Page 16 of Strawberry Kisses

Chapter Eight

Connor

I stared at the large suitcase and bag on my bedroom floor, wondering for the first time if I was taking too much stuff with me for three nights. I mean, some of it was essential—like my toiletries and my make-up—but I was starting to wonder if I needed six pairs of shoes, three different pairs of jeans, and two suits.

I wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to wear to this party. Was it formal suit, or was it cute top and a nice pair of jeans? I probably should have double-checked with Patrick before I packed half my wardrobe. He’d said something about the party being in a barn, but that didn’t mean anything these days. People got married in barns!

Sighing, I glanced at my phone, double-checking how long it was until Patrick was due to pick me up. I had an hour, which was plenty of time to totally repack everything if I needed to. Ugh, I was probably horribly overthinking this, but it was preferable to worrying about this whole fake boyfriend thing, which was what I’d been doing for the past two days. I was a complete and utter mess. I just couldn’t show it. I needed this thing to be a success for Patrick, I needed to keep my own feelings sufficiently under wraps so I didn’t ruin our friendship, and on top of that, I couldn’t stop worrying about what Patrick’s family might think of me. I’d never met any of my boyfriends’ families before, so I had no idea what to expect, and even though we weren’t in a real relationship, I still wanted to make a good impression. Hence trying to fit an entire wardrobe into two bags.

Fuck it. I needed to repack.

ConnorJust exactly what should I wear for this party? Do I need a suit?

PatrickIt’s not that posh! Just a shirt and jeans will do

PatrickOr whatever the you version of that is

ConnorFull-length ballgown it is then ;P

Okay, so I probably didn’t need both suits. I could probably take one… and maybe a nice waistcoat if I wanted to be posh. Although I wasn’t sure if I fancied it. I left it in the bag, just in case.

I thought trousers were probably more appropriate than jeans. I did have a couple of nice skirts for the days when I really felt like it, but I didn’t want to totally shock Patrick’s family. I wasn’t even sure how they’d react to the make-up, and I suddenly realised I probably should have asked Patrick about it.

I’d been wearing make-up for so long that it was just part of who I was now. The first time I remembered wanting to try it was watching my mum put it on before she went to work and thinking how pretty she looked and how I wanted to look pretty too. I think I’d been about six at the time. High school had been an ongoing battle between my teachers, the school rules, and my own defiance. I’d worn pancake foundation, bright eyeshadow, and sticky lip-gloss as much as the girls. I mean, it had been Essex before the invention of make-up tutorials on YouTube, so by today’s standards we looked a mess, but we’d thought we looked good. I’d certainly felt good. Mum had never been against it, although she had suggested laying off the orange fake tan and heavy foundation because it wasn’t good for my skin.

When I was sixteen, my mum had bought me an expensive set of make-up brushes and a couple of eyeshadow palettes, then asked a friend of hers who did wedding make-up to show me how to use them. Steph had been amazing, and I’d utterly adored her. She’d taught me how to enhance my features and do soft, smoky eyes and helped me choose colours that made my skin pop. She’d also taught me the meaning of the word subtle, which was a totally new word for me in terms of make-up.

After that, I’d been off with a bang, and I’d never looked back.

These days, my make-up collection resembled a professional’s, and it was what I spent the most money on, apart from pole shoes, but I managed to justify it somehow… like telling myself that two good palettes were the same as one pair of Pleasers and both were necessary purchases.

My make-up was part of who I was. It was my armour for my bad days or for when, heaven forbid, I was nervous. With a full face on, I felt like I could do anything. And I wasn’t going to be ashamed for liking something that wasn’t traditionally masculine.

The haters could fuck off as far as I was concerned. I just hoped Patrick’s family wasn’t among them.

I grabbed another couple of pairs of shoes out of the bag, realising I didn’t need them, and began condensing everything down to one bag. I’d just about managed to get it closed by the time I heard a knock at the door and the squeaking of hinges.

“Connor? I’m here. Are you ready to go?” Patrick said. I stuck my head out of the bedroom.

“Yes! I actually am, and I managed to get everything into one bag. Aren’t you proud of me?”

“Depends on the size of the bag. You do realise it has to go on the back seat since the cake is in the boot, and I don’t have a people carrier, right?” He gave me a cheeky grin, and I couldn’t stop myself from beaming at him.

“So rude to your poor boyfriend,” I joked.

“Am I your boyfriend now?”

“Well, it’s Friday, so yes.”

“Poor me. I’m clearly being punished for something.” He rolled his eyes, and I laughed. I loved this sharp, funny side of Patrick. It was something people only saw when he was comfortable around them, but sometimes I thought he kept it all for me.

“So fucking sassy today! Be nice to me. I only packed two pairs of shoes, and I’m suffering.”

“Is that including the ones you’re wearing now?” He raised an eyebrow, giving me the knowing Patrick smile that told me he’d seen straight through me.

“Fine, three then.”

“I appreciate your sacrifice and so does my poor car.”

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