SAMUEL: i just want a boy of my own with a southern accent and cute green eyes

SAMUEL: what are you two doing tonight?

ME: No wedding events to attend, so we’re going out to dinner.

SAMUEL: dragging him to in-n-out? gonna break his animal style cherry?

ME: That’s gross

ME: And no, we’re going out somewhere nice.

SAMUEL: whateverrrrrrrrrrrrr

He stops responding, so I guess our conversation is done. Samuel’s like that, at least over text. When he’s done, he’s done.

I go back to my Instagram, looking at the picture, the two of us together, having a nice day out. I wonder if it’s believable to other people. Obviously, Lindsay, Samuel, Hoon, and Julien believe it.

But none of them are the person I’m really trying to fool here.

I listen to the water running in the shower, the low music from Wyatt’s phone. I’d swear that I can hear him singing as well, but I can’t tell if I’m just imagining that. I should get dressed; I know that I should. But I just want to sit here for a little bit longer, staring at the photo of him and me together.

This picture of two boys who are in love with each other.

Even though it’s all a lie.

*  *  *

The restaurant attached to the hotel is a funky little place, raised dining areas, lit fireplaces because a breeze rolled in and with the sun gone it’s gotten cool, a full bar where we have to wait for a bit because I definitely didn’t have a reservation.

“You should’ve pulled that ‘my name is on the sign outside’ card,” Wyatt says as he plays with one of the coasters.

“You’re not funny.” I spin on my stool.

Eventually, our waiter comes to take us to the table, right beside the window so we have this pretty awkward view of people walking by. And the restaurant doesn’t have actual dining chairs, but leather chairs meant for lounging that make eating awkward.

But I figured this would be nice enough, and we wouldn’t have to walk far.

“What are you going to order?” I ask.

“I don’t know. It’s been a while since I had a steak—that might be good.”

“Prime rib is always good if you’re going for steak. I’ve heard the marinade is excellent and the restaurant is Michelin-rated.”

“Pfft.” Wyatt covers his face with his menu.

“What?”

“You sound so hoity-toity.”