My stride stops. Confusion pounds around in my brain. “But...but...you look likethat.” His sun-dappled skin with its appealing sheen of sweat across it is mind-blowingly perfect. Who wouldn’t want to lock him down?
“I didn’t always,” he says, not bothering to stop for my stupefaction. He trudges on, muscular calves flexing with each set of his foot upon the ground. I never knew calves could be so beautiful.
“Okay, but...but...you’re charming and funny and kind.” I might be overly complimentary to someone I’ve known for less than seventy-two hours, but guys who frequent the gym, have good relationships with their moms, and provide pizza and company when you’re spiraling are not just Fake Boyfriend Material. They’re Boyfriend Material, full stop. “You deserve a relationship.”
That’s a funny thought to be having when we’re playacting one for a prize.
Leo throws me a wayward smile over his shoulder. “I appreciate that, but I don’t think relationships are deserved—they’re earned.” The set of his jaw grows more stone-like.
He has a fair point. “What about fake relationships?” The question lingers in the fresh air.
“You went through a breakup. I got fired. We earned this.” As he speaks, he gestures ahead of him, to a wonderful view of downtown Los Angeles that shimmers with possibility, hope for a future brighter than today.
When we begin to walk again, I nudge Leo’s side. “Just know that I’m taking this fake boyfriend thing very seriously. I’m going to fake rock your world.”
“Love the enthusiasm, but let’s stop saying the wordfakeeven when we’re alone to avoid getting tripped up.” He waves and smiles at a woman jogging by in bright pink Adidas running shoes. “Also, I hope you plan toreallyrock my world when we get back to the hotel.”
While I’m more than ready to fuck Leo sideways, I start thinking about the hotel, how Leo got fired, and how that might not be the place he wants to be right now. “Are you good with going back to my room? I mean, after everything that happened yesterday, I wouldn’t blame you if you needed some time away from the hotel.”
He scoffs. “I’m a big boy, Holden.”
“Yeah, you showed me as much last night,” I joke, but unconsciously bite my lip. My sex drive is a car with the gas pedal zip-tied down. “I just mean, seriously, how are you holding up?”
His shoulders slump, but only slightly, making his A-plus posture more of an A-minus. “I’m not over-the-moon about it if that’s what you’re asking, but it’s not my first rodeo so I know how to handle myself.”
“Care to elaborate?”
He throws up his hands, visibly at a loss. “I crave newness. If I get stuck in a routine for too long, I feel trapped. I worked fast food in high school before I started experimenting with the spice combinations which wasagainst corporate policy. Right out of high school, I worked as a barista at a hipster coffee shop, but I couldn’t stand the snooty music playlist my coworkers looped on the daily, so I quit.”
“There’s only so much alt-rock one person can stand,” I say in his defense.
“Exactly.” He shrugs again but bigger this time. “Nothing fits. Nothing feels fulfilling. I guess I never considered that when I was in school. We’d have college fairs and career days and nobody ever talked about how we might end up doing a mundane task for forty hours a week just to live, which I know is a privileged thing to say. I’ll be okay for a bit. It’s just...”
“What?”
“I watched my mom work herself to the bone at jobs she hated to provide for me after her divorce. I...” His thought hovers between us. It’s clear he’s having a hard time forming a coherent sentence as we embark up another crest, this time leading to a patch of pavement where some people sit on blankets. “I never wanted to grind myself down like that. But I never zeroed in on a passion, so I guess I’m just one of those unfortunate people who never finds their calling. I gotta be cool with that.”
His playful, poking personality goes into remission as he slows his pace to take in the view. I give his admission the space it deserves. This is the first glimmer of truth he’s shown me, and I respect that. “Leo,” I say softly when we’ve reached the edge of the lookout, Los Angeles a postcard-perfect panorama. “You’re young. You have a lot of time to discover that stuff.”
“Doesn’t feel that way,” he says with a rankled expression.
Part of me wants to reassure him that I’m right. If only I could proffer an example. Aren’t I in the same situation he is? My jobs are dead ends. My spirits are low. My living arrangement is not long-term tenable. How can I offer assurance when I’m as unsure and uninsured as he is?
“We have a lot in common,” I offer instead. Because it’s the truth and it ties me to him, an invisible lasso swung round and pulled in. Somehow, it doesn’t feel as restrictive when there’s two of us trapped inside the scratchy rope.
Leo’s face breaks open, brightening up a bit like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. “Can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing right now.”
“Valid.”
“Look.” He points to a white building with a gray domed roof. Beneath it, red seats speckle the landscape—the Greek Theatre, I believe. “The view is worth the sweat, right?”
I nod, scanning the horizon, but then my eyes swerve to land on his profile. Strong jaw. Killer eyelashes. A long neck that descends into bitable collarbones. I dream about the marks I’d love to leave there if he lets me.
From the zipper pocket in my shorts, I grab my phone. While Leo’s still swept in the morning magic of Los Angeles as it bursts back to life, I snap a candid photo of him.
Right as I’m about to take another, he says, “I saw that.”
I flush hot. “We need photos of us together for the audition!” I argue. “Really thought I was being sneaky, though.”
