Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(23)

Mario steps around the cart and rests his hand on my shoulder. “Hold up, Benjamin Hugo Alejo. Who taught you ‘macho’? Do you have another Spanish tutor?”

“Uh, ‘macho’ is an English word, too.”

“Sure, but you said it in your Spanish voice. Don’t think I can’t tell the difference.”

I don’t know if he can tell the difference. But I definitely know when Mario’s voice shifts from friendly to flirty. My face flushes while chills run up my arms, and it always takes me an extra few seconds to find my next words.

“Tengo una pregunta.”

I stare into his hazel eyes as my heart hammers. Of all the questions.

Maybe he’s going to ask if he can be my boyfriend.

“?Sí?”

“Do you think hanging out with Arthur would make things less weird? Maybe even meeting his boyfriend? I’ll shut up if this is too much for you.”

So he’s not asking to be my boyfriend. He’s pointing out how weird I’m being since bumping into my ex.

Mario removes his hand from my shoulder and looks away. “Never mind. I’m shutting up starting now.”

“Please don’t shut up,” I say. “Hanging out with Arthur and Mikey might be good for me.”

“If you want some backup, I can go with you. Maybe Friday before I fly out on Saturday?”

“Yeah. That would be fun.”

Translation: double date.

“Any chance you’ve also met your ex’s new boyfriend?” I ask.

Mario smiles and pulls me into a hug. “I’m afraid I haven’t crossed that road yet, Alejo.”

I rest my chin on his shoulder, breathing in his shampoo and not wanting to move. I pull back from him and we stare into each other’s eyes again as we smile together. I’m not normally the best at initiating affectionate moments with Mario because I don’t want to risk rejection, but I’m so grateful for how compassionate he’s being that I feel magnetized to him. I kiss him and linger on his lips long enough so he knows that I’m not trying to be mistaken as a friend. I’m nervous when we stop kissing, wishing we could live in that space where we’re locked into each other.

“Otra vez,” Mario says.

I’m searching my mind for the translation. “I got nada.”

“Again,” Mario says.

I kiss Mario—otra vez!

“Your chariot still awaits,” Mario says.

I step into the cart, squeezing my knees against the metal. It’s totally uncomfortable, especially as Mario breaks into a sprint. We’re laughing and I’m sure that we’re going to flip over and break our faces against the sidewalk, but Mario is being careful with me.

Once he stops to catch his breath, I text Arthur.

hey good “bumping” into you. you guys want to hang out with me and Mario on Friday night?

I hit send, not trying to spend forever on a message to Arthur. I want to enjoy every minute I have with Mario.





Chapter Eight


Arthur

Tuesday, May 19




“Mikey Mouse, why am I awake?” It’s barely six in the morning, but of course my early-bird boyfriend is a freshly-showered ray of sunshine.

He perches on the foot of his bed, smiling. “Did you sleep at all?”

“My front-facing camera says no,” I say, peering closer. “Though my pillow creases say yes? Oof—” I stop short. “Wow, okay, your screen just did a big murdery camcorder lurch. Are you—”

“Murdered?” He pops back into frame. “No, I was putting on a sock.”

He’s so cute, it’s almost unbearable. It just hits me out of nowhere sometimes. Mikey, who once wrote a fifteen-page essay on Cold War American opera, but can’t hold a phone and put on a sock simultaneously.

“Okay, I need first-day outfit advice. I’m leaning toward the suit-and-tie thing—”



Mikey raises his eyebrows. “Chad from corporate, is that you?”

“Hush. I’m just talking about the first day. First impression. I’m thinking—”

“Jeremy Jordan Supergirl vibes,” he says with me, and I laugh.

“Exactly.” I pause. “And you’re sure—”

“It’s not going to make you look like a baby tax accountant.”

I bite back a smile. “You think you can read my mind now?”

“Am I wrong?”

His deadpan expression makes me gooey inside. Maybe it’s just the fact that Mikey never used to tease me. Now he’s the world’s gentlest shit-talker, and I honestly can’t get enough of it.

“So what’s on the camp agenda today?” I ask. “Scuba diving? Archery?”

“You realize these kids are in preschool, right?”

“I did scuba diving in preschool!”

“Arthur, you’re literally scared of fish.”

“Because I was scarred for life from scuba diving.” I pause. “Wait, it might have been snorkeling. Anyway, I should go get dressed!”

“Call me when you get home? Can’t wait to hear how it goes.”

“I’ll give you the full minute-by-minute summary. You, Mikey Mouse, are going to know more about Jacob Demsky than his own husband.”