Page 58 of The Kiss Principle

Maybe a date. But a cool date. Like, something impressive, something that would make him think, Okay, Fernando might have his shit together sometimes, occasionally, when he needs to be clutch. I had a vague picture of a hot air balloon. Or—maybe pay an Italian guy to sing to us? That was a thing, right? On a boat? In a canal?

A voice that sounded a little too much like Augustus when he was trying not to laugh said,You’re thinking of Venice, dumbshit.

“Well, I don’t know,” I growled at Igz. She turned her face into my chest and snuggled into me. “You are being zero fucking help.”

Footsteps alerted me, and I looked up as Zé came into the room (with his cane, because he’s a smart boy). He wore a pair of trunks and a baggy, threadbare tee, and his hair was a riot. He looked at me, and the panicked thought flashed through my head that he knew, that he could tell with one glance that I was totally out of my head for him, and he was going to get weird or act differently or—just kill me—laugh. But that lazy smile rolled across his face, and he bent and kissed me, and he kissed Igz, and he scruffed the back of my head as he moved to get coffee. “Who are you talking to?”

“Igz.”

He did laugh at that. “What’s she telling you?”

“Nothing. She’s being withholding. She gets that from my mom.”

Zé kissed me again as he sat at the table. He curled those big hands around his mug, and his eyes floated away, and then theycame back, and the lazy smile turned at the corner with a hint of self-mockery.

“I’m nervous,” he said.

“Oh. Uh, yeah.”

That made him laugh again, and he relaxed and sipped his coffee. “I don’t want you to think I’m playing games or that, I don’t know, I was messing around. I like you. I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t like you. And I know it’s complicated because of our situation, but I wanted you to know that I want to see where this goes. If you’re interested, you know. In me. Or in a relationship. So, I was wondering what you think and how you’re feeling.” He looked like he tried to stop, but more slipped out. “Oh God, are you freaking out?”

“You can’t do that!” It came out a little louder than I intended, and Igz woke with a start. I shushed her and rocked her as I lowered my voice. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What?”

“I’ve been going crazy out here. I’ve been turning myself inside out trying to figure out what you might be thinking and what you might be feeling and if I’m a colossal dope and how am I supposed to tell you that I think I might possibly I don’t know be in love with you and if breakfast in bed would make you go running for the hills. I was thinking about—” It threatened to rise into a shout, and I only half managed to strangle it. “—Venice!”

“Uh—Venice?”

“Yes! And then you come out here, and you say exactly what you feel, and you—you make it so fucking easy, and now I’m ten times as much in my head because why couldn’t I have done that, why couldn’t I have been mature and self-possessed and acted like a fucking adult. I’ll tell you why: because I am taking advice from a goddamn infant.”

“There is so much happening right now,” Zé murmured.

“Didn’t your family ever teach you not to talk about your emotions? Good Christ, Zé. We’re supposed to play mind games, go full psych ops, have a million different misunderstandings and be absolutely fucking miserable because that is still better than being totally, fully emotionally available and vulnerable and all that fucking shit.”

“Just want to check: did you tell me you love me?”

“I said I think I love you!” It was a whisper-shout because of Igz. “And I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

The slow smile unfurled again.

“And I’m feeling exposed right now,” I said. “And this is Igz’s fault because she wouldn’t give me any good ideas for a date.”

“I think I love you too.”

I groaned. “Zé.”

“What?” His laugh mixed outrage and confusion. “I’m trying to make you feel better. There. Now I said it too.”

“Don’t you understand that I have spent my entire life with a narcissist mom and two walking loads of come I have to call brothers? I cannot handle an emotionally healthy partner. I need someone seriously fucked up. Maybe you should tell me you taped our sex last night and you already posted it to your blog.”

“I don’t think anyone has had a blog since 1999.”

“That’s good. That was borderline bitchy. Say something like that again.”

He took my hand. “Fernando.” He kissed my knuckles. He looked into my eyes. After what felt like a long time, he said, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I said and tried to pull my hand back.

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