CHAPTER 3
Bobo / Fool
1. (noun) - a fool, a clown, a naïve or gullible person
2. (noun, affectionate) - a charmingly silly person, a loveable goofball
3. (noun, mild insult) - an oaf, a chump, a stupid person
Look — so there was a flaw in Dylan's plan, alright?
Turns out, it's a lot harder to avoid a guy when he’s in not one, buttwoof your MassComm classes; is assigned as your damn term project partner; and — oh yeah — just so happens to know where you work.
Fortunately, this time Ashton had the decency to wait until Sunday, when Dylan worked the third shift. Meaning Mr. Foye was home, instead of hovering over Dylan's shoulder like an obsessive buzzard trying to micromanage the repair of Printer #A4H-AB. Dubbed by the lab staff as 'Ahab', it was the oldest and testiest of the industrial-sized machines that were the reason most students knew where the Andrews Building even was.
Unfortunately,the late hour meant there was almost no one else in the lab to give Dylan warning when Ashton suddenly appeared at Dylan's elbow. Startled, he nearly dropped the toner cartridge he was struggling to reseat in the hopesthatmightfinally clear Ahab's supremely unhelpful flashing red error light; before he too went mad attempting to gettheprinter back online and working again.
Instead, now he was practically hugging the machine’s hard plastic chassis, his heart racing, cartridge held in his white-knuckled grip.
"¡Ah, cabrón!Don'tfucking sneak up on a guy like that!" Dylan snarled at the interloper.
Ashton just looked down at the printer cartridge in Dylan's hands, brow furrowing as he frowned. "Think you got ink on your hands," he pointed out, feigning concern.
And Christ Almighty, he was right. Damned stuff was all over Dylan's left hand.
"¡Me cago en tóner que mamaste del pezón de satanás!" Dylan hissed at the massive beige printer, slapping Ahab's pale ass with the palm of his — still clean — right hand.
The machine began to whir, and Dylan quickly shoved the cartridge back in with perhaps a little more force than was strictly needed. But miracle of miracles, the red light switched to green and no other reds joined it, so at least Dylan had one thing going for him tonight.
Now, to take care of problem number two…
Dylan turned to Ashton, glowering. "What do you fucking want?"
"You weren't — " Ashton swallowed back whatever he was about to say, glancing around them.
There were two students by the rear wall working on their papers together. Not like, together-together. Just sitting next to each other, heads down, headphones in. Over at the main desk, Paige didn't even need to check and make sure they weren'twatching porn on the staff computer; their screens were visible from across the room.
Still, it was enough that Ashton dropped his voice as if he and Dylan were in some kind of spy movie.
"You weren't upstairs," Ashton tried again. “At the party.”
"Never said I'd be, did I?" Dylan shrugged. Ashton followed him like a stray dog hoping for a meal as Dylan wandered back over to the computer lab's main desk and the roll of paper towels that'd be waiting under the counter. "Said that ifyouwent up there, you'd have your answer. So did you go?"
Ashton glared, but gave a slow nod.
"Really?" Dylan glanced over, grinning as he tried wiping the toner off. "Why?"
Geez, the guy's impression of a big confused golden retriever was unparalleled. It almost made Dylan feel bad.
Almost.
"Why? Uh, because you said — " Ashton cut himself off, scowling. "I mean, I thought we were gonna…"
"Gonna what, straight boy?" Dylan muttered, distracted as he scowled down at where the toner was stubbornly clinging to the three fingers of his left hand.
But Ashton just glanced over at Paige. She wasn't even trying to be subtle about watching them, scissors held mid-cut on more of those snowflake chains she'd been taping up around the lab most of the night.
Aw, fuck it.
