Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
CODY
“Dude, Raynard is so getting his arm eaten by that…demonwhatsit.” I gasp and lift one of Kenneth’s decorative throw cushions to cover my face. “I can’t watch.”
We’re up to week three of watching our favorite TV show together, and I’m finally starting to feel like Sylvia was right: Kenneth is just a normal guy. Spending a couple of hours with him every week has helped me to take him down off his imaginary pedestal and now I can talk to him almost as easily as I talk to her.
Almost.
See, I still have a crush on the guy. I can’t help it. He was the first person I ever felt attracted to and, while I was able to table my infatuation in the years where our paths rarely crossed, now…it’s even worse than before. Seeing him every week, sending each other daily memes and texts about the show or how badly our days are sucking…I’m developing an actual attachment to him.
It’s not healthy.
“ Magic .” Kenneth laughs and pries the cushion from my face, even as he continues to watch the large screen in front of us. “Whatever happens to him, he’s going to be magically healed.”
I hum thoughtfully and snag a handful of popcorn. “Unless they’re going to kill him off for shock value.”
“They won’t. The actor’s their celebrity draw card.”
I hit him with the cushion. “You’re such a pessimist, Ken. Shit. Kenneth. Sorry.” My cheeks burn. As far as I know, Dad’s the only one who ever calls him Ken, and he’s never given me permission to?—
“I like Ken,” he says softly. “It’s okay.”
“Yeah?” I double check. “Because it’s not your actual name, so?—”
I get butterflies as he reaches out and squeezes my thigh to reassure me. “I like it when you say it.”
Oh, I am so fucked.
“I can’t believe they’re doing the stupid sleeping beauty routine with Suzanna,” I complain. We’re on week five now —next week will be the mid-season finale, just in time for Christmas and New Year’s— and Ken and I are watching the show together via FaceTime because he’s had to travel out of state for work.
The fact that I’ve been pouty and bitter all day has nothing to do with his absence. It doesn’t.
“Seriously, Ken, I thought the writers were better than this.”
“On the upside,” he says, sounding rational and soothing, “that forest nymph guy is making sexy eyes at Mystic.”
“You’re dreaming,” I refute him. “There’s no way they’re going to hook Mystic up with…oh, holy shit—” I reach out to squeeze his arm with excitement, but he’s not actually beside me. I have to settle with a lumpy, faded cushion instead. “Did he just blow him a kiss?”
“Maybe we’re going to get an MM romance plot in this show after all,” Ken agrees. “And the nymph is very cute.”
I eye the guy prancing around the screen speculatively. He’s just slightly too old to really be considered a twink, but he has twink vibes for days.
I’m cuter , I think petulantly.
I only just manage to keep myself from voicing my thoughts out loud.
Our friendship has been developing so well, the last thing I want to do is ruin it all by reminding Ken that I have a stupid crush on him. I need to remember that I’m lucky that we’ve become friends at all.
And he is a friend. Not even an acquaintance, but an actual friend. We bond over the show, discuss the mundane details of our lives, talk about future plans…and it’s nice. I don’t have a lot of friends in my life to begin with, what with being a geeky nerd and all, but having someone like Ken around is a breath of fresh air.
Ignoring how hot and masculine and silver foxy he is, he’s also mature and successful. He’s always willing to talk out a problem, or to lend an ear when I need to vent about something shitty happening at work. He doesn’t want to party all the time, and he doesn’t want to talk about sex or hooking up with randoms, either, which is particularly good because I think it might crush my soul if he did.