Page 88 of Reel Love

“Awww. That’s a shame. You should eat more pizza, honestly. In front of your mom. Or … you know, just post a pic of you taking a big ol’ bite on your socials.”

“I don’t post on my own socials. You do.”

“So, I’ll get us pizza. You eat. I’ll document the event with a photo. I’ll post. Your mom will go viral!”

“Isn't it viral when a post spreads like wildfire?”

“Your mom will be the wildfire. She’d be so hot and livid. It would be fun, don’t ya think?”

“Do you possibly want to know what I called for?”

“Oooh. Yes! I nearly forgot, what with Travis and TayTay and pizza and you quitting.”

I laugh again. “Okay. Here goes.” I pause for effect. “It’s him.”

As soon as I say the words a warmth spreads through me. My smile takes over my face. I feel that smile in my toes and the tips of my hair. I walk out onto my balcony porch and take a sip of coffee while Brigitte reacts. I’ve got time. I’m going to tell her. Her reaction is half the fun.

“Who’s him? Okay, cryptic girl. Him. Him. Him. Wait! It is Travis! No. You said it wasn’t Travis. Zac Efron? Chris Hemsworth? Any of the Ryans? Who is he? And what are we talking about here?”

I’m laughing into my coffee mug, afraid to take a sip because I’ll choke or spit it out.

“The guy. My word-game friend. He’s Stevens.”

There’s a longish silence and then Brigitte asks, “Stevens? The merman?”

“Yes! The merman.” I smile thinking about how we joked about him being a merman, and then I sigh. He wants to save all the sea turtles. What a man.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. The merman is your word-friend?”

She’s catching up. She always does if given time to spiral and reel herself back in.

“Yes. The man Joel asked to sub for him. The one who has been taxiing me to LA when Joel was in the midwest—is Wisconsin the midwest? Anyway, the one who ate dinner with me when he dropped off my groceries. Him. Stevens. He’s the one.”

“Hold the phone! You had dinner with him? At your house?”

“He brought groceries in. I asked if he was hungry. We ate a meal together. He had fish. I had chicken. That’s not important.”

“That’s not important? Alana? You never have anyone in that house. It’s like the freaking Bat Cave. Only Alfred, that’s me, and Batman, that’s you, and Robin … that’s not your mom. I don’t know who Robin is. Maybe I’m Robin. No. No. I’m definitely Alfred. Anyway, my point is, no one enters the Bat Cave. It’s your private lair. And you let Stevens in?”

“He brought the groceries in. It just seemed polite to invite him to stay.”

“Mmm hmmm. So polite. I’d like to be so polite. That man is a snack.”

“Watch it.”

“Right?! That’s what I mean. You’re different with him—with Stevens. And now this? He’s your word-guy. Oh, hello. Hello, hello, hellllooo.”

“Should I even have called you?”

“Um. Is that even a question? Yes. You should call me. This is massive. So. Are you going to see him again? What happened? Did you kiss?”

“No, we didn't kiss,” I lie. “Of course we didn’t kiss.”

I’m not sure why I hide our kiss from Brigitte. I tell her everything. My kiss with Stevens feels like something sacred and private. I still need time to process the way he touched my cheek, looked into my eyes and then gently brushed his lips across mine. How something so small and subtle as the kiss we shared couldrock my world to the core … Yeah. I need time to process that, alone.

And now my mind is drifting to thoughts of Stevens, our kiss, and our night together. The way he played out my Stevens-in-bed-with-dark-rimmed-glasses fantasy. Gah. She’s right. He is a snack. And, he’s so careful with me. Respectful. He leaves me yearning. No man has ever made me yearn for him. And here he is, this unassuming man, affecting me like no one ever has before—and I’m quite sure no one else ever will.

“Why didn’t you kiss?” Brigitte asks. “That man is so very kissable. I mean, seriously. Some men are. Some definitely are not. You know those men you look at and you just want to send them to the dentist, give them a loofa, and buy them complimentary Listerine?” She pauses, but not long enough for me to get a word in. “Ewww. Just no. And then there are the guys who would label themselves kissable. Like they probably practice on a mirror. Also gross. But Stevens? Oh, yes. Kissable. Massively kissable.”

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