Page 80 of Kiss and Tell

“I took a music class at school and laid my hands on a guitar,” he said. “The rest is history.”

“I can’t imagine you as the nerdy little bookworm on the playground.”

“I was,” he said, neither ashamed nor proud. “I was even put in advanced classes when I was a kid. They took me out of regular class for a few periods and put me in with the other brainiacs. They made us read Old Yeller. I hated it. I wanted to read detective books. I liked to pretend I was Sherlock Holmes.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of a young Connor with that same disgruntled face as he was forced to read a book he hated.

“Is that why you said I looked like a librarian when we first met?” I asked. “That was your fantasy growing up?”

“Some boys have those babysitter wet dreams,” he said. “My tastes were more refined.”

“Maybe I should get a pair of fake glasses,” I said. “We can do the role play thing.”

“You’ll be the stern librarian and I’ll be the guy with a late fee?” A teasing smile crossed his lips. “But you’ll make me pay for my fine in other ways?”

“Does that idea turn you on?”

“Nah.” He turned back to the wall to continue painting. “That time of my life wasn’t particularly happy. I really only had one friend. I got bullied sometimes.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know that can mess a kid up.”

“It’s cool,” he replied with a shrug. “Once I put my fist through a bully’s nose the kids mostly left me alone.”

“You said you had one friend,” I said carefully. “Was it Mason?”

Connor’s shoulders hunched up around his ears.

“He was a new kid at school,” Connor said reluctantly, not enthused to be talking about it, but willing to open up to me. “He saw the others bullying me and backed me up.”

“It sounds like he was a good friend.”

Connor put down the roller and stared at the half-painted wall in thought.

“Yeah,” he said. “Back then, he was.”

I noticed his choice in words. Hewas, past tense.

The mood turned quiet, contemplative. Connor went back to painting silently.

I stood up from my crouch on the floor, groaning as my knees protested.

“You want to switch?” I asked. “I can take the top, you can take the bottom?”

Connor looked down from his spot on the final rung of the ladder.

“Is this your way of telling me you want to be on top?” he asked. “Because I am so into that.”

I flushed but put on a saucy smile.

“I’m not opposed to trying out different positions,” I replied.

Connor climbed down the ladder. I waited until he had both feet on the floor, holding my paintbrush in one hand.

“Do you mind if we—” he started.

I snuck up and dabbed paint on his nose.

He jerked back, surprised, then narrowed his eyes and lifted his paint roller.