The Jock, The Nerd and The Geek

5

And that only happened, when she had found a boyfriend for him. "Honey, the drying part of the machine isn't working anymore."

And she was using English now. Okay. "I'm sure it is, Mama. I'd just go —."

"Oh!" And she was using her high pitched voice as well. Honestly, all this was pointless. He just wanted to go home to his A for heaven's sake. "Have you met Mr Steinfeld?"

He kept a firm face now. "Where is the machine?"

Yet, this was his Mother. She would not be deterred. "He's one of our most popular customers, you know. He actually went to make a ca— Ah. Here he is." When Marcos showed no interest, she hissed in spanish. "Look at him."

I don't want to.

But he did.

The man closed the door to their laundry shop, his phone still on his ear wearing a white and black suit with blond hair and sunglasses to match.

And he was freakishly tall.

His Mother wasted no time to beam her sun rays at him. "Welcome back, Mr Steinfeld. I was just telling my son here, how you always come to us and are one of our most valued customers."

The man gave a small smile at her and said something rapidly on the phone in another language. (Italian probably, thought Mama wanted a spanish boy.) Then hung up before speaking to her. "You do a good job, Mrs Gomez."

His voice was deep. Sensual possibly. Plus, the smile on his face still gave it an ethereal glow.

Sad luck. Marcos wasn't gay.

"Not only me." Maria practically rushed to her son and pushed him forward like he was a chicken on sale. "My son does as well."

This time, Mr Steinfeld took off his shades, revealing blue crystal eyes, as his eyes moved over Marcos' body, making him feel like he was one of those paintings people stared at in museums. "He's... Beautiful."

That comment, at the beginning, used to be pleasing. Then it became downright embarrassing, now, it was just plain uncomfortable.

His Mother, anyway, was the epitome of pride about her child. "He is, isn't he?"

Mr Steinfeld kept staring. "Yes." Then his hand began to reach out to his face. "I wonder how he —."

Marcos quickly moved out of the way, turning around to face his Mother. "Mama. I want to go home."

His Mother perked up. And in English. "But the machine —."

"I don't feel so good." He completed, which was true. He didn't. Marcos hated disappointing anyone, especially her, but he didn't exactly feel comfortable with this man. At all. "Haven't been, since school. Can I?"

Perhaps she heard the way he sounded and could tell he was being honest because her face fell and became softer. "Oh. Of course, son. Let me go grab some change —."

"No. It's alright. I can drive him home."

He spoke spanish? Was his Mother a psychic?

Maria didn't even seem surprised that he could speak with them as well. "I don't want to bother —."

"It's alright. It's the least I can do for the work you do for me. And my cloths, of course." His smile grew as he faced a now sicker Marcos with his hand out. "Shall we?"

Through the ride back home, Marcos constantly wished he had a little bit of Alex's bravery. If she were him, she'd flip the man a bird and demand he stopped the car.