You Had Me at Hola(44)

“I’m not sure how good my singing will be,” he warned, sniffling. “You might have noticed I’m having an allergy attack.”

Jasmine handed him a pack of tissues. “Was it the cats or the dogs?”

“The kittens,” he admitted. “Cute little things, but I’m severely allergic to them. Ya—you know what I mean?”

She simply nodded, not catching his slip, but his insides turned to ice. He’d almost said Yadiel’s name—his son was always begging for a pet. Ashton’s cat allergies and Abuelita Bibi’s aversion to dogs made that impossible, but didn’t stop Yadiel from making pointed comments about the cuteness of every dog and cat he encountered.

Ashton was the last to arrive at the karaoke place in Midtown where Jasmine had booked a private room. Three bottles of wine and two pitchers of beer sat on the low table in the center of the room, and Miriam was in the middle of belting out a Selena song.

Jasmine sidled up and nudged him with her shoulder. “I didn’t think you were going to show.”

“I said I would.” It sounded curt, but he hadn’t meant it to. It was just that his mouth had gone bone-dry at the sight of her. She wore some lacy scrap of a shirt that left her shoulders and midriff bare and revealed an enticing curve of cleavage. He’d seen her in sexy outfits—Carmen went through a lot of wardrobe changes—but knowing Jasmine had picked this out herself made a difference. It was whimsical and sexy all at once. Just like her.

“Besides,” he added, trying to lighten his tone. “How could I miss this?”

At the moment, Miriam was bidi-bidi-bom-bomming her way across the room to whoops and wepas from the other Carmen in Charge actors.

Ashton clapped as the song came to an end, and in the silence before the next one began, he let loose a tremendous sneeze.

“?Salud!” the group chorused.

Ashton’s face heated, but he raised his voice and said, “Gracias.” A second later, a Thalía song came on, and everyone turned back to the screen.

Jasmine patted his arm. “I have extra tissues for you in my purse.”

Despite this being Ashton’s first time socializing with the cast outside of work, everyone seemed happy to see him. He accepted a glass of wine from Lily and got into a deep discussion with Peter and Nino about the Yankees.

While he waited for his song to start, Ashton reflected on the diverse makeup of the cast. He was puertorrique?o, born on the island. Jasmine was second generation Puerto Rican and Filipina. Nino was first gen Dominican and Haitian. Lily was Mexican American. Peter was Dominican, but had lived in New York most of his life. And Miriam was Cuban American from Miami.

They were a mix of immigrants, first generation, and those whose heritage went further back. Lily’s family had lived in Arizona for multiple generations. And the rest of the cast and crew hailed from many other Latin American countries: Colombia, Panama, Brazil, Ecuador, and more.

On a bulletin board outside the showrunner’s office, Marquita had posted a sign that said QUé BONITAS BANDERAS and invited everyone to tack up their respective flags to show the range of nationalities in the production, but also that the strength of the Latinx comunidad was in its diversity. Marquita had also made a point to include a rainbow pride flag and the pink, white, and light blue trans flag. Nino had gone still as a statue when he’d seen it, then hugged Marquita tight.

Ashton had been on many sets that were majority Latinx, but there was something different about this one. Maybe because it was for a mainstream streaming service, but there was a fierce pride in what they were doing here, a shared determination to make Carmen in Charge the very best it could be. And now, it showed in the way they let loose.

The thing about doing karaoke with actors was that they didn’t just sit around singing. They performed. Lily and Nino knew all the dance moves to *NSYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye.” Peter treated them to a rendition of “My Way” that would’ve made Sinatra proud. And when Jasmine’s song choice finally came up, she took the mic and said, “Yes, I am that basic karaoke bitch,” as the first strains of “Everlasting Love” rang out.

And then she turned and held out the other mic. “Sing with me, Ashton.”

He couldn’t refuse.

By tacit agreement, they alternated lyrics and harmonized on the chorus, like in the Rex Smith version of the song. It could have been sexy. It could have been emotional. But they did sexy and emotional every day for work. Instead, they made it as silly as fucking possible.

Ashton couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more fun.

When they took their seats again, it was to a round of applause and hollers. Then a Marc Anthony ballad came on and Nino took the mic.

Ashton flopped down on the purple vinyl couch. It had been years since he’d done karaoke, and he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it. Still, thanks to kitten-induced congestion, he was worn out. He stretched his arms across the back of the sofa and fought to catch his breath.

“Well, that was fun.” Jasmine took the seat next to him and cozied up to his side. “I knew you’d be a good singer.”

“Nah, I just play one on TV,” he said, and she giggled.

Damn, he loved making her laugh. The joyful sound, the way her cheeks scrunched up, the way her warm body shook against him. He wanted to put his arm around her, to hold her close. To look deeply in her eyes and then—