Page 99 of Sizzle Reel

She didn’t question it, though. She just nodded along and gave her own theories about which percentage of the population fell where on the Kinsey scale. We were intertwined shadows sharing secrets that vanished in the air as they were spoken. And yeah, that night, I had wondered what would’ve happened if I’d asked her to kiss me.

I wish Romy were here to re-create the image that’s in my head. I hate that it’s only in my head.

I wish I could show Romy that I managed to find this place on my own and not get killed.

I wish she could know how much her little trips around L.A. have influenced how I approach my work behind the camera.

I wish…

I wish I could have the chance to kiss her back. To satisfy that curiosity I’ve been sitting with for years. To see if I could feel peace with her lips on mine, her hands cupping my face the way they did last night. To be in the same room as her and just recognize how she makes me feel.

I don’t regret what Valeria and I did together. I can’t dismiss what she did to help me on my sexuality journey. But I do regret that we kissed only in locked rooms, in houses, in cars. It feels like a tiny piece of what we were was taken from each of us.

I don’t want to regret anything with Romy. But it’s been less than twelve hours and I feel lost. Like there’s a lifetime’s worth of stuff to tell her and a lifetime’s worth of her life to hear about. Yes, we’ve been flirting with each other for years, but it feels so much bigger than that.

I don’t know what else this could possibly mean.

I mean, how do you know you’ve been ignoring a crush for years?

I run my fingers along a white eye someone has painted in the tunnel.

Thinking about the person in a murder cave seems like a good indicator.

Jesus. I know I love Romy as a friend. That couldn’t be more obvious. But this—I don’t know, this tug, this anticipation for a future I can’t quite picture…it’s exhilarating and it makes me dizzy, but not in the same terrifying way everything with Valeria did. This is less roller coaster and more running down a hill. The thrill’s still there, but I trust that I have enough control not to crash and burn when I hit the bottom. Romy. My best friend, Romy, the coolest person I know. Romy, my rock and superhero and favorite writer ever. Romy.

God, I love Romy Fonseca.

And I left her last night for Valeria.

chapter twenty-four

By Tuesday, it’s been two days since Romy and I kissed, and still no word from her. I’m back at home, sitting on my bed, tempted to make lists of things to do to get Romy to talk to me, but I’m not quite sure what should be on those lists.

It’s been almost twenty-four hours since I came to the conclusion that I like Romy as more than a friend, and I think it’s rendered me even more useless. She asked me to give her space. So should I give her space? Or is her asking for space really her way of asking me to swoop in and sweep her off her feet?

I grab my phone off my nightstand. I apologized to Wyatt last night for what happened, and lo and behold, his anger was gone. It lasted less than a day. My fingers ache to text him and ask his opinion on the Romy situation. I’m sure he won’t be thrilled to know Valeria and I “broke up.”

Then again, I don’t know if I want his advice. It tends to be very…simplistic.

But he also told me Romy was acting weird and he’d deal with it back before karaoke.

I pull up our text conversation. Fuck it. I need him, and besides, I want to hear how he’s doing after everything that happened with Steven. Wyatt loves to come across as blasé, but I know he must be hurting right now. I know I’ve been a shit friend to Romy, but I’ve hardly been any better to Wyatt. He deserves a better me too.

He says he’ll meet me in Culver City at one p.m. I type out how will you get off work, but then I remember and delete it. I guess two out of three of us are unemployed. Ironic, considering Romy’s the one who thinks Slater is stupid. But at least it means we avoid traffic.

Wyatt’s rocking his usual T-shirt-and-board-shorts look, ever resistant to the lessons I imparted that time I practically performed an entire Queer Eye episode on him in junior year of college. We get our overpriced coffees and settle at an outdoor table in the shade. Other twentysomethings decked out in sunglasses are sipping coffees at the other tables. Romy and I used to joke that everyone who came to Culver City was a YouTuber, and we’d make up what kind of content they’d put up.

“Did you bring your laptop?” Wyatt asks.

I nod. “Are we gonna multitask?”

“Yeah.”

Wyatt mentioned over text that he’s applying to every junior creative executive and junior manager job that pops up. His time with Steven makes him more than qualified. His lovable yet sleazy personality makes him perfect.

But when I pull up the entertainment careers website, I don’t even know which category to click on. Do I go back to a desk job? Back into P.A. jobs? Something else?

“So how’re you and Valeria?” Wyatt asks.

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