My thirst for Hamlet came in waves. And right now, it was a straight-up tsunami. Why was I so attracted to him in this state? I tried to override the archaic sexist wiring in my brain. The second he saw me, he stopped moving and grinned, the bag narrowly missing his face as it came swinging back at him.
“Hi.” I pushed the black bag with the tip of one finger.
He leaned over, his thin cotton shirt stuck to him with sweat, and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Hi.” His lips hovered by my jaw, and I felt the hairs on my neck stand on end. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower, and I’ll meet you outside?”
“Sure,” I said, acting cool and feeling hot. I skirted the piles of shoes and boxing gloves as I left the gym and sat down on the hood of Hamlet’s car, which was parked in the shade of an oak tree. A few minutes later he came out, shouldering his gym bag, hair damp and clothes crisp and sparkling clean.
“Ready for tacos?” he asked as he pulled on his sunglasses and stood in front of me.
I hooked my legs around his. “Always.” Some whoops and hollers came out of the gym, and he blushed.
“All right, that’s our cue to leave.” He reached for my hand to help me down from the hood.
Hamlet and I were going to do a “taco walko,” a walking tour of eastside taco trucks patented by my dad and me. Hamlet had admitted to Chipotle being his Mexican restaurant of choice and, when I’d finally recovered, I made a plan to remedy that.
At our third truck in Echo Park, he was shoveling a monstrous carnitas taco into his mouth and I was trying to capture it on my camera when a text from Rose popped up.
Hey, do you have plans today?
Taco walko hellloooo
Oh, whoops. Ok, nevermind!
I stared at the text for a second before texting back:Why what’s up
Oh, nothing, no big deal.
Something about that nagged at me while Hamlet and I finished up our tacos.
“Who’s texting you?” he asked as we dumped our greasy paper plates into the trash.
Hamlet had the ability to tell when I was agitated even when I was silent. Something that probably made his life really pleasant.
“Rose. I think she wants to hang out,” I said apologetically.
He took out a little Wet-Nap from his wallet and handed it to me. “Cool, tell her to meet us for the movie tonight.”
I took the Wet-Nap with nary a smart-ass remark. Hamlet’s pockets were like a mom’s purse. “Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure. Unless you don’t want to? I don’t reallyunderstand how close you guys actually are.” He wiped his fingers off fastidiously with the Wet-Nap.
Good observation. I wasn’t so sure either. Our friendship was so, for lack of a better word, organic. I shrugged. “Well, we’re friends. And I don’t hate hanging out with her.”
Hamlet laughed. “That’s Clara-speak for ‘I like her.’”
I flushed because it was true and said, “Well, then let’s invite her. Watching a movie in a cemetery will creep her out!”
We’re going to watch The Exorcist at Hollywood Forever wanna come?
Not how I thought I’d spend my birthday, but why not!
Birthday! “Hamlet, it’s herbirthdaytoday!”
His entire face lit up—he was Christmas Day and Disneyland all rolled into one. “Herbirthday? I’m so glad we invited her then! We have to prepare!”
I pulled my dad’s black Dodgers cap down lower over my head, avoiding the sun. “All right, calm down. Let me respond to her first.”
I wished her happy birthday with some dumb bitmojis that were sure to infuriate her, then told her where to meet us.
