Malcolm shook his head quickly, suddenly looking nervous. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
He smoothed down the front of his button-up shirt. “For starters, you would not have a good time. They’re incredibly boring and stuffy. On top of that, they wouldn’t have a good time, either. You’d make them nervous, you know?”
I scoffed. “No way. Trust me, I’m actually really good with parents.” I grinned at him, winking. “You know how charming I am.”
He stood up from the mattress, looking awkward. “The fact that you’re a smoker alone would make them turn on you,” he said. “It’s hard to explain because they seem really nice in a lot of ways. But if you’re not the right kind of person, they can be really awful.”
I felt frustrated, like I kept fumbling things that were important to me. “I guess I’m not the right kind of person, then,” I said, standing up.
Malcolm’s face crumpled, and he stepped closer to me. “You’re the right kind of person for me.”
I turned away, not wanting him to see how upset I was. “Whatever,” I said. “You have your life, and I have mine. Enjoy dinner with your family. I’ll just be chilling here.”
“Is it okay if I come back to your place tonight?”
“I should probably rest,” I said, still avoiding his eyes. “I have work early in the morning.”
We stood there in the awkward silence for a second. Then Malcolm nodded. “Okay, Gunner,” he said, his voice tight. “I hope you get some good sleep tonight.” He leaned in for a quick kiss, his hands landing softly on my chest. “See you soon.”
As soon as he was gone, the anger I was trying to bury exploded to the surface. I grabbed the bundle of money, throwing it at the wall and cursing. The stack exploded from the impact, and bills scattered across my floor.
“Is this enough money to impress your parents, Malcolm?” I asked out loud, falling back to the mattress with a groan. “Maybe if I buy a fancy suit, they’ll let me come to dinner?”
I wished that I hadn’t sent him away for the night because the second he was gone, I just wanted him back. I wanted to hold him and have him look at me that special way, like he thought I was good.
And I really wished I could call up Maddox. He would know the right thing to do.
But I didn’t have Maddox or Malcolm. I just had myself and a stupid pile of money.
Once a fuck-up, always a fuck-up.
At least, that’s what my father always told me. And maybe he was right about some things after all.
