Misunderstandings by Tiffany King Page B

having a problem with the sweet, lovable teenager I had just met.
    “My dad didn’t take too kindly to Travis coming out. He put Travis through the wall in our dining room when he found out,” Justin bit out as he clenched the steering wheel tightly in his hands.
    “Seriously? No offense, but how could he not have known?” I asked. After having a simple conversation with Travis, I was able to figure it out. Not because he wore it like a badge oranything, but his mannerisms and soft-spoken nature had been a dead giveaway.
    “Yeah, well, my dad is famous for ignoring what’s right in front of his face. He doesn’t like it when things stray from the path he’s set. God forbid his little soldiers have a mind of their own or move to a different beat.”
    “So, what beat do you move to?” I asked, sensing so much more to his story.
    “Just put it this way: My dad is in the frame of mind that art is for pansies. He had some crazy notion that I would grow up to be a lawyer or some crazy shit like that. When he found out I was majoring in art, he gave me an ultimatum. Pick a real major or get out. I got out. Of course, I made it hard for him to ignore my art,” Justin said.
    Suddenly, his words from a couple of weeks ago clicked through my head. “Your tattoos are your designs,” I stated as understanding dawned on me. “You got them so your father would have to face it,” I said with awe, wondering where that kind of belief and strength came from. It made me think about my relationship with my own mom. It wasn’t until I turned fifteen that her notorious busybody ways really began to bother me. I wanted to tell her but could never think of a way to do it without hurting her feelings. Instead, I made it my goal to hold my secrets close and away from her eagle eyes. It was that desire that had prompted me to apply to a school as far from home as I could get.
    “Yeah, I got my first tattoo when I moved out. The second and third followed quickly after that.”
    “Did it work?” I asked, wondering if his father was finally accepting his dreams.
    “Silent treatment for two months,” Justin answered proudly.
    “Mature much?” I said sarcastically.
    Justin’s laugh had a bit of an edge to it. “Two months is nothing. He hasn’t spoken to Travis in like a year.”
    “What a dick,” I said, not caring that I was talking about his parent.
    “That about sums it up,” Justin said, shooting me a real grin this time. “Let’s talk about something else. We’ve wasted enough of our one and only date talking about him.”
    “Hmmm, I don’t know. You might be able to score another date if you play your cards right,” I answered in my most blasé tone.
    “I knew the ole meet-the-family trick would seal the deal,” he said triumphantly, slapping the steering wheel with enthusiasm.
    “Are you telling me you played me?” I asked with mock indignation.
    “Hell yeah, I did.”
    “Maybe I’ll change my mind.”
    “Not going to happen. Admit it. You were wrong about me,” he said, placing his hand on my knee.
    I narrowed my eyes on his hand, wondering exactly how I felt about it on my knee. I was by no means a prude, but by allowing it I was sending a signal that I was interested. Momentsstretched into seconds and seconds into minutes as I allowed his hand to stay. It was neither ignored nor forgotten as each minute slowly passed and the warmth of his hand heated my leg beneath it. I felt like a preteen on my first date with a guy I was crushing on. Back when each brush of his skin against yours would send your pulse racing and make your palms sweaty. Each time he removed it to shift gears on the jeep he would return to the original position on my knee, distracting me all over again.
    “Ready?” he asked, breaking into my knee trance.
    “What?” I asked confused, pulling my mind back to reality. “Oh, we’re back,” I said as I spotted my dorm.
    “You okay?” he asked, cutting the engine.
    “Just tired, I