His eyes go even wider and his lips curl into a shy, sheepish smile, as ifI'mthe one who started the dirty joke train. I didn’t, but now that I’m on it, I don’t plan on getting off.
“I like to see how much of the sausage I can fit into my mouth at once,” I say, fighting back the giggles.
Hayden’s lips twitch and his smile grows wider. “What about meatballs? You like those?”
“Oof, I get real messy with meatballs. I get them all over my face, you know? On my cheeks, on my chin, on my nose.”
Hayden snorts a laugh as I continue.
“But sausages and meatballs together. Now we’re talking. That’s a full-ass meal.”
Hayden slaps a hand over his mouth as laughter threatens to burst free. His shoulders shake as he tries to keep it in. I wish he didn’t do that. I wish he’d let it all out. I wish I could hear that bright, beautiful sound.
“A full-ass meal,” he repeats, wheezing. “Oh my god.”
“Mmhmm, if you’re cooking it, I’ll eat every damn bite.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
HAYDEN
I didn’t accidentally stub my toe on the bag of books in my room. The bag wasn’t even in the middle of the floor. It was sitting in the corner where I always put it. I went and kicked the damn thing because I couldn’t take it anymore. I was going out of my mind. I needed the pain pulsing in my foot to distract me from the nonstop drone of the voice in my head.
It didn’t work. The voice just had something new to berate me about.What kind of idiot goes and kicks a bag of books on purpose?
But then Santino came to check on me. And then he teased me. Then somehow I ended up cooking for him while we made dirty jokes like teenage boys. I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to pull me out of the endless downward spiral that was killing me. And as long as I didn’t let my mind wander, as long as I stayed focused on him, everything was fine. Good, even. Maybe a little bit great. I haven’t had that much fun cooking in months.
Santino is so funny. I didn’t expect that, for some reason. I mean, the dad jokes are corny and the dirty jokes are silly, but there’s something absurd and ridiculous about his humorthat makes my problems feel less bad. Like, here, have a joke, you don’t have to take life so seriously. You can spare a couple laughs.
Watching Santino eat is about as hot as watching one of our Camboy Network videos. He’s so expressive, moaning and groaning with every bite he takes. I mean, the brown sugar bacon waffles are good, but you’d think they were laced with cocaine from the sounds he makes. Now I want to feed him all sorts of delicious things so I can watch him eat all the time.
After we finish breakfast and clean up the kitchen, we have just enough time to get ready before leaving for Noel and Bellamy’s apartment. Santino is nearly bouncing off the walls as we step out, barely able to contain his excitement. His smile is so wide. His eyes are so bright. There’s an energy radiating off him that’s utterly contagious.
I recognize the feeling. The anticipation at the start of a project. Eagerness to jump in and create something shiny and new. But I haven’t felt that rush, that thrill for a while now. And certainly not over this documentary project.
The truth is, I’ve been kind of dreading it. I mean, I’m happy for Noel and Bellamy. I really am. They couldn’t be more perfect for each other. But do I want to spend the next few weeks documenting just how ecstatic they are to get married? Not really.
It’s selfish of me, I know. But I don’t really want the constant, in-my-face reminder of how my friends are moving on with their lives and leaving me behind.
I don’t have a choice though. Sebastian needs an extra pair of hands to help with the cameras and I’m the most obvious person to ask. It would’ve been a real douchebag move for me to say no. No matter how I’m feeling, no matter how much I don’t want to, when my friends need me, I’ll be there.
Seeing how enthusiastic Santino is to get started on the documentary, it’s hard not to get excited too. His smile is infectious. His laughter is irresistible. And by the time we’re walking into Noel’s building, I feel like maybe this won’t be as bad as I expected.
The doorman is waiting for us and when we arrive, he ushers us directly into the elevator. Noel lives on the top floor of a Lower East Side building, in a penthouse loft that looks out above the roofs of the surrounding neighborhood. The apartment looks like it’s been taken straight out of some interior design magazine, with a sleek stainless-steel kitchen, a large U-shaped leather sectional, and a rustic dining table that seats ten.
Bellamy answers the door and when he steps back to let us in, Santino’s jaw drops. Laughing, Bellamy throws an arm around Santino’s shoulders. “Sick place, right?”
“Uh huh.” Santino’s jaw is still on the floor. “You live here?” he whispers with a look of awe in his eyes.
“Yes,” Bellamy says, matching Santino’s volume. “Why are we whispering?”
“I don’t know.”
Bellamy gives him a light, playful shove, then continues in a normal voice. “Come on, let me show you around.” He guides Santino toward the windows and I find myself hovering awkwardly in the middle of the room.
My body wants to follow Santino to the windows. My brain reminds me I shouldn’t be so clingy. There’s something so light and refreshing about Santino, like he’s able to clear the air around him of anything bad or heavy or dark. An irrational part of me gravitates toward that, wanting to stay in his bubble of safety for as long as I can. But logically, I know I can’t. I shouldn’t. I’m bad for him. I’ll contaminate him. He should stay far away from me. He should run and save himself before I end up hurting him.
