doesn’t want you that way, babe.”
Everyone has that first love that dances on your balls with cha-cha heels, and Patrick was mine. But holy fucking Christ, it hurt. Nothing like an eighteen-year-old’s angst, is there?
She held my hand for a minute, then dragged me out onto the dance floor, and soon enough, we let the booze and the music take us away from our loves for a moment and flew. We danced to Sylvester and the Thompson Twins, Cyndi Lauper, and Prince, and Madonna and Deniece Williams, and when a slow number—Tina Turner’s “Private Dancer” came on, we made our way off the floor and back to the bar. I’d just got us two more beers when Patrick nudged in next to me and swiped mine. Chugging half of it in one big swallow, he handed it back to me, and I could see how big his pupils were and how he almost bounced with energy.
Suddenly, I was done for the night. I looked over his shoulder at Sonia, and she must have seen something in my eyes that let her know how I felt because she punched Patrick on the arm and yelled, “Where you been, you big homo? You know Matthew has to be at work early in the morning. It’s time we went home.”
“But I’m just starting to have fun and—”
“Then fucking stay. Call a cab.” I nodded to Sonia, and turned to leave. At that point I didn’t care if he came with me or not. I needed to get my wounded ass home and have a good pity cry and get the hell over myself. And I needed it ten minutes ago.
When I got outside, I kept going, out through the parking lot of the Tara shopping center and to my car. I stood there a minute, not looking back, then unlocked it and popped the passenger door for Sonia. To my surprise, she reached in and pulled the seat up and Patrick crawled into the back seat. She got in when he was settled, and I cranked the car and started home.
The silence in the car was heavy, and no one said a word. Just as well, the mood I was in I didn’t want either of them to say a word to me. I pushed in my Depeche Mode cassette and let the heavy beat pound inside me. I thought about dropping Patrick off first, since he only live a mile from my house. That was petty, even to me, and I sure as hell didn’t want him to know how much the evening had hurt me, so I cut the music down, reached across and squeezed her hand before she got out of the car. She just nodded and went inside while Patrick climbed out of the back seat and got up front.
I turned the stereo back up as I backed out of the driveway, but Patrick reached and turned it down. My anger spiked and I turned to open both barrels on him, when I saw how badly his hand was shaking and how he was bent over in the seat. A cold splash of panic
Sonia and I were at the bar, laughing, and Patrick went off to dance with some guy while we watched.
“So when are you gonna grow a set and ask him out?”
I choked on the beer I was sipping. “What do…what are you talking about?”
She flipped her strawberry blond bangs back out of her face, dykey little thing she was, and rolled her eyes at me. “God, men are so fucking stupid. You either think with your dicks, or totally make moon-pie eyes at each other. Look”—she tapped me on the chest and leaned in—“everyone, and I mean everyone , knows you have it bad for him. Hell, even he knows it. And he plays you like a fucking violin. Ask. Him. Out. Shit or get off the pot, boy.”
I was mortified. Patrick knew? I didn’t know what was worse, that he did, or that he was out there dancing with a guy ten times hotter than me and…and that’s when I noticed he wasn’t out on the dance floor.
“Yeah. He went toward the back about five minutes ago.” Her voice was as soft as cotton, and when I moved to go find him, she grabbed my arm and pulled me up short. “Matthew, it’s his choice. Listen”—she reached up and wiped away a tear I didn’t know had escaped—“you deserve better. He knows how you feel and he…if he’s doing this, it looks like he doesn’t want you that way, babe.”
Everyone has that first love that dances on your balls with cha-cha heels, and Patrick was mine. But holy fucking Christ, it hurt. Nothing like an eighteen-year-old’s angst, is there?
She held my hand for a minute, then dragged me out onto the dance floor, and soon enough, we let the booze and the music take us away from our loves for a moment and flew. We danced to Sylvester and the Thompson Twins, Cyndi Lauper, and Prince, and Madonna and Deniece Williams, and when a slow number—Tina Turner’s “Private Dancer” came on, we made our way off the floor and back to the bar. I’d just got us two more beers when Patrick nudged in next to me and swiped mine. Chugging half of it in one big swallow, he handed it back to me, and I could see how big his pupils were and how he almost bounced with energy.
Suddenly, I was done for the night. I looked over his shoulder at Sonia, and she must have seen something in my eyes that let her know how I felt because she punched Patrick on the arm and yelled, “Where you been, you big homo? You know Matthew has to be at work early in the morning. It’s time we went home.”
“But I’m just starting to have fun and—”
“Then fucking stay. Call a cab.” I nodded to Sonia, and turned to leave. At that point I didn’t care if he came with me or not. I needed to get my wounded ass home and have a good pity cry and get the hell over myself. And I needed it ten minutes ago.
When I got outside, I kept going, out through the parking lot of the Tara shopping center and to my car. I stood there a minute, not looking back, then unlocked it and popped the passenger door for Sonia. To my surprise, she reached in and pulled the seat up and Patrick crawled into the back seat. She got in when he was settled, and I cranked the car and started home.
The silence in the car was heavy, and no one said a word. Just as well, the mood I was in I didn’t want either of them to say a word to me. I pushed in my Depeche Mode cassette and let the heavy beat pound inside me. I thought about dropping Patrick off first, since he only live a mile from my house. That was petty, even to me, and I sure as hell didn’t want him to know how much the evening had hurt me, so I cut the music down, reached across and squeezed her hand before she got out of the car. She just nodded and went inside while Patrick climbed out of the back seat and got up front.
I turned the stereo back up as I backed out of the driveway, but Patrick reached and turned it down. My anger spiked and I turned to open both barrels on him, when I saw how badly his hand was shaking and how he was bent over in the seat. A cold splash of panic
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