Chapter 32 - Johnny - Complications
“Well, that went as well as could be expected, I suppose,” Becca says when we get back into my car to leave Connor’s place after the pool party.
“Yeah, sure,” I say. “Except now we’re not only in a fake relationship for your mom’s benefit, we’re also in one for our friends’ benefit.”
She blows out a frustrated breath. It’s my fault we’re in this mess to begin with. When she grabbed my hand, my mind went blank, and I kissed her without thinking. Although, to be fair, she kissed me back.
“It’s fine,” she says, finally. “We can deal with it. We’ll just carry on for a while and then, once my mom is convinced I’m capable of finding someone on my own, we’ll stage a breakup for our friends. Easy.”
Yeah, easy for her, maybe. I actually want this fake relationship to become a real relationship. In fact, I’m counting on it.
Of course, having our friends think we’re dating might make that part easier for me. We’ll have to act like we’re in a relationship more frequently than we would have had to before. I’m sure I can win her over with my excellent boyfriend skills by then.
“You’re right. But I’m still sorry. I don’t know what came over me. At least Travis wasn’t there, or I’d have to lie in front of my parents, too. I just can’t lie to Mom like that. She always knows.” I throw Becca a quick smile. “It’s her superpower.”
“I could see that about her. Her eyes look like they can see through anything.” Becca shudders.
“Cold?”
She laughs. “No. Just thinking about all the shit I got up to as a teenager. If I’d had a mom like yours I’d have spent a lot of time in trouble, I think.”
“She did have a gift in that regard. Just ask my sisters.” I see her give me a funny look out of the corner of my eye. “What?”
“Just your sisters? Not you?”
I laugh. “I’ll have you know I was almost never in trouble. I pulled a lot of pranks when I was young, but I never did anything outright dangerous. My mom actually taught me how to bake to help me redirect my energy, mostly so my sisters wouldn’t kill me for all the pranks. So I spent a lot more time in the kitchen than I spent out getting into trouble.”
“Huh. That’s not at all what I expected.”
“Because of the tattoos, right? A lot of people think that. For me, it really is all about the art. I know some people think that anyone who is as covered in tattoos as I am must be an ex-con or something, but I’ve always been pretty nice. I just don’t look it.” I waggle my eyebrows at her, making her laugh.
“That makes sense, I suppose. So many people make assumptions about me too. That’s why I wear a suit and keep the tattoos as covered as possible when I shoot a wedding. Unless the bride has as many tattoos, or more, than I do, anyway. Then they don’t care that much, but I still wear the suit, anyway. No one wants to see a bunch of scars on the happiest day of their lives.”
I pull up in front of Becca’s building and throw the car into park. “Your scars are hardly noticeable, you know. The tattoos do a great job of disguising them. And if I’m being completely honest, I can hardly even feel them when I touch you. Your skin is a little smoother in some spots, raised a little in others, and normal in others.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Yeah, okay.”
I take her hands in mine. “I’m serious, Becca. I bet if we asked everyone who was at Connor’s today if they noticed anything different about you, they wouldn’t be able to point anything out. You can only see your scars when you’re looking for them, up close. Everyone else wouldn’t even notice.”
She nods, but doesn’t say anything.
“Okay,” I say.
“So, do you want to come in?” Becca asks, looking down at her lap.
“More than anything in the world,” I say, undoing my seat belt and jumping out of the car at lightning speed. I’m around the car and opening Becca’s door before she even has her seat belt off. “For the record, the answer to that question is always going to be yes.”
Becca steps out of the car and pulls her bag out behind her. It was early evening by the time we left Connor’s place, and the cooler air prompted her to put on her threadbare old sweater. It’s long enough, and her shorts are short enough, that it looks like she’s only wearing the sweater.
“Is that sweater even warm?” I ask, taking her bag from her. “It looks pretty worn out.”
She holds her arm out and inspects the sleeve. “It’s not that warm, actually. But it’s more like a security blanket than anything else. I used to wear when I felt like I needed to cover up and I guess I just got used to having it for protection. It’s a comfort thing.”
“So if I went and bought you a new one, you wouldn’t wear it?”
She thinks for a second. “Probably not, but if I stole one of yours while you’re my fake boyfriend, I’d wear that.” She gives me a grin and proceeds to the door to the apartment building.
“Motherfucker!” she yells. “Again? Where are they getting all these rocks?”
