It’s perfect.
It’s my exact order.
A triple shot of shaken espresso with oat milk and a pump of salted caramel syrup.
“How did you know this is my drink?” I ask.
“Lucky guess,” he answers, not holding eye contact.
I offer him another sip, and when he reaches for it, I pull the mug away. “No, seriously, how’d you know?”
He goes even pinker than he was earlier. “I kind of follow your socials. You post a lot pics of your coffee, you know that?”
“Which socials?”
He’s so pink now his neck looks mottled. “All of them.”
“Is that right?”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking more uncomfortable by the second. “I know it’s not cool, I-I know that. It’s just…”
“What’s your alt account name?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Tell me,” I say, digging my fingers into the precise spot on his side that makes him shriek with laughter.
“No.”
“Tell me.” I hit the spot again.
“It’s dumb.” He laughs, thrashing from side to side, trying in vain to bat my hands away from him.
“Tell me.” This time, I’m serious, and he can tell.
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
“I mean, I don’t know. How dumb is it? Because if it’s like mild to medium on the dumb scale, then sure, Ipromise, but any dumber than that, and I’m afraid I can’t be held accountable for my…”
“It’s ILTTD2, okay? There. Are you happy now?”
“ILTTD? What’s that?”
He takes the cup from me, has a long sip, and then holds the cup up near his face, obscuring his mouth from view. He looks different now. Serious, almost scared. Shy boy spilling secrets.
“ILTTD stands for…fuck, I can’t believe I’m saying this aloud.” He rolls his eyes as he psyches himself up. “It stands for I Love Thee Thou Doth, okay?” He squirms and looks away, trying not to smile but smiling from ear to ear nonetheless. “Are you happy now? I told you it was stupid. I was in a bad place when I made the accounts.”
“I love thee thou doth.That’syour alt account handle?” My voice lilts up at least two octaves. “You love me mou moth?”
“Oh God, no. That’s awful, Jude. Don’t say that again, okay? Don’t say that to anyone who isn’t me. There’s a limit to how much one can butcher the language and get away with it, even you. I’m serious.”
It’s the kind of laugh that starts with an explosive gust that almost doubles me over and escalates quickly until my lips are peeled back and I’m not sure if I could get my face back to normal if my life depended on it.
“Oh God,” says Romeo, laughing too. “I forgot what you’re like. I mean, I knew it was bad, but I forgot just how bad, you know?”
When I’ve managed to calm down to a splutter that no longer poses a serious risk of making coffee spray out of my nose, I take a sip of coffee and hand the cup back to Romeo. He takes it from me and sets it on the console table to his right. His hand drifts up and long, graceful fingers curl into the hair that leads from my navel to my cock.
He’s close to me, close everywhere, hands on my chest, lips on my lips.
