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CONNOR
BOYS & TOYS SEASON 2 BOOK 1
[ THE KANSAS BOY ]
The city is ripe with life in the hot afternoon sun, honking vehicles, and toiling smog. In a crowded airport, Connor, bright-faced, young, and fresh off a flight from Kansas, cheerily makes his way with three heavy bags of luggage.
1
“Today, my life begins!” I state excitedly.
The vendor rubs her sleepy eyes. “Congrats. Here’s your change.”
I slap my new blue hat on my head. Today, my life begins! That was my first thought after proudly disembarking the plane ten minutes ago. The life I dreamed of since leaving the doors of Wortham Academy of Kansas, degree in hand. This big new city is the playground of my future, and I am ready to play its game. Life is beautiful. Life is limitless. And my future is full of promise and—
“Outta the way, you fucking dipshit!”
I’m shoved aside by a small yet monstrous old man, causing one of my rolling suitcases to tip over. “S-Sorry!” I call out at him, but he’s already replaced by a dozen other busybodies, pushing their way ahead. After adjusting the strap of my laptop-carrying messenger bag, I quickly scramble to right my luggage, realizing that being trampled to death is a very likely possibility in this lobby.
And that’s not an ideal start to my new life.
Wait a second. Didn’t I have four bags?
“I think my bag was stolen,” I tell a bored-faced clerk at the help desk. “It had half of my clothes, a care package from my mom, an irreplaceable lucky teddy bear named Grinch with one missing eye—”
“Fill out this form.”
I stare down at a zillion words crammed onto a tiny sheet of paper. Hey, isn’t this a city-living rite of passage? Being pickpocketed in the middle of a crowded place? I should be honored!
I wonder whether it’s still called pickpocketing if it’s an entire bag that was stolen.
Ten minutes later—and one sad glance at the long bathroom lines—I conclude I’m going to have to hold it until I get to my new apartment. In lieu of a bathroom mirror, I make sure to give myself a quick glance into the reflective side of a vending machine, fussing with my short, messy hair and trying to coax it all into the same direction. My normally big, blue (and vexingly innocent-looking) eyes appear sunken and tired after my flight, which wasn’t all that long, even though I was able to get in almost two movies. I give myself a kiss in the reflection—noticed unexpectedly by an old security officer nearby—then cheerily make my way for the doors.
“Taxi!” I call out a moment later as I stand on the curb like a pro in the waning evening sunlight, waving a hand and nearly knocking off my hat.
This is all very exciting to me, by the way.
Another yellow bullet whizzes by, tossing my loose bangs as it goes. Am I even doing this right?
Who cares? I’m so thrilled I’m even doing this at all. I’m sure no one notices, but I’m beaming with pride as I try—and fail—to get myself a taxi. I’ve never had to hail one before.
Heck, I’ve only been off the plane less than thirty minutes and already I’m experiencing my second rite of passage.
But arms do get sore—and I can only hail so long.
“Yes, Mom, I landed safely.” I press the phone to my sweaty ear and lean against a wall, having given up my quest for a taxi. “Just a minor mishap with a bag. I filled out a form and—No, no, it’s fine, I’m safe! I wasn’t mugged. At least, I don’t think I was. I just need to find my way to Mayville, and—”
“I packed you a tin of your favorite cookies you can share with your nice new roommate!” she reminds me. “Oh, the cookies weren’t in the bag that went missing, were they?”
I dodge her question. “I’ll text you when I get settled, ‘kay? Love you!” I hang up with a wince.
I really hate to evade my mom, but she doesn’t need to know everything. Independence is a thing you have to take; it isn’t something you’re given.
That was the last pearl of wisdom my dad gave me before I left to catch my flight.
“Meddling parents?” someone asks at my side.
I turn towards the warm, husky voice—the first pleasant sound I’ve heard since stepping off of the plane—and am stunned by the sight of a handsome, chiseled face. His brown hair is a perfect, deliberate sweep with a hint of stylish highlights, making his round, heavily-lidded, close-set eyes pop. When he smiles, the smooth, warm copper of his skin glows, giving way to hints of cherry red at the apples of his cheeks. The corners of his lips are pinched by the cutest dimples. His pink fitted short-sleeve dress shirt sticks to his small and tightly-muscled frame, showing off his pecs. His fancy pastel shorts and classy shoes tells me he knows his designers, too.
