The Man Of My Dreams (Boyxboy)

Le Cordon Bleu

I listened to this song while I wrote this chapter... Not really relevant, but Nicki is amazing :D

P.S :There is some French Dialogue in here so I made sure to translate it with bolded text...

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"Kyle, come on down" A voice called out as I was sitting on my bed, just about to finish my Lit assignment while listening to One Direction's second album.

Judge all you want but that was a pretty damn good album, and it reminds me of how amazing junior year was.

As I looked up at the watch on top of my desk I saw it was half past seven pm.

"KYLE"

I sighed shutting down my copy of "The Norton Introduction To Literature" grabbing the four papers that were scattered all over my bed (I know I'm pretty messy), stapling my essay together before going down the stairs.

I had showered at six pm this evening because, like you must have guessed, I didn't want a repeat of Monday's heart boxer fiasco, and being the slothful teenager that I was, I didn't bother wearing a shirt, so I was just in my grey sweat pants.

"What is it oh great Dadster?" I asked a grin on my face, as I was going down the stairs.

"Come on down here, I tell you. And what did I say about those stupid nicknames?" he shouted back.

I loved teasing my father and I did so for as long as I could remember. He was easily annoyed and I loved getting under his skin him all the time. Of course he only put up with it was, due to a reason that I ignore still, I was his favorite.

"Well, well... Look who decided to grace me with his presence" he teased smiling at me.

"Uh... Technically you called me out here, so..." I started correcting him.

"Loving yourself a little bit too much, huh?" he teased pointing at my bare chest.

"Yeah well after the trauma of spending my whole life hating how my body looks, there's no harm in boasting how hot it is"

My father rolled his eyes before giving me one his signature looks.

Here comes a stupid remark.

"You're not a girl Kyle, you don't have to have a hot body, what matters is your brains. No matter how you look if you have money you'll get any girl you want, and money usually comes with brains" he ranted.

"Unless you know, you're a stripper, a model or an actor" I blurted out interrupting him. Dad glared at me for a second, probably thinking of an argument to prove me wrong.

"Those people are not genuinely happy and you know it... Plenty of girls don't care how boys look... I mean look at your mom, do you think she chose to be with me, because of my looks?" he asked closing his laptop and heading towards me.

Definitely not... I still don't know the exact reason she decided to marry him... Sure he was really nice and poetic, but come on is that reason enough to marry someone?

In case you were wondering... he and I looked nothing alike.

I stared at my father sighing. Why did he have to dress so stupidly? Couldn't he change his style from time to time? The nineties look only went so far, especially with how average his face looked; he had brown eyes, a long nose, big red lips and teeth in a state I wouldn't want to get into, because of his heavy smoking...Yuck.

He was wearing (as usual) his way too wide dark blue shirt and baggy brown pants... color blind much? And I swear his belly just got bigger from yesterday.