The Boyfriend Designer - Christopher Harlan Page 0,13
preferably with a mind-shattering When Harry Met Sally orgasms at the end.”
I just said orgasm to this stranger. That’s a thing I just did.
“I see. But that orgasm was fake, remember?”
“Still, it’s something to aspire to.”
“If you have a high fuckability. . . what would you call it? A rating?”
“I prefer to think of it as a scale, actually.”
“And, using my powers of deduction, I apparently rated you low on said scale? Is that what you’re mad about?”
“Finally, we arrive at the truth. Took you long enough to get there.”
“I’d call it more of an educated guess than the truth. I’m still waiting to hear the whole story. Did I reject you in the past or something?”
I can’t believe my ears. Good looking or not, I’m dealing with a full-fledged egomaniac here.
“How did you know?” My sarcasm is so sharp I could widdle wood with it. “Because clearly being rejected by you would definitely make a woman act all crazy and stupid.”
“Well it certainly seems to be the case for you.”
Oh no. Oh hell-to-the-no.
“I’m sorry, too,” I tell him. “Sorry that it was you, of all people, who proved that green eyes are actually real. I wish I’d realized something so cool from a better human being. Goodbye, Conor Durden.”
I turn and leave, not totally sure if I’d won or lost the exchange, but confident those very real green eyes are staring at my ass as I walk away ‘cause, let’s face it, I have an ass worth starting at.
Shoshana
“Is this really the time for Elizabethan English?”
My storm-in-the-room game is strong.
My confrontation left me unsatisfied, and after I slam the door to our room Tori appropriately jumps like someone just popped a balloon next to her ear.
“Holy shit, what’s the matter?” She asks
“The matter, you ask? I’ll tell you—I just met one Mr. Conor Durden, that’s what’s the matter.”
She looks concerned, probably because she knows how unhinged I can be when I’m upset. But then I look at the bed and I feel upset for a different reason. “Oh, crap, were you. . .”
“Shooting a vlog? I was. Right before you came in like an angry kid. I wanted to give the fans some updates on what’s going on. You should be doing the same, by the way.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. Can you edit the door slamming part?”
“Yeah, it’s not a problem. Don’t worry about that—tell me what happened with Conor?”
I tell her all about what happened while it’s still fresh in my mind. Halfway through the story I notice that my bestie can’t control the smile that’s taken over her expression. She seriously looks like she’s doing a Joker impression.
“Why are you smiling so hard right now?”
“Because I think the lady doth protest too much.”
I roll my eyes. “Is this really the time for Elizabethan English, Tor? Now, of all times?”
She raises an eyebrow. “You know what I mean.”
“I certainly do not.”
“Oh, come on. Do you even realize you used the expression ‘green eyes’ like three times telling me that story?”
“I’m sorry, but the man had. . . those color eyes. It was seriously hard to concentrate when he looked at me.” Another big smile out of her. “I’m just being descriptive, and frankly, as an author—and before you say it yes, a New York Times bestselling author—you should appreciate my attention to descriptive detail.”
“You’re right,” she says. “What was I thinking? I was wrong to be critical of your meticulous descriptions of his eyes, his hair, his height. . .”
“The man cast a shadow, Tori! Didn’t you not hear me?”
“Everyone casts a shadow, Shosh. Literally. It’s just physics. Little guys with bad hair and boring eyes also cast shadows. I didn’t understand that comment the first time you made it, I just didn’t want to interrupt you.”
“You know what I mean—he’s so tall he casts a shadow over the whole room.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“I swear.”
“He’d have to be Godzilla to cast a shadow like you’re describing. I get it, Conor’s a tall, good looking guy with green eyes. You’re missing my point. I wasn’t worried about how accurate your description of him was, I was just saying that the fact you’re being so descriptive tells me. . .” I don’t like where this is going. Not one bit. “That you might be into one Mr. Conor Durden.”
No. She. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.
“Are you kidding me? Why would you even suggest such a thing?”
“Because I know you too well. I know the look you get when you’re into a guy,