The Boyfriend Designer - Christopher Harlan Page 0,28
I’ll show you right now if you want to see?”
“Your dick? I’m all good, thanks. Still recovering from swag gait improvement 2020. Trying to keep all the mental notes clear in my head—your dick would just complicate matters.”
“It sure would.” Uhh. He has such a big head. And I’m not sure if I meant that as a pun or if I’m only really wondering about whether or not he has a big head. . . damn, it’s definitely the second. “Listen, this is gonna sound like déjà vu, but can I take you out—just a drink so I can talk to you. Nothing crazy.”
I think about his offer. Part of me knows he’s bad news, and that I really shouldn’t even entertain the idea of hanging out with him again now that I know he just wants to get in my pants. But I’m not listening to that bitch right now.
“I’d love to. There’s a bar on the other side of the place. Let’s go.”
Something’s definitely wrong with me.
Shoshana
“Between a heart attack and the blue balls, I don’t see you making it out of this event alive.”
Déjà vu, YouTube influencer edition.
Drinks with my secret crush, Conor Durden, part II. How long before he tries to put his moves on me? I give it ten seconds or so.
“First off, I owe you an apology.” Oh…I didn’t expect him to say that. “If that stupid video I made upset you I’m really sorry. It’s nothing personal, it’s just for likes. You know how it is.”
So if I make a video about you having a little penis, that’s cool?
“Thanks for saying that, but just so you know, it’s super personal to tell a woman she’s not attractive enough to sleep with—and to do it in front of millions of viewers.” He totally deserves the hard time I’m giving him—but I am glad he’s finally saying sorry.
“You’re right. I’m always trying to entertain my fans, but half the time I don’t even totally mean what I’m saying when it comes to those videos.”
Is he admitting what I think he’s admitting right now? “Wait, so are you trying to tell me that. . .”
“Your. . . what did you call it? Your ‘fuckability score’ I think?”
Of course I said that -who else would come up with a name like that? “What about it?”
“Let’s just say that score is not as low as I made it seem in the video.”
So you want to have sex with me then? “Oh yeah?” I ask coyly, secretly giddy inside. “Good to know. But I’m still mad at you.”
“I’m not a bad guy, you know?”
“I see, you just play one on the internet, is that it?”
“It’s a persona. You should know that as well as anyone. None of us are the same on camera as we are in real life.”
“I am,” I tell him. “I’m exactly the same. I’m sure you haven’t seen any of my content, but if you watched you’d see the same me that you’re talking to right now.”
“Okay, fine, maybe you’re the exception, but I can tell you most influencers are night and day from who they seem to be. Some are closer to their personas than others, but none are exactly the same.”
For the first time since I’ve met him, his tone is a little softer, and those green eyes are a little more gentle.
“So what did you base your persona on? Or did you make up that particular douchey persona from your own mind?”
He puts up his hand to flag down the waiter. “To quote you from last night, I’m gonna need a drink for this conversation.”
“Whiskey?” I ask.
“I was going to go with a beer, actually.”
“Do you actually like whiskey, or is drinking trendy alcohol part of the whole Alpha Male persona?”
“You asked me that the other night. Did you not believe my answer?”
“I’m not sure,” I tell him. I’m being dead honest right now. “It’s like you were saying, I can’t read you yet, and I don’t know what the gap is between the real Conor and your persona.”
“Alright, so that’s two things to address now, right? Where did I get my persona from, and how close is it to the real me? You usually ask three questions, don’t you? Maybe you should come up with one more for me.”
Wait, what did he say? How does he know about. . . unless. “You watched my channel?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that, exactly. Let’s just say I’ve seen an episode or two—recently, in