“Straight Guy”

I

Beats of metal blared through the flashing surroundings, and the place reeked of beer.

“You can come to my apartment,” Claire said seductively.

Jason could scarcely believe his ears. How could his luck have turned—especially after weeks of attending the same college sophomore class and somehow, being unable to hook up with this beauty? Jason smiled—and felt his cheek dimples. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Claire assured. She turned her oval face toward the wooden bar counter, took her goblet, and sipped from the dewy glass.

Jason eyed Claire and ahed like a camel begging for cold water under the noon sun of the Sahara.

Claire set down her glass of clear wine, then slowly swiveled toward Jason. “I am all yours.” She grinned girlishly. “There is, however, one catch.”

“Anything,” Jason said breathlessly.

Jason’s short hair was brown as muddy waters, and it fountained back from the top of his somewhat diamond face.

Claire ran her ballerina fingers through Jason’s fine hair. “I’ll tell you in my car,” she said.

“You’re driving?”

“You got a problem with that?” Claire asked.

“Nuh-uh,” Jason muttered.

Claire’s peach-hued hand took Jason’s fallow hand, and she jested him away from the wooden counter.

Jason nearly spilled his beer mug.

* * * *

Like small suns, the lights of the storefront shone upon the chrome of the coupé. Never had the bright-yellow car with the black leather top glistened as intensely as that night—not even on that sunny afternoon when Jason followed Claire from sociology class to the student-union parking lot. The closer Claire and Jason got to the grand touring car, the faster Jason’s heart beat. The butterfly-wing passenger doors pivoted up with a low hum, and Claire crossed to the driver’s side.

Jason inhaled a gulpful of autumn air. He exhaled tensely and crouched onto his black seat of leather.

The doors hemmed down, and an ear-ringing silence permeated the inside of the coupé. The interior, in turn, discharged a scent of mint leather, sprayed carpets, and fresh plastic.

The olfactory flavors brought Jason the image of a triangular tent of yellow. That tent of crumbled plastic his father had given him for his 13th birthday. Now, Jason’s pulse raced at the promise of a different present.

Jason stared deeply into Claire’s almond orbs.

Claire’s hazel irises sparkled like diamonds in a cave.

Maybe it was Claire’s childlike innocence that drove Jason bonkers. Or perhaps, it was that Claire