He offers her back the shirt. “Let Angel wear it if he wants.”
She sighs again. “Look, if you want to change outfits now, I’m going to have to talk to your dad.” She pulls out her phone and unlocks it. “I doubt he’ll be happy to be interrupted.”
Jon swallows hard, then bows his head. “Fine, I’ll wear it. But this is the last time.”
Ruben turns, and catches me watching him. He instantly looks away.
“Thank you,” says Erin. Jon puts the shirt on. It clings to him, and I can see each ridge of his abs through it. So he had a point. “See, you look great.” She turns to me. “Very nice, Zach. You’re always so easy, I hope you know I appreciate it.”
Once we’re all ready, we’re shepherded to the front of the set, which is lit by about a dozen lights. The only prop is a pleated brown leather couch, in front of a cream backdrop. We’re moved like dolls onto the set by the photographer, Alecia Mackenzie, who is wearing a flowy back outfit and has a peacock feather in her intentionally messy tumble of brown hair. I keep seeing Ruben rolling his eyes, so I’m lucky none of us are smiling in this photo (as part of our plan to carefully rebrand ourselves as slightly more adult). Not enough to alienate our younger fans, but enough to prevent the people who have liked us our whole career from moving on. Alecia asked us to pose on the couch like we’ve just gotten to a girl’s apartment and we’re waiting for her to leave the bathroom after freshening up.
It makes me think of that night. Ruben giving me his playful, confident smile in the seconds before we kissed for the second time. The sense of being overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips against mine. I picture pulling off his shirt, running my hands down his chest, feeling his muscles and the softness of his skin.
“Zach, focus!”
I look down at the photographer, who is glaring at me from around her camera.
“Sorry.”
Alecia takes a few more photos.
“Okay,” she says, looking at her camera. “Let’s change up the order. Ruben, can you come around and stand next to Zach?”
Oh fuck.
He nods, and strides across. We can be professional, but that’s all this is. We pose, and the photographer takes more photos.
Suddenly I know, without a doubt, that if I got the chance, I’d kiss him again. I want him to look at me like he did that night, before we realized what we were doing and everything it meant. I want my hands bunched up in his beautiful shirt, and for us both to be breathless, and for me to feel how soft his lips are again. For him to want me. For him to know I want him.
So I’m bi.
But is this real?
Or is it just a panicked response to the realization that I might’ve lost him completely?
Or do I just want it to be a response to the realization, because if it’s real, that means …
Jesus, I’m a mess.
“Hey, Zach,” says Erin.
“Yeah?”
“What’s going on? You look tense.”
I choke on nothing. “Um, er…”
“Please don’t tell me you’re hungover.”
“I’m not, I’m just tired.”
“Well, get it together, all right? We need to get this done before we head to the meet and greet.”
I shake my arms out. “On it.”
I try my best to look relaxed and comfortable. Like a guy who hasn’t messed things up with his best friend, maybe forever. Like a guy who isn’t so confused about his sexuality his head is physically pounding. Like a guy who isn’t aware of exactly where his close male friend is in relation to his body. Isn’t thinking about how if he moved an inch to the right, they’d be touching.
Alecia smiles. “Got it. Now we need a lighter one. Can you all put your arms around each other?”
I see white.
“Can I?” asks Ruben, his tone casual.
“Sure,” I say, shrugging. I’m shocked my voice is still working.
He puts his arm around me, and I can smell the rich, warm, and slightly sweet scent of his cologne. It’s amber, patchouli, and vanilla, in just the right amounts, enough to make me want to properly breathe it in. To breathe him in.
He moves his arm up, and brings it around my shoulder. The scent is even stronger now, almost overwhelming, taking over my thoughts. His arm is warm and heavy against mine, and my skin is prickling and buzzing under his touch, and I feel like I could spend my life here.
I hold completely still. Frozen.
There’s a flash, then the photographer lowers her camera and smiles.
“Got it.”
* * *
The second I get back to my hotel room, I lock the door behind me and call Mom.
Normally, we set up times for us to talk every few days. We aren’t supposed to call for another two days, but I can’t wait that long. I don’t even know exactly what time it is in the States right now, but I just have to hope that it’s okay, and that she’ll answer.
Come on, pick up, pick up …
The call goes through.
“Hello!” says Mom. I instantly feel lighter than I have all day. “How are you?”
“I’m good, how are you?”
“Yeah, good, what’s up?”
“Nothing much, just calling to say hi.”
I sit down on the end of my bed. Even though it should be fine, I try to keep my voice down, because I know I’m sharing a wall with Jon right now.
“How was the Sistine Chapel?”
“Really cool. This isn’t a bad time, is it?”
“No, I was just getting ready for bed, it’s fine. Have you been watching The Bachelor? I just got caught up.”
“I haven’t, I’ve been too busy. I want to, though.”
“You need to work on your priorities.”
I laugh, more because I know that she expects it than because I want to. “I know.”
“So how is the tour? Fans are saying it’s one of your best shows ever.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Actually, um, it’s been harder than I thought it’d be.”
“Oh, in what way?”
“I dunno. I think we’re just all really tired. It’s nonstop.”
“I bet. Your schedule is bananas.”
“Yeah. And, um, there’s some drama going on with the band, and it’s really getting to me.”
I tear up just saying it.
“What kind of drama?”