As the day draws to a close, I start to get all nerved up for the seminar tomorrow. I have no idea what’s in store for me. I just hope Jay keeps his promise and behaves himself.
Morning comes, and I dress in a simple blue summer dress with some black heels. I’m not in the mood to put in my contacts, so I slip on my glasses instead. Arriving downstairs, I find that Jay has yet again made me breakfast, oat pancakes smothered with honey.
“You are paying rent, you know. You don’t have to make breakfast every morning to keep Dad sweet,” I say with a soft laugh.
“How do you know he’s the one I’m trying to keep sweet?” Jay replies with a flirty grin, waggling his eyebrows and taking a seat opposite me.
I stuff a forkful of pancake into my mouth so I don’t have to respond.
“How about we make a deal?” says Jay. “I’ll do breakfast every morning if you do dinner every evening. That way it’s even.”
I grin as I chew. “Okay, you’re on.”
About an hour later, we arrive at the Hilton for the seminar. The receptionist in the lobby directs us to a function room where there’s a big banner hanging over the entrance. It reads: Kick-start Your Love Life with Simon Silver.
We’re each given a goodie bag and then ushered inside. Two women standing in front of us keep peeking over their shoulders at Jay, giggling to one another.
“Your gay act better be convincing,” I whisper to him. “Otherwise, I think you might have a swarm on your hands by the end of the day.”
“What are you going on about, Watson?” Jay asks, walking over to a water cooler to get a drink. I follow him.
“I’m going on about the fact that every woman in here has her eyes on you, and although that might sound appealing right now, it won’t be when we have a stampede on our hands,” I joke, though I’m also kind of serious. Today he’s wearing a midnight-blue shirt tucked into a pair of denim jeans, his svelte waist accentuated by a brown leather belt. The sight is more than a little appealing.
“Now, that would be interesting,” says Jay. He pauses for a second, hand on hip, then finishes with a camp, “Girlfriend.”
I put my hand over my eyes. “Oh, God. Please let me know when you’ve stopped doing that, whatever it is you’re doing.”
His deep chuckle moves closer to me and then his warm hand is on mine, pulling it away from my face. “Okay, I won’t do it again. I’ll just be one of those non-flaming gays.”
“I think that might be for the best.”
He continues laughing as he guides me to a seat about three rows from the front.
“Perhaps we should sit a little farther back,” I suggest. “I don’t want to be singled out to talk.”
“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” says Jay, pulling me down to sit.
A woman sitting alone two seats away keeps sneaking glances at us. It’s plainly obvious that Jay is about as homosexual as Gerard Butler in the movie 300. On second thought, no, I need to think of a better comparison. 300 was so excessively straight it was actually unconsciously super-gay.
A few minutes pass by, and the conference room begins to fill up. Soon there are hardly any seats left. It’s reassuring to me that I’m not the only woman out there who’s hopeless with men. I can even spot a few girls my age in attendance.
A blonde sits down on the other side of Jay, smiling demurely and giving him a quiet but interested, “Hello.”
I want to stab her with the complimentary pen provided in the goodie bag. Okay, I should probably calm down. Just because we’re housemates doesn’t mean I have any ownership over Jay. He’s a free agent. Free as a bird, really.
Now, there’s a depressing thought.
Rummaging through the aforementioned goodie bag, I pull out a pamphlet containing ten top tips for finding a date. I’m starting to skim through it when some hip modern music comes through the speakers and a well-dressed woman in her twenties walks onto the stage. She does a quick intro for the event and then says, “So, without further ado, I give you Simon Silver.”
Jay snorts next to me. “That can’t be his real name. He sounds like a pirate from a kids’ TV show.”
I suppress a laugh, because it’s sort of true.
“Yeah, well, not all of us were blessed with ultra-cool names like Jay Fields,” I tease, and his body goes slightly rigid. Did I say something wrong?
Focusing my attention back on the stage, I deduct that Simon’s probably in his mid-thirties, though it’s hard to tell because his hair has blond highlights and he’s sporting a seriously hard-core fake tan, the kind gotten through years and years of sun beds. He’s even wearing a diamond earring in one ear.