“I don’t know. George Clooney?”
“Jason Derulo or Drake?”
“That’s easy. Jason Derulo.”
“Wolverine or that kid fromTwilight?”
“The vampire or the werewolf?”
“Take your pick.”
“The werewolf. Most definitely.”
“Matt Bomer or Channing Tatum?”
“This doesn’t seem very scientific, Andre.”
“Just pick one.”
“Matt Bomer, ’cause I might actually have a chance with him.”
“Prince William or Prince Harry.”
“Harry, hands down.”
“You like them bad boys, Martin?”
I laughed. “Maybe it’s the red hair.”
“Okay, one more. Think hard now.” He glanced over at me. “Batman or Robin?”
I laughed and shook my head, face flushed. I could guess at why he’d taken me down this rabbit trail. “I don’t know, Andre. Robin, I guess, but either one would work. I’m versatile.”
He nodded appreciatively. “Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”
“How about you?” I said, trying to steer the conversation away from me. “What’s your type?”
He jutted out his lower lip. “I don’t know. I could never be too choosy. Someone who’s nice to me, I guess.”
He broke my heart when he said things like that, giving me glimpses of what his life was like in Alabama. I wanted to show him how nice it could be, but I’d told him already that we were just friends, so how could I go back on it now?
“You deserve that, Andre. Especially if your junk is as big as you say it is.”
He laughed and punched my shoulder playfully. “I might have exaggerated a bit,” he said sheepishly.
“Please. Don’t ruin the fantasy for me.”
On our way home we made a stop so Andre could pick up a bag of weed. He seemed pretty well connected despite not having lived here for long. We also picked up rolling papers and munchies. Andre was pretty specific about what to get: Cheetos, pizza-flavored Combos, Starburst, Twix, and Capri Suns. Back at the studio, he took great care in rolling up three joints. White boys, he called them. He seemed embarrassed by their size.
“Normally, I’d do blunts, but I don’t want you to start seeing shit.”
“I appreciate that.” I didn’t want to start seeing shit either.
We put on the movie and watched it while we smoked. It was pretty fucking hilarious or maybe it was just that Andre found it so amusing that made it so enjoyable. At some point we dumped all the snacks on the coffee table and devoured them like locusts, leaving candy wrappers and chip bags everywhere. Toward the end of the movie, there was a knock on the door. Andre paused it—he liked to hold the remote—and I went to answer it. Melissa stood on my doorstep in her work uniform. She must have been on her way to the restaurant. We hadn’t talked much since the night we all went dancing. In fact, she seemed to be avoiding me. As far as the woman named Simone, Melissa said she had been drunk and didn’t know what she was saying.
I didn’t believe her, but I also wasn’t going to get anywhere by calling her a liar.
“Why aren’t you working tonight?” she asked.
