Page 64 of Sizzle Reel

We exchange eye rolls.

My gaze flickers across the room, lands on Romy and Valeria. Man, I really do love non-men with short hair. And that’s not a feeling I can be sitting with in this empty barbershop.

I slip out of my seat, grabbing Romy’s arm. “We’re gonna run to the bathroom,” I say.

Valeria gives a noncommittal word of acknowledgment, and I speed the escape until I hear the bathroom door shut behind us. Romy shakes off my tight grip.

“If you’re here to cool your lady boner, just think about your dad in that orange Hawaiian shirt he always refuses to button when he goes to the beach,” Romy says, snickering.

I dampen a paper towel and pat it along the back of my neck. “How did you know that would work?”

She waves a hand. “Oh, people are just more likely to talk shit at the barber.” Romy joins me at the adjacent sink. Adjusts her hair. “I can’t believe she really is the gayest blond femme actress I’ve ever seen, and she just ripped ‘femme’ off her blinking gay sign.”

“Yeah,” I say. I really thought my chest wouldn’t be this tight after learning such a crucial piece of information.

Romy looks me up and down. “What’s up?”

“I still don’t know if she likes me.”

Romy huffs. “Oh my god. Come on.” She grabs my hand.

My heart’s beating faster and faster. The cool towel isn’t working.

Romy grabbing my hand isn’t either.

The world seems to slow as Romy and I return to the salon. Valeria’s at the counter with Sid, paying.

My career with Valeria is likely ending this week and I may never see her again. Everything could just end without any of my questions answered. Now I know she’s gay, but that doesn’t explain our almost kiss, what she said to me, why she’s taken me along with her so much over the past several weeks. I can’t stop thinking about it. She’s officially not my boss starting on Saturday.

The only thing left for me to do is to just go for it. Whatever “it” is.

“Hey, Val, do you want to go karaoke-ing on Saturday?” I blurt out.

Silence. Romy looks at me like I’ve just pulled a live chicken out of my pocket.

Valeria turns to me. “Yeah, sure.”

Fuck. I just asked Valeria on a date. There’s no filming shit I can use as an excuse to say that this is anything but. I’m a baby gay. I’m not ready to ask people on dates. I don’t know how to flirt. I don’t know how to make her kiss me or how to kiss her or how to even look at another woman on a date.

I look at Romy. She’s still confused. But she was so at ease with Valeria today.

“It’s my birthday,” I add.

Romy’s expression shifts into one of even deeper confusion, like I changed the chicken into a dinosaur.

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Valeria says.

“It’s gonna be small. Just Romy and Wyatt.” I rub my forearm. “I’ll text you the address.”

Valeria smiles. “Awesome! I’ll see you then.” She turns to Romy. “Great to meet you.”

It’s only when Valeria leaves the salon that Romy breaks the silence to turn to me.

“Did you just lie about your birthday to get two cockblockers?” Romy asks.

I swallow. “I was hoping you’d be wingpeople.”

Romy shakes her head. “You are such a disaster.” She pats me on the shoulder. “Happy super-late birthday, you chaos Gemini.”

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