Oh god, the ironing board was still out. He’d know I was a total dork who’d spent my Saturday night ironing in front of the TV. Maybe I should just lean into it. Act all devil-may-care and like I was actually the true rebel by not playing by society’s rules. I could even be literally leaning against the ironing board in a cool pose when he got here and say something edgy like, ‘What up, Holt. Yeah, I like the way freshly ironed boxer briefs feel against my balls. What of it? Guess I’m just a maverick who doesn’t care what people think.’
