“It’s like a bad cable TV romantic comedy.” She pokes at her salad, presumably hoping for it to turn into something other than salad. “I wish Landon would take me skating. Or to dinner. Or to a crappy hotel with the peewee hockey team so we could have amazing hotel sex.”
“Well, Landon’s straight. Straight guys rarely do romantic stuff.”
“Yes, but until very recently, we thought Darius was straight.”
“True. But he’s not.” I shrug at the realization we were both completely wrong about him. “Most definitely not.”
My eyebrows raise as I crunch on another chip. Four years. That’s a long time to think something aboutsomeone and find out you’re completely wrong. I don’t regret what happened in Rhode Island. It was fun. And hot. I’m not one to lust after straight guys, so I never really considered Darius. Plus, he teased me in that way that reminded me way too much of the boys in middle school. And then, of course, the sports. The way my father and brothers always were playing sports or talking about sports or planning to attend sports. Darius is the PE teacher. Hockey coach. My complete lack of hand-eye coordination has instilled in me a lifelong fear of anything related to sports. And guys don’t come much sportier than Darius.
I shake my head, trying to push away the uncertainty. He apologized. Brought me lunch. Sat with me. Bought me dinner. Had skates for me. Caught me when I fell. And the kissing. That wasn’tfirst date, let’s see how the chemistry iskissing. That was soul-changing, insides-on-fire kissing. It’s like a switch flipped in that hotel room, and Darius turned into someone else. Someone who not only likes me but treats me like a prince.
But has the man he was for all those years really disappeared? Or has he simply stopped pretending? Maybe he hasn’t changed at all—maybe this is who he’s been the whole time, just hidden behind a carefully constructed mask. Now, the mask has slipped, and what we’re seeing isn’t a transformation but a revelation. Perhaps the truth was always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the moment he no longer felt the need to hide it—in bed with me.
“Damn Yankees,” Christine says.
“Excuse me? You know I don’t do sports.”
“Besides the hockey coach?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “I’m talking about the show. For next year. With you connecting with the boys on the hockey team—and their coach—in a new way, I’m thinking we can finally pull off a show with so many male parts. Plus, it’s sports-adjacent, and now we can ask Darius to consult. I’m sure he’d be happy to spend extra time with you.”
A noise comes out of me I’m not familiar with. Something between a groan and grumble.
“What?” Christine has given up on her salad and moved onto the tupperware of cookies she’s baked for us. “Hearing ‘Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets’ belted in the cafegymatorium doesn’t interest you?”
“Christine Wong, you’re not playing Lola.”
“I know!” Cookie crumbs fall onto the table as she protests. “But it would be such campy fun for one of the girls.”
I take a cookie. “Or boys. Remember, Apollo played Ursula. And he nailed it.”
“Whoever. I just love that show. We need more sports representation on the stage.”
“Damn, Christine. These are your best yet.” I do my best to talk with a full mouth. “Crisp on the outside and gooey in the middle.”
“It’s the coconut,” she says, mouth full, not that either of us cares. “I use organic, too. None of that hydrolyzed chemical stuff. That’s the secret.”
“I’ve never had anything so scrumptious in my mouth.” I cover my lips, attempting to have a modicum of decorum. “Heavenly.”
“What’s so heavenly in your mouth?” A voice comes from the cracked door.
We both turn toward the culprit. Darius.
“My cookies,” Christine says, standing and offering him the container. “Want one?”
“I do love cookies.” Darius closes the classroom door, takes a treat, and then, without batting an eye, sits in the chair closest to me.
The chair I keep for kids who need to sit next to me because they’re distracting the class and themselves and unable to do any independent work without being right next to the teacher.
And then, without saying another word, he leans over and kisses my cheek.
“Harry.”
The word comes out of his mouth softer than I expect, and I’m caught somewhere between surprise and something I don’t quite want to name. My skin still tingles where his lips touched, like the moment’s trying to linger.
He holds the cookie up like it’s a trophy he’s won in some sportsball match and takes a bite.
“Ms. Wong, these are amazing.” The coconut chocolate aroma of Darius’s breath so close to my face intoxicates me. “I never realized you could bake like this.”
“Yes, Darius, I have more skills than teaching music to children.” She smiles wide, tilting her head so quickly, I’m certain her ponytail will whip around and smack her in the face, but it doesn’t.
