Page 12 of Billion Dollar Love: Manlove Edition

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During the break, Carlos meets me outside with coffee orders scribbled on graphing paper. He fiddles with his phone and looks as startled by the sunlight as a vampire. We’re stopped at a light, on the tiny strip of grass between three lanes of traffic, surrounded by a buzzing moat of cars, when he finally speaks up. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” I’m not certain I do anymore. The plate of cookies one of my students brought, the moving around on stage energized me. That slightest change in my mood reminded me that Mr. Ito is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I don’t want to ruin it.

Still, it’s a good idea to make sure someone knows what I’ve got myself into. “Listen, you can’t tell Van or anyone else about that text, yeah?”

“Harp, what’s wrong?” He steps a little faster, hand and phone now firmly in his jacket pockets. “You sound scared.”

“I’m not scared, I promise.” And it’s true. I’m in control. Mr. Ito doesn’t care enough to hurt me. “You’re not wrong. I have been avoiding you. It’s nothing personal—”

My phone pings in my pocket, a warm buzz on my side.

I take it out without even thinking. Probably Scissors changing her order.

Mr. Ito has written. Don’t tell him anything.

Holy shit.

“Harper?”

Maybe I’m not in control. Maybe I never was.

“Scissors wants extra espresso.” I lie. “I just wanted you to know I get high-strung during a show, and I know I get snappish so I avoid people. Especially this show. But nothing weird is happening with Mr. Rich-guy. I told you we met in the lobby.”

That’s reasonable, right? Prima Donna knows he’s a bitch, but is improving. Damned near admirable.

The traffic clears. We continue toward Froth.

“Say, Sweetness, did you remember to get cash from everyone this time?”

“I’ll just put it on my card. Don’t worry.”

I don’t. How did Mr. Ito know—

“Listen, Harp.” Carlos skips to keep up. His fingers brush my arm. Then he recoils as if touching me is forbidden.

On the sidewalk, I face him, but I don’t interrupt his stammering. He’s blushing, too, tanned skin going dark. “I mean, you probably know this already, but Vanessa said…”

He shakes his head and tries again, with a rehearsed resolution. “I … I really like you.”

Oh shit. Sweetness isn’t straight.

Normally, Carlos knows exactly what he wants to say and says it as simply as possible. The measurements of a scaffold, the size of the wrench, the color of the gel for the light. But right now, he’s turned bass-ackwards. “You’re really smart and talented and well, hot obviously.”

Obviously. I chuckle. God, he’s cute when he’s nervous.

He smiles when I laugh at him, and for the first time, lifts his face.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t have laughed. That’s encouragement. I gotta say something cruel.

“Vanessa said you didn’t know I was, you know, so I was hoping you and me could … do something sometime.”

I can’t bring myself to kick this particular puppy. Fuck. Where’s that mythic gay cattiness?

So, I say nothing.

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