by Damian Bloom
“Really?”
“Seriously, what’s the problem? You wanna know what I just heard? That you’re now spending a lot of time with a super hot dude, who you’re super horny for, and who might also have the hots for you. So go for it. Live a little.” With that, he pulls out his phone. “What did you say his name was?” As soon as I repeat it, he types his name into Google. “Yowza! Luis, if you’re not making a move on him, I might.” His eyes drag over extremely flattering photos of Adam—Is there any other kind? “That’s a fine-ass hunky piece of man.”
“That’s all well and good,” I say, snatching Eric’s phone away, “but I’m still waiting for the one.”
Eric rolls his eyes and sighs. “Not this again.” Grabbing my arms, he shakes me. “Luis, listen to me. No one’s gonna show up riding on a flying carpet and ask to marry you before they even hold your hand, okay? That’s not how life works. There’s no telepathic message that goes, ‘Hello! This is the love of your life! Have fun!’ when you walk past the right man. You have to actually put yourself out there and meet people to figure out if they’re right for you or not.”
He scoffs when he sees my face pucker up in discontent. “Who am I kidding? You’re hopeless.”
But he doesn’t drop it. Pouring some sugar into his cup, he asks: “Have you thought that maybe this Adam guy is the one?”
“He isn’t.”
“What makes you think that? You just said you feel like a truck ran over you whenever he’s around, and all that. What if that’s your body telling you to stop looking any further?”
“I think that’s my body telling me it’s horny.”
Eric arches his eyebrow. “Well, it sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” he says, visibly tired of trying to resonate with me.
By the end of the day, I begin to worry someone’s cursed me. I get to Adam’s after a long shift full of mishaps. First, I spilled a customer’s scolding drink all over myself. Then, I got into a fight with a belligerent old man. Claiming we’d messed up his order, he demanded a new coffee on the house. Which wouldn’t have necessarily been a problem had he done that before drinking the entire drink we’d supposedly gotten wrong.
And after all that, after being cursed at for five minutes straight in the most creative ways, as I was preparing to close the cafe, thinking that my day couldn’t possibly get any worse, I noticed the dallying customer. A young lady sat in the dark corner of the coffee shop, visibly and audibly crying.
Nervously squeezing a rag between my palms, I approached her. “Can I do anything for you? We’re closing, but I could make you a cup of tea if you want. On the house.”
Looking up at me with watery eyes, she tried to summon a smile, but it faltered, then crumpled altogether—a heartbreaking view.
“I’m okay.” Her chin quivered as she spoke. She wasn’t okay at all. “Thank you for offering, you’re really sweet.”
She looked familiar, although I couldn’t place her.
And then I might have hovered a bit too long, because after a few seconds, she felt the need to fill the silence. “Do you have a second? I think I need to speak to someone.”
Now, one hour later, I know all about how she fell in love with her best friend, how they dated for two years, and how just today, ten days after their anniversary, her girlfriend dumped her for someone else. I remembered where I knew her from, too. A few days ago, she came to the Hazelnut with her girlfriend—well, ex-girlfriend. To think that I’d envied them for what they had and how perfect it had looked…Things can change so quickly and unexpectedly.
The conversation was as depressing as one might expect from someone who’s recently gone through a break-up, and it’s totally ruined my mood. The girl’s words still ring in my ears: “You think you’re safe. That you finally found someone you know would never hurt you…That’s the worst part.” She looked so broken and hopeless that I couldn’t think of anything to say. I offered her a cookie.
When I get to Adam’s, Hector’s waiting for me on the house’s front steps. “This just goes to show, Hector,” I say, finally bringing my troubled inner monologue to a conclusion, “how careful we need to be about who we trust with our hearts, right? Although I doubt that’s something you worry about too often.”
Utterly oblivious to human drama, he rubs his cheeks against my hand, eager to be petted.
Adam is just as dazzlingly gorgeous as always, if not more so, when he lets me into his house. His hair’s overgrown and tends to stick out in waves. I’d love to just run my hands through it once.
“Another croissant?” he asks when I hand him today’s stolen booty.
“Nope.”
He peeks inside. “Oh, man, yes,” he growls, and the sound vibrates in every cell of my body. “I love chocolate chip cookies.” The sweet smile that stretches over his face makes me want to never stop bringing him these snacks.
Before we get started on our writing, we sit around his living room coffee table and devour the cookies—me on the couch, him on the floor, legs folded underneath in a semi-lotus pose. We talk about my day at work and how horrible it was, and then settle on a goal for today: finish planning the story’s first act.
Hector takes a break from harassing me and goes sit in his owner’s lap.
It’s quite cozy, nothing like the awkward tension from yesterday, and now I find that the more time passes, the less I trust my memory of the moment. Maybe I made up the magic, the sparking sexual tension that I thought I felt. The culprit could have been a mixture of wishful thinking and total lack of sexual experience.
“Shall we get started?” Adam finally says.
Today, we don’t push our chairs together. Sitting across from each other, I type what Adam says into my laptop and read back to him whatever he forgets. It’s more cumbersome, but a silent agreement seems to go between us that it’s better to be cautious.
We bounce ideas off each other, Adam masterfully steering me in the right direction whenever I start to drift off. Sometimes, I come up with something so saccharinely romantic that he can’t help but scoff or roll his eyes. But now we laugh at it instead of launching into heated debates, like we did that first time.
Before we know it, we’ve completed our work for today, and it’s already past ten.
“Good job,” Adam says. He stretches his arms over his head and yawns. “I’ve got high hopes for you—you’re a natural.”
I look away. Hector’s snoozing on the couch, his paws twitching as he dreams of whatever cats dream of.
“I’m so lucky I’ve got you to help me. It would have taken me years to figure all of this stuff out on my own. Now, I finally feel like I’m making progress.”
“Don’t get too comfortable, though. The real work hasn’t even begun yet.” Adam leans back in his chair. “The drafting process is gonna be the toughest. But also the most fun.”
“But this time, I feel like I’ve at least got a map. All the times I wrote before, I kind of just dove in and hoped for the best.”
“There’ll be plenty of that this time, too, don’t worry.”
I frown. “Then why do we spend so much time planning it out?”
“So we have a grasp of the general direction of the novel. But you’ll see—a story is a living, breathing thing. And your characters have minds of their own. They’ll do a lot of things you don’t yet see coming. You can’t imagine how different the end result will be from what we’re picturing now.”
I close my laptop and, without its whirring, the house seems more silent than a city home has any business being. We might as well be miles away from society. “I was excited about having a plan,” I say, repressing a pout.
Adam pats my forearm but rushes to withdraw his hand immediately. “It’s just like life, isn’t it? No matter how much you prepare, it still finds a way to surprise you.”
Isn’t that the truth, I think, not entirely without bitterness, as Grandma’s vision echoes in my ears again. Still, I try not to give in to my r
ecurring thoughts about how none of this is fair. How I’ve been cheated by life. When you hold out for love as faithfully as I have, it should be handed to you. I’ve kept up my end of the bargain, damn it. And then fate pulls this shit out of nowhere.
Probably picking up on my mood, Adam changes the topic. We spend the next half hour picturing what it would be like if I became a successful writer—a dozen published novels, sweet messages from people my stories have inspired, being able to quit my job and have writing take over my entire life.
By the end of the conversation, I’m bursting with excitement and hope. Adam knows exactly how to tug at my heartstrings, which I attribute to him once having had the same dreams. In a way, he gets me better than anyone else. What’s even more impressive is that he’s now living the life that, for me, only exists in the realm of possibility. When I look at Adam, I see what I could be in the future, which breeds many conflicting feelings.
Adam slowly escorts me to the front door. “I’ve got some homework for you,” he says. With Hector all tangled up in my legs as if imploring me not to leave, I struggle to put one foot in front of the other.
“Homework?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow.
“Yes. Actually, it’s more like a secret, critical mission.”
I turn to him, arms crossed over my chest. “Why do I feel I won’t like this?”
Adam presses a hand to the off-white wall. “We need to find your Prince Charming.”
I let out a dry laugh. “You think I haven’t been trying?”
“I do, actually. From what you’ve been telling me, I understand your strategy so far has been…uhm, waiting for him to drop into your arms.”
“I guess…”
“Well, we’re done waiting,” Adam announces, clapping his hands.
“We?”
“Yes, this is a team effort.” Adam shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’ve lived so little of what you’re writing about, Luis. We need you to fall in love. And pronto. For the sake of your writing.”
When I don’t say anything, he goes on. “Look, who’s to say your prince isn’t out there, desperately searching for you too? Let’s give the poor guy a hand.”
I produce a barely perceptible sigh.
“All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t hurt for you to at least go on a few dates. Even if you don’t find what you’re looking for yet, it will probably teach you a lot about what you’re not looking for. That can also make for some good writing material.” He takes another step toward me. “Look, you wanted my guidance. Well, this is the most important thing I can teach you. Writing means living. Living, and then sharing what you’ve lived with others.”
What he’s saying isn’t completely devoid of sense. I’ve been waiting and waiting for the right guy to come around for years. It wouldn’t hurt to help fate out a little, let my man know where he can find me.
But damn, this couldn’t have come at a worse time, what with heartbreak looming on the horizon and everything.
“Okay, fine, I guess I could put myself out there a little more.”
Adam flashes me a pleased smile that kicks the air out of me. What a painfully attractive man. “Do you have someone?” I ask, not bothering to wonder if I’m crossing a line.
His eyebrows twitch with surprise. “Me? No. I told you I don’t do romance.”
“I know that, but I figured you would…”
“Fuck around?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I meant to say.”
“Sometimes. But I haven’t done it in a while.”
“Why not?”
Adam considers an answer as he scratches his chin. “It tends to end messily, whatever I do. They always end up catching feelings.”
“Because you’re so irresistible?” I tease.
He winks. “Can you blame them?”
“I guess not,” I mutter before I can get a hold of my stupid mouth. Both Adam and I seem a little thrown off by my candid answer. “But for you, it’s never more than sex?”
Pressing his lips together, he shakes his head. “No.” He seems sorry he had to admit that. And, inexplicably, I’m sorry too. “I mean, whenever I had a more steady, uhm, sexual arrangement, they were always people I liked. I enjoyed their company. I’d even say we were friends.”
“But never more.”
“No.” Adam pivots around me, and we resume our stroll to the door. “To be entirely honest, I don’t think I’m capable of more.”
How does that happen, I wonder. How does someone come to the conclusion they’re incapable of love?
“Okay,” I say, eager to escape the uncomfortable silence that ensues. “See you tomorrow.”
Before he can say his goodbye, I rush out the door and into the night, happy that the street is dark and empty enough for my beet-red face to go unnoticed.
11
Adam
Luis double knots his shoelaces. “Take it easy on me, okay?” He looks up at me from where he’s kneeling, his eyes wide and captivating. I could just reach out a hand, and it would touch his head. I’d run my fingers through his wavy hair, clutch a fistful of it, and-
I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m always gentle with first-timers,” I tease, my mind still trapped in the gutter. When I wink, he looks away. Seeing him flustered will never get old.
While Luis zips up his track jacket, I turn around and adjust my semi-erection.
“I’ve basically signed myself up for endless virginity jokes, haven’t I?” he says.
As hard as it is to believe, two weeks have passed since Luis and I began our writing workshop of sorts. In this time, we’ve managed to move past the outlining phase and into drafting. Now, I make sure to give him much more freedom with it, and I promised him I would only check his writing once the draft was finished. This is meant to get him in the habit of keeping drafting and editing separate.
He’s working with a fairly loose outline, which will force him to figure a lot of stuff out as he goes. While I don’t expect him to get everything right on the first try, I’m very curious to see what he comes up with.
So far, we’ve been working well as a team—my expertise coming from writing, polishing, and publishing four novels already, while his, from years of reading romance—but I know I need to study up on the genre in order to better advise him as we move into the subsequent drafts. To that end, I’ve begun reading more romantic stuff. I still can’t digest pure romance, the sweet lovey-dovey kind, but I’ve been reading some more erotic, steamy works, and I have to admit that they’re not unpleasant reads—especially after not having sex for months. At night, these books make for better companions than ever.
As I begin to align my reading material with Luis’s, I feel I’m starting to understand him better. It’s not hard to see how reading about love, just like reading about sex, can eventually begin to replace the actual thing so that you no longer feel the need to pursue them in real life. Which I don’t believe is healthy.
That’s why, lately, I’ve been wavering in my abstinence. Although I’m more of a friends-with-benefits kind of guy, I’ve started considering finding someone online for a one-time quickie. Most of the time, the idea doesn’t appeal to me that much, which is also why I haven’t gone through with it yet. But some nights, it feels like I’m about to burst.
I hold the door open for Luis. “Until you lose it, at least. So maybe get to it.”
“It’s not like I can run out into the street and yell for someone to fuck me,” he protests.
I press a finger to my lips to hold back a smile. Is this the crudest thing that’s come out of Luis’s mouth in my presence? Maybe I haven’t been a very positive influence.
“I’m sure someone would offer to take care of it if you were that desperate.” I give him an obvious one-over to make it clear that I’d be first in line.
There’s no denying that if I could have my pick at any sexual partner, I’d choose Luis—no hesitation. But he’s too swee
t, too innocent. I’d hate myself for messing with that.
Every day, he unravels more under my eyes, like a blooming flower. I find out something I didn’t know about him, like how he has a very close relationship with his grandmother, or what it’s like living with his brother and best friends. Some of the things we talk about verge on the vulnerable. Two nights ago, he confirmed what I’d suspected—he’s a virgin. What I didn’t expect was the extent of his lack of experience. It came as a shock to find out that Luis has never even kissed anyone before.
In return for his honesty, I speak about myself much more than I ever do. Things I would usually worry about boring others with, I tell Luis without second thoughts. Because he listens. Because he seems genuinely interested when he gapes at me with that enthralled look in his eyes. Why he cares, I have no clue. But then again, I’m somehow fascinated by everything that has to do with him, as well.
I think this is turning into a kind of friendship I’ve never experienced before, and I’m scared I might ruin it if I don’t repress my sexual desire.
It might help if Luis managed to find a boyfriend, but at the moment, his chances aren’t any better than they were two weeks ago. Poor guy might need some help.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Today is Luis’s day off work, which is why we met much earlier than we usually do, determined to work out together like we’ve been planning for a few days.
It’s a beautiful late October day. This and Luis’s apparent aversion to gyms have been the factors that led us to the park for half an hour of jogging. It’s deceptively sunny outside, but we warm up as we begin to sprint.
The park’s a pool of golden hues. It’s a pity that it’s so empty. For someone like me, for whom working out has always been a rather solitary experience, it’s a nice change of pace to have Luis panting and groaning next to me.
For the first park round, we both perform admirably—backs straight, chests open, breathing under control. But it’s all downhill from there.
I make a note to incorporate more cardio into my workouts. Luis, on the other hand, is simply out of shape. “Remind me again why I let you talk me into this?” Bracing his hands against his knees, he tries to catch his breath.
