The Boyfriend

by Freida McFadden

I am desperately, painfully, completely, and stupidly in love.

Giving me Bella vibes

Her name is Daisy. We met when we were four years old. I’ve been in love with the girl since age four—that’s how pathetic I am.

Lately, Daisy has been letting me walk her home from school.

I’m starting to think she might want me to kiss her.

But that’s not what I’m most scared of. What I am most scared of is that if I lean in to kiss Daisy, she will let me do it. I’m scared that she will agree to be my girlfriend. I’m scared that she will allow me into her bedroom when her parents aren’t home so that we can finally be alone together.

And I’m terrified that the moment I get her alone, I will wrap my fingers around her pretty, white neck and squeeze the life out of her.

Come again for Big Fudge

There’s no way he is the same man as in his Cynch profile. Not ten years ago—not ever. I just don’t believe it.

Even though it’s an obnoxious move, I grab my phone from my purse and bring up the app right in front of him. I compare the boyishly handsome man in the photo to the man standing in front of me. Yeah—nope.

We have been texting through Cynch and he seems like a nice enough guy. I should give him a chance.

And if it’s not going well, my friend Gretchen will be calling me in twenty minutes with a manufactured excuse to get me the hell out of here. I never, ever go on a date without a planned rescue call.

“Well,” he adds, “except for your arms.”

“My arms?”

“They’re kind of flabby.” He wrinkles his nose. “But other than that, wow. Like I said, ...

Wait. My arms are too flabby? Did he really just...

Then he winks at the waitress and mouths the word Sorry.

Jerk.

“Hot damn,” Kevin remarks, following the path of the waitress with his eyes as she goes to get our drinks. “She has really nice arms.”

I know this feeling

Gretchen, where are you?

Wrong. Get up and walk out. You are not m fave fmc right now

“Come on,” he says. “I bought you dinner. You’re really not going to kiss me?”

He bought me dinner? On what planet does my paying forty dollars for a salad mean that he bought me dinner?

“All you women are the same. You’re never going to land a husband if you won’t even kiss a guy on a date, you know.”

“Sydney,”

I avoid eye contact as I try to dart around him. But Kevin is quicker than he looks. His fingers close around my wrist, pinning it against the jagged brick wall of the building. His spindly fingers bite into my flesh.

“Come on, Sydney,” he says. “Don’t cut our night short. The fun is j...

But before any sound passes through my lips, a voice booms from behind me:

“Hey! Hey! What are you doing over there?”

Bracing myself on a metal trash can next to me, I lift my right leg and knee him in the groin as hard as I can.

It’s gratifying how quickly Kevin goes down. I’ve never nailed a guy in the balls before, and wow, that works really well.

He’s looking down at Kevin, who is still doubled over, but then he glances up at me.

“Are you okay, Miss?”

“This is none of your business!” Kevin spits out at him. “We were on a date, you asshole. We...

The mystery man continues to look at me, waiting for my answer, h...

“I’m ...

“I mean, now I’m fine.”

“You’re fine?” Kevin bursts out. “I should sue you for assault!”

Mystery Man lets out an astonished snort. “I saw what you were trying to do. I’d be happy to call the police ...

I just want to go back home and soak in my bathtub. And block Kevin on Cynch. I can report him to the admins, since they have all his personal information.

“Hey,” he says. “Hey, look, maybe you got the wrong idea. I wasn’t going to—”

“Get out of here,” the mystery man cuts him off. “Now. Before your date changes her mind about calling the cops.” His voice lowers a few notches, almost to a growl. “And if you ever bother her again, I’m happy to testify to what I saw you do. Do you know what jail is like for a sex offender?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mystery Man asks me.

What a great meet-cute. I can already imagine telling the story to our children. This jerk was trying to kiss me, and that, kids, is how I met your father.

How I met your mother is my favorite show. I usually reference Come on again for big fudge LOL

Like pugsley

and next to that is a black-and-white photo of a teenage girl with the word “MISSING” underneath.

who ran away from home way back at the beginning of the school year, which is why the flyer is now crumpled and weatherworn.

“Do you…um, would you let me…um, walk you home?”

“I’d love to walk home with you, Tom.”

I’m so happy, I don’t even care if these stupid girls won’t quit laughing. Let them laugh. I’m walking home with Daisy.

Ok dexter

Much more so, I suspect, than if I sliced through her jugular with a knife.

Truth be told, I’ve only kissed a girl once, and I didn’t even want to do it. She kissed me. Except the only people who know about that are me and her. And now just me.

Especially not her father. I’ll be happy if Daisy’s father and I never have a conversation again for the rest of my life.