Conventionally Yours (True Colors 1)

“Thanks.” My tongue felt twice as thick as normal, and I had no idea whether I was thankful for his empathy or thankful for this weird, wonderful moment. I still didn’t drop our eye lock, and it was impossible to miss the way his eyes flashed with purpose, as though he’d solved some vital equation.

He leaned in, and as with the fist bump, I didn’t quite know what was coming, what he expected me to do, couldn’t figure out how to react fast enough, and I recoiled right as my phone buzzed.

Conrad jerked away, out of my personal space, out of whatever moment we’d been having there. “Better get that. It’s probably the car.”

“Yeah.” My shoulders slumped, chest as hollow as it got after a bad loss in the game—only I wasn’t sure what I’d lost this time. I only knew that it was significant.

Chapter Nineteen

Conrad

I almost kissed Alden. And the worst part was that I wasn’t sure whether he knew it. Had he pulled back because his phone buzzed? Or because I spooked him? Was that a distinct ew in his eyes? Maybe he didn’t want his first kiss to be some lame guy who had just confessed to being a few steps away from homelessness. I was merely guessing about the first-kiss part, but it wasn’t that big a leap from “I’m a virgin” to “never been kissed.” And it was also entirely possible that I’d confused him. Maybe he didn’t read my intent at all and was neither frightened nor repelled but rather irritated at the invasion of his personal space.

Not knowing plagued me as we made the trek back to Mary’s garage. The car had been ready, and once we petted the dog and parted with two hundred bucks, we were back on the road. It was already late afternoon, heading into evening, and we hit a ton of traffic as we approached Kansas City, slowing us to a crawl. Alden was driving, which left me to navigate to our intended stop at a downtown game store.

“F—heck.” I looked up from studying the map on Alden’s phone to see more bumper-to-bumper cars jockeying for rush-hour positioning. I had no idea when I’d started reining in the f-bombs around Alden, when his comfort started mattering to me, and I wasn’t entirely sure I liked this turn of events. “Professor Tuttle would have to be friends with the one game shop in the area that closes at six.”

“Six?” Alden’s forehead creased. “I thought all gaming places had evening hours. Where else are people going to play?”

“Apparently they only stay open until nine on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays.”

“We’re not going to make six.” Alden gestured toward the barely moving traffic that stretched as far as we could see. “Call them?”

“Okay to use your phone? I think you have a better signal.” And he undoubtedly had more minutes available than me, but I didn’t add that part.

“Sure.”

This left me to deal with a rather irate owner, who didn’t want to wait for us.

“You said you’d be here sometime after lunch,” he complained. His deep, midwestern voice reminded me of my dad—and not in a great way. “I’ve got to get my son soon. First, you cancel on bringing Gamer Grandpa, and now you two kids can’t keep to a schedule.”

“We’re sorry, sir. We had a tire blow, and now we’re stuck in traffic. We didn’t expect this kind of delay.”

“Well, I didn’t expect this much hassle either. You’re a small-time vlog, and I’m doing you a favor, not the other way around.”

I wasn’t sure how Professor Tuttle knew this jerk, but I kept my tone even. “Actually—”

“You know what, forget it. I’ve got to get to my kid’s baseball practice, and I don’t have time for this.”

“Fuck.” After I ended the call, I went ahead and dropped the f-bomb, Alden’s sensibilities be damned. “There goes that stop.”

“From the sound of it, we’re better off for it,” Alden said pragmatically. “Maybe we can figure out some content for the show to make up for not getting that stop.”

“Yeah. We can always play each other.” I was strangely reluctant to play Alden again, to undo all the progress we’d made that day toward something…well, maybe not exactly friendship. I didn’t generally go around getting the urge to kiss my friends’ necks. But something. More than rivals.

“Or open the packs from that cosplaying owner.”

“Oh. Yeah! Dibs on anything good.” I grinned over at him, liking that suggestion far more. Traffic was finally moving, so his eyes were on the road, but his mouth curved as if he’d sensed my shift in mood.

“Do you want to stop for dinner?” he asked as we continued to fight clogged roads. “I’ve never understood the barbecue thing, but just pick somewhere with decent parking.”

“My only requirement is cheap, but if you’ve never tried good barbecue, you’re missing out.” I used his phone to search possibilities. “Okay, I found a little place that’s pretty inexpensive but locals rate it highly. They’ve got smoked chicken for you—it’s not all pork. And supercheap BBQ street tacos as the Tuesday special for me.”