“So what date is this?” Naomi asks with a sigh. “And yes, I’m doing air quotes when I say the word date.”

“Date number two,” I tell her. I wasn’t going to tell Naomi about what Laz and I were doing because she’d think the both of us were out of our minds and surprise, she thinks Laz and I are out of our minds.

“I just don’t understand any of it,” she says. “Why are you pretending to date each other? Why not just actually date each other?”

“Because we’re friends and only friends,” I remind her. “Laz doesn’t like me that way. I don’t like him that way.”

“Mmm hmmm,” she muses slowly. “You sound like you’re in grade school.”

“Because you seem to have a hard time understanding platonic relationships. It’s not getting physical. And we’re not, like falling in love with each other or anything.”

“Yet.”

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. “There is no yet. Laz and I are friends just as much as you and I are friends.”

“Right,” she says dryly.

“Naomi, you of all people, I expected to be supportive.”

“You really thought I would be supportive? Oh. Let me guess, you haven’t told Jane yet?”

“Hell no. She’d disapprove.”

“As do I.”

“Look, you know I have a problem so why not use Laz to solve that problem? I mean it makes perfect sense.”

Doesn’t it?

“Marina, your problem, and your only problem, is that you haven’t met the right guy yet. That’s it. There’s no magic fix to this. It’s the law of averages and the law of luck and the law of putting yourself out there that eventually you’re going to find the right guy.”

“I don’t think I like all these laws.”

“I know you think Laz is helping you, but honestly, as much as I like the guy, I wouldn’t take his advice seriously.”

“Why not?”

“Because…I know this is going to sound crude, but he fucks anything that walks.”

“He does not!” I cry out. “He has standards. He has girlfriends. He doesn’t sleep around.”

“Uh-uh. I don’t trust this whole serial monogamy thing. I think it’s bullshit. I think it’s a way for him to be a manwhore and a playboy and whatever else you want to call him without being slammed for it.”

“First of all, men don’t get slammed for being players. Girls do. And Laz isn’t the type of guy who would care what people think either way.”

“He’s an odd duck, I’ll give him that. But don’t kid yourself about him. He’s good as a friend but that’s about it. The guy can’t hold down a relationship to save his life. There’s a reason for that and one you don’t need to find out.”

“Naomi,” I whine, “we’re just friends and that’s it. This isn’t actually dating. We aren’t sleeping together. God, he hasn’t even kissed me yet.”

“Yet. See? Yet. Before you know it, you’ll be friends with benefits.”

“That only works if you just meet each other and decide to be fuckbuddies. We aren’t fuckbuddies. It’s too late for that. We’re just buddies. And I do want his advice because I think he knows what’s best for me.”

“Yeah, his dick.”

I groan. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“You’re right, you probably shouldn’t have. But since you’re doing this anyway, let me know what his piercing looks like. Is it the Prince Albert or the Jacob’s Ladder or something else entirely...”

Back when Naomi and I first met Laz, we were intrigued by his supposed dick piercing, which led to many nights at our apartment drinking wine and googling all the possibilities.

Of course now, I’ve pretty much forgotten all about it.

Well, kind of. I know I shouldn’t think about his dick at all but the truth is I often do.

I think about how big it is.

What piercing he has.

What his balls look like.

If he hangs to the left or the right.

Actually, I know that last one. He hangs to the right. Hey, if he’s going to wear those tight, rock star jeans at his shows, then I’m going to notice his dick.

And, honestly, it hasn’t really been a problem for me. But now…I don’t know. Every single sexual thought I’ve ever had about Laz suddenly seems completely inappropriate now that we’re fake dating each other.

“Marina?” Naomi asks.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“God, you’re thinking about his penis, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to go now.” I pause. “And please don’t use the word penis.”

She chuckles. “Okay. Well good luck on your date. Just remember, you’re lovely just the way you are.”

There’s no use telling Naomi that Laz pretty much said that exact same thing during our first date (except with Laz’s accent, when he says it, it comes out as “louvlay”). I can’t blame her for being cynical though. Even with her and Robert’s couples counseling session tomorrow, she still has an uphill battle when it comes to their relationship.

I glance out the window. The gloom we’ve had for the last while has lifted and it’s a brilliantly hot and sunny day. No breeze either, which is good for the bees. It tends to make them agitated and the last thing we need on this date is for them to get all hot and bothered. I know Laz hasn’t quite come out and said that he’s afraid of bees but it’s going to take a lot of convincing to get him in his bee suit.

I make myself a cup of tea with some raw honey, courtesy of the girls, then slip on my jeans and a T-shirt and head outside, the grass wonderfully soft on my feet. Barbara has been more than generous letting me turn the entire backyard beyond the pool area into my own oasis. It can get expensive with all the water bills but luckily she doesn’t care.

There’s a nice strip of lawn running up to the hives and the rest of the yard is sand and gravel, evenly split between drought-tolerant plants to keep things eco-friendly and flowers that attract bees. Since lavender hits both those targets, I’ve planted lavender absolutely everywhere.

I take in a deep breath, letting the sun warm me from above and the ground warm me from below. There’s something to be said for walking barefoot, especially on grass. It’s actually scientifically proven to help ground you.

I make a mental note of it to tell Laz later.

Then I stop myself. Today it’s not Laz coming over but his alter-ego, Carl McNaughty, back for date number two, and if I’ve learned something from our night at the comedy club, it’s that Marina can talk about bees and scientific facts about walking barefoot all she wants with Laz but she can’t with Carl or whatever Joe Blow I’ll be dating in the future. Marina should also refrain from talking about herself in the third person.

I sigh. This whole thing is both fun and frustrating. The entire date, I kept looking at Laz and wondering why the hell I was doing this with him? Meaning, why did he have to pretend to be someone else? Why did I have to pretend to be someone else? I mean, I may not have had a fake name (I do today, because why should he have all the fun), but I still couldn’t act like myself. Why couldn’t we just…

I don’t want to think about it. I keep wanting to think about it. It keeps pressing at the back of my head, like it’s looking for a way inside, and I keep putting up the internal walls and barricades to stop it. I don’t want to indulge that part of me because it’s getting trickier and more dangerous by the minute.

All the years I’ve known Laz, I’ve put my feelings for him to the side until I convinced myself there were no feelings at all. I’ve told myself over and over again that whatever things I’ve felt, whether it be jealousy, attraction and lust, hell, even enough desire that I’ve brought out my vibrator more than once, that it wasn’t based in anything. I’ve actively worked hard to see Laz as a friend and just a friend, all the while it would have been so incredibly easy to just give in and just admit to myself that I want him.

Not just as a friend, though. Not even close.

That’s probably why I’m so all over the place. Part of me wants him to teach me how to seduce men, only just for the chance that I can actually seduce him or visa versa. The other part of me is terrified of the idea—like him kissing me, touching me—because I think, I know, the moment he does that, every single thing is going to change.

Everything.

Naomi was right. It doesn’t make sense for Laz to do this. We don’t have to pretend to date each other. He could just give me a few pointers. I mean, I learned enough about how I am on a date the first time that there’s really zero need for a second one.

I think he knows that too. He must. Why else would he be doing this?

Because he feels sorry for you, you spaz, I remind myself. Sure sometimes I think I catch this darkness in Laz’s eyes, like he’s looking at me with some sort of raw lust. But at this point, I’m pretty sure that’s just Laz and how he is. He’s brooding. He’s in his head a lot. I never know what that guy is thinking but I’m pretty sure he’s not thinking of me sexually whatsoever.

Yeah, sometimes he says really sweet things, even romantic at times. But he’s a poet, it’s pretty much his job. I’ve seen him charm the pants off the old ladies at the grocery store too.

Which is the way it’s supposed to be. Which means I need to get my head on straight and keep doing what I’m doing, filing all those unwarranted feelings away and getting back on the friendship train.

A couple of hours later, I have both bee suits out on the lawn and am sitting cross-legged on the grass, inspecting them for any tears or holes when Laz pokes his head over the side gate.

I smile at the sight of him, as I always do. Instant reflex.

But these butterflies in my stomach…that’s fucking new.

And frightening.

Get the hell outta here, butterflies.

“Hey,” he calls out. “It’s Carl. Carl McNaughty from the other night.”

The playful tone of his voice causes my stomach to flip like a gymnast. This is not off to a good start.

“Hi Carl,” I tell him, giving him a quick wave and turning my attention back to the suits. Much safer this way. “Come on in.”

I pretend to concentrate on them way more than I should, so that he’s standing above me for a few moments before I finally look up, squinting into the sun. At least it gave me some time to gather up my wits. “Oh, by the way,” I tell him. “My name is Regina Phalange.”

He grins, running his fingers down the sexy stubble on his jaw.

Sexy? Stop that right now.

“Of course your name is Regina Phalange,” he says. He gets my Friends references like no one else does.

He gets everything like no one else does.

STOP IT YOU CRAZY BEE LADY.

I clear my throat, wishing I could dispel the nervous energy that’s building up inside me again. “So are you ready for Candyman?”

He laughs. “It doesn’t help that you call it that.”

“Hey you started it,” I tell him, getting to my knees and he reaches down to grab my arms and pull me up the rest of the way. I’d like to say I didn’t notice the spark of electricity between his palms on my skin, or how large and firm his hands are…but I would be lying.

Laz has touched me like that a million times before and I never paid it much attention but now my body is honing in on everything. Suddenly, I’m extremely grateful for the bee suit. It will keep me safe from the bees and from any accidental arousal.

“Okay!” I say loudly, too loudly, stumbling back a bit from his grasp. “So, uh, let’s get you suited up.”

He frowns. “You okay?”

“Yes!” I bend down and grab his suit, thrusting it into his hands. “Put it on, Mr. McNaughty.”

He reluctantly takes it, his eyes resting on my face for just a bit longer before he holds up the voluminous suit, staring at it in disdain. “Are you sure they can’t sting through this?”

“They aren’t going to sting you,” I reassure him.

He glances over at the hives. “Oh, did you have a merry chat with the bees this morning about this?”

“I did. And, by the way, bees know they’ll die if they sting you. It’s always a last minute resort in order to protect the hive.”

“How noble,” he says dryly.

“It is noble,” I tell him. “Now suit up!”

He sighs, shaking his head and mumbling something to himself that I can’t quite catch. His expression says it all: this is hell. I stand back and watch him, enjoying this too much. No one is graceful when they put on a bee suit.

“So how come you have a bee suit that fits a guy as tall as me?” he asks, almost suspiciously.

Lie, I tell myself. Lie.

“It’s part of the job. If I’m teaching potential beekeepers I can’t expect them to bring their own.” And that is all true. I have two suits for kids and three for adults so far and hope to get more. But the reason I have that extra-long suit in particular is because I bought it for Laz. A long time ago. Hoping that maybe one day he’d take interest in it.

But I’m not about to admit that to him. I’m already feeling strangely vulnerable today.

So I watch as he slips the suit over his boots and pulls it up. “I feel ridiculous.”

I smile and drop to a crouch to zip up the bottom of his pants and make sure the elastic is snug. If the bees get agitated, that’s one of the first places they’ll crawl to because it’s dark and snug.

“Okay,” I tell him as I get back up. “Almost done.”

Without thinking I grab the zipper from down near his crotch and pull it up all the way to his chin.

I’m so close to him, I’m not breathing.

I pause, wondering if I’m too close, and glance up at him through my lashes.

He’s staring at me with an intensity that makes my blood run hot.

“Now would be the perfect time to kiss you,” he says, his voice low. Shivers cascade down my back like I’m stepping into a warm bath.

Holy shit.

I swallow hard, unable to find my voice.

We’re inches apart.

Heat is climbing between us.

His eyes aren’t leaving my lips. I’ve never seen him look at me like this before, this rawness that makes my thighs clench together, trying to still the pressure building inside me.

The tension is fucking unbearable, wrapping around us tighter, hotter.

He’s going to kiss me.

Don’t ruin it.

But then I say, “Don’t you have to consult your Magic 8 Ball about this?” I let go of the zipper and take a clumsy step backward.

Moment. Ruined.

Laz doesn’t look too impressed. I expected him to smile but he looks vaguely annoyed more than anything. “I can if you want,” he says eventually.

I look away, chiding myself for making it all weird, and pick up the beekeeper hat and veil, shoving it into his hands. “Here. Put this on.”

He eyes it. “If this wasn’t part of the uniform, I’d think you were trying to tell me something.”

Well he definitely can’t kiss me through that thing. Added bonus.

“Wear it,” I tell him as I pick up my jacket and slip it on.

“Hey, how come you don’t have to wear the full suit,” he says as he awkwardly fumbles with the hat, turning it around and around. He has to zip it to his suit collar but I don’t dare go near him again, even with that veil between us.

“Because my jeans are good enough protection. I wouldn’t wear anything if I trusted you not to lose your shit.”

“I’m not going to lose my shit.” He fiddles with the zipper until it finally secures his hat in.

“Right,” I tell him, happy that the weird sexual tension between us has momentarily dissolved. I pull on my hat which is already attached to the back of the jacket like a hoodie and drag the veil across my face.

He’s smiling at me, his face slightly fuzzy because of the mesh.

“What?” I ask.

“I just had an image of you on your wedding day.”

“Oh?” My heart stills.

“Wearing a dress made out of bee suits with that exact same veil.”

“Very funny.”

“It is funny.” He throws out his arms. “Look at us. I feel like we’re astronauts in a fifties B-movie. Or should I say, bee-movie.”

I giggle. “Like we’re in This Island Earth,” I agree, one of our favorite movies that Mystery Science Theatre 3000 has gotten their hands on. “Did you know that actor who plays the main dude, Cal, his name is Rex Reason?”

“Rex Reason,” he muses. “That should be my next stage name.”

“Or you could save it for the fourth date.”

“Fourth date?” he looks at me in surprise. “I didn’t know there would be one.”

Am I jumping ahead of myself here? Probably.

“Oh well I just figured after date number three we could try again with new personas, you know, since eventually we have to tackle what’s wrong with you. Aside from the Magic 8 Ball making all your life’s decisions for you.”

“Don’t make me regret telling you that,” he says.

“Don’t make me regret telling you I’m a virgin.” I walk over and nudge him with my elbow. “Come on, let’s get this started.”

We head across the lawn to the first of the two hives, the girls shooting in and out. A few guard bees come out to inspect us as we get closer and Laz stops dead in his tracks, staring at one as it buzzes at his veil. They’re having a staring contest.

“What do I do?” he whispers.

“Just act calm,” I tell him.

“They smell fear don’t they.”

I roll my eyes. “No. She’s just checking you out. You should be flattered.”

“Uh-huh.”

I grab his arm and pull him toward the hives. “She knows we mean no harm. This is her job, she’s a guard bee. Show some respect.”

“Oh bloody hell,” he mutters as we’re right at the hive now and the bees are swarming all over us as they go on their way to and from the hive. “This isn’t fun, you know that? People actually pay to do this?”

He’s borderline shrieking. I have to admit, it is fun seeing this big buff rock n’ roller with his tattoos and piercings freaking the fuck out over my girls. I’d say I’m surprised we haven’t done this more often but then again, I’m not.

“Not a lot of people pay,” I tell him, placing my fingers on either side of one of the bars. I’m about to lift it up and expose the comb and bees inside but I wait. I have a feeling it’s going to freak him out and for now I just want him to listen. “But that’s what I want to change. This could be a fun and unusual date night for some people.”

“Cross out fun. It’s unusual at best,” he says, breaking off as he raises his arm to swat a couple of more bees who are investigating him.

“Don’t,” I tell him, gripping his forearm and holding tight. “Don’t swat. They don’t deserve it.”

“Jesus, where did you get a kung-fu grip from?” He’s staring down at my hand and I tighten my grip even more.

“No swatting,” I warn him. “Or they will turn on you. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You are the Candyman,” he says in a hushed awe.

“Okay, let’s be serious for a second,” I say.

“You think I haven’t been taking any of this seriously?”

I give him a look but I’m not sure he can see it. It’s hard with all the bees darting between us. “If more people were exposed to hives like this in a safe and controlled environment, then they wouldn’t fear bees. If they don’t fear bees, they’re more likely to respect them. If they respect them, they might learn about them and find out how important they are to the world. I get a ton of calls for live bee removal but I’d get a lot more if people started respecting bees and wanting the hives to be safely removed. Most people just have a pest control person come and destroy them all…it’s…it’s devastating.”

Just thinking of it makes my heart feel weighted, way more than it should, like it’s sinking in my chest.

“You okay?” Laz says softly after a moment.

I exhale and give my head a little shake. “Yeah. Sorry. Don’t know why that bothers me so much.”

“This isn’t really about bees, is it?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You told me your mother kept bees when you were younger. After she died…you said that the hives were destroyed.”

I rub my lips together, glad he can’t get a good look at my face. “Yeah,” I say breathlessly. “Gone.”

“And those hives brought your mother the same kind of joy they bring you now, don’t they?”

I know what Laz is getting at. I’ve had this conversation with my therapist a lot. That the bees somehow represent my mother and my relationship with her, that I feel I can keep her alive if I keep the hives alive. But though this insight isn’t new to me, it’s new to Laz. In the past, I might have shrugged it off but I don’t want to do that anymore.

“They do,” I say quietly. “It’s how I keep her memory alive. When I see hives destroyed, it just reminds me of everything I lost.”

“Do you need a hug?”

I let out a soft laugh and put my hand out to keep him in his place. “No hugging in front of the bees. I’m not sure how they’ll take it.”

“And you want this to be a date-night activity?”

“Okay, so maybe you have a point.” I sigh. I still think I could make it work but maybe it’s the kind of thing that really wouldn’t take off here. Maybe my efforts are better spent elsewhere. “Anyway,” I go on, “now that you’re somewhat calm and orderly, let me at least give you the rundown of the hive.”

The hives I have are top-bar hives, which looks totally different from what people are used to seeing. The traditional beehives are the ones that are like high stacks and have the brood at the bottom and the honey at the top. But the frames are heavy as hell and you have to smoke the bees to keep them calm. With the top-bar system, it’s horizontal. It’s less intrusive and I don’t even have to suit up if I don’t want to. I did today but I’m not even wearing gloves.

“Are you ready to take a look?” I ask him.

He takes a small step back and then nods. “Yes.”

I grin to myself in anticipation. “Okay.”

I grip the ends of one of the frames with both hands and slowly pull it up out of the hive.

A very large comb, maybe two feet long, hangs off, every inch covered by hundreds of bees, wriggling like one dark beast. It’s a gorgeous sight but…

Laz is screaming.

“Oh my god!” he shrieks. “Fuck this!”

He turns around and starts running. I watch him, trying not to laugh as he goes across the lawn looking like a lunatic in his white suit, like a Hazmat worker fleeing the scene from a radioactive monster. Then he slips on the grass and eats shit.

Now I’m laughing and it’s shaking the comb, so more bees are coming off of it, mad at me for disturbing them.

“I’m so sorry,” I say to the bees through my laughter, hoping I can put the frame back in before one of them stings my bare hands.

Thankfully I make it and I go running after Laz who is lying on his back spread eagle on the grass.

I zip off my veil and hat and stand above him, peering down.

“Are you okay?” I ask, still laughing.

“No.” His head rolls to the side until he’s looking at me. “Marina. You just had like, thousands of bees in your bare hands.”

“I know. This is part of my job. I do this almost every day.”

“Bloody hell. I am not cut out for this.”

“I can see that.”

“I’ll stick to poetry and playing obnoxiously loud music.”

“And signing. Don’t forget singing. You have a hell of a voice. Hey, maybe you can sing to the bees.”

“Yeah right. That probably signals for them to attack me.”

“Believe me, no bee in their right mind would sting you. What’s the point when you just run away every time, screaming like a little girl.”

“I think my ego just took a hit.”

“It’s about time. I was wondering if you’d ever be taken down a peg.”

“You know, as my friend, you’re supposed to keep lifting me up on pegs, not taking me down. And also, you could give me a hand.”

I sigh and straddle him, reaching down with both hands to grab his arms.

Except he reaches up and grabs me by the elbows instead and pulls me down so I’ve fallen in an awkward heap on top of him.

I yelp and am about to roll off when his arms wrap around me tight, holding me in place, keeping me pressed against his chest.

“Let go of me, you beast,” I say playfully, both enjoying being this close to him and also wondering what the hell is happening because Laz and I have never been the touchy-feely kind of friends. We hug but we don’t hold hands, we don’t cuddle, we don’t have wrestling or tickling matches.

He grunts in response and then rolls over so he’s on top of me now, elbows planted on either side of my shoulders.

Oh hell. This feels good. The hard and heavy length of his body flush against mine, the weight of him making me feel so small and dainty and…captive.

I know he expects me to squirm. I know I should. But secretly, I’m in heaven.

“I need a little help with the veil,” he says, his tone a little too innocent.

I narrow my eyes, staring through the mesh. “I don’t trust you.”

“Please,” he says.

“Oh, fine,” I say and reach up, unzipping it from the front of his jacket and then lifting it up off his head and then tossing the hat to the grass.

“Thanks,” he says but he doesn’t get off me. He bites his lip and brings one of his hands to my face, fingers pressed against my cheekbone, his dark eyes searching mine. That same intense gaze that he had earlier has come over him again, a look that makes me sink back into the grass, for my heart to start beating harder against my ribs.

“Remember,” he says, his voice hoarse, his thumb brushing down my cheek, along the side of my lips. I don’t even think I’m breathing. “When I said it was the perfect time to kiss you? Well, I lied. I think now is the perfect time.”

“Because I can’t run away?” I try to joke but my words come out all garbled. Oh my god, I’m losing my mind here.

He smiles softly but the carnal gaze in his eyes never leaves me. It strips me bare. “Second date, sweet girl.”

But…but…but…

There are so many things to protest. So many things to say to stop this from happening.

But I don’t want to say any of them.

I try and swallow, my chest feeling tight, like there’s a vice around my heart.

If he kisses me, I might actually die.

He closes his eyes and leans in and I’m suddenly so aware that we’re both in bee suits and he’s lying on top of me in the middle of the backyard.

And then I’m aware of nothing at all.

Nothing but his lips as they gently press against mine.

Soft, warm and firm all at once.

It’s so sudden and shocking despite his warning.

But then his lips part gently, opening up against my mouth and my eyes flutter closed as I give into him.

His tongue slides into my mouth, slow, almost painfully slow, this teasing drag along the edge of my tongue that makes my skin run hot and tight. A desperate urge rises up from inside me, the steel of his tongue ring cool and sleek.

Fuck.

This is happening.

And it’s still happening.

Like any new dance, it starts off tentative, wary, and then morphs, his mouth growing hungrier, our tongues sliding in and out with building urgency. Laz presses his hips into mine and I can feel how hard he is.

For me. All for me.

He lets out a low groan into my mouth and it rumbles through me, all the way to my toes, my thighs squeezing together to quell the throbbing. His hands are in my hair, on my jaw, holding my head down against the grass and my fingers are drifting over his shoulders, feeling his strength, as our kiss deepens and deepens and deepens.

It feels so good.

So.

Fucking.

Good.

Best damn kiss I’ve ever had.

Then he pulls back, just an inch, enough for me to gasp for breath, for my mind and body to be brought back to reality. The sun is glaring above us but all I do is stare at Laz’s gorgeous face and marvel at what we just did.

“Uh,” I say, licking my lips that still buzz from the pressure of his. “That…”

He clears his throat, his eyes dancing in a mix of amazement and lust. “I have to say you, uh, definitely don’t need any pointers on how to kiss.”

“Yeah,” I say breathless. “Neither do you.”

Oh my god. It’s hitting me slowly now. Laz just kissed me. We were just hardcore making out. That wasn’t just a first kiss, that wasn’t just a joke.

It couldn’t have been.

Could it?

I’m watching his expression, not sure what to say. I should play it off because that’s what this is, what this always has been.

“Well, I’m glad I passed your test,” I tell him. I smile but it’s shaking and I’m wide-eyed and I probably look a little nuts. “You still should have consulted the 8 Ball before.”

“I did,” he says with an easy grin, running his thumb over my lip. I have to fight the urge to kiss it. What has he done to me? “Right before I walked in through that gate.”

“And what did it say?”

“It said WIN,” he says. “And it was fucking right about that.”

That’s cute. I know the right thing to do would be for the both of us to get to our feet and carry-on with ourselves like we usually do but god, if he wants to kiss me again, I will not stop him. I don’t care if we’re lying out here under the sun, I don’t care that—

“Marina!”

A shrill voice rings through the air and I flinch. I crane my neck back and look at the main house where I can see the shadow of Barbara’s face inside by one of the open windows. “Do you need me to call the police?” she yells.

“Oh, that’s just brilliant,” Laz says, quickly getting himself off me and pulling me up to my feet. So much for that.

“No!” I yell back at Barbara. “It’s just my friend Laz. He was helping me out of my suit.”

“I bet he was,” Barbara says and then the blinds come back down.

“Sorry about her,” I say as I turn back to face Laz who is unzipping his suit.

His face is flushed, his hair a mess. There’s too much distance between us now and it feels cold and unnatural. Everything that just happened before, his body pressed against mine, our mouths joined, the heat we created, that felt right. That felt more than right. That’s the us that should have always been.

“I should probably get going,” he says, stepping out of the suit and handing it to me.

“What? Why?”

Oh my god, did that ruin everything? That ruined everything didn’t it?

“Don’t look so worried,” he says to me, smiling. He reaches down and grabs my free hand. “I promised Frank we’d have a rehearsal tonight and you know he’s all the way out in Long Beach.”

“Why do you need to rehearse? New songs?” I feel better knowing that he’s not bailing on account of me, but still, I don’t want him to take off after we just had our first kiss, especially when I don’t know what it means, if it meant anything.

“Well, the show you missed the other night was a bit of a shitshow, so yeah, I think we just need to get some more practice and get a new keyboardist. A lot of the songs we always should have been doing, the songs we skip, are keyboard and Moog heavy, so we need someone who knows their shit if we’re going that route. People want to dance these days.” He punctuates that with a shrug.

“So when are you going to actually start a real band?” I ask him.

He stills at that, his dark, arched brows coming together. “A real band?”

“It’s been years of you doing Depeche Mode songs. You’re an amazing singer, you can play anything you want, and you know that your poetry would do amazing as lyrics. I mean, what’s the difference really. So why not do your own thing?”

He’s still looking at me like I’m talking complete nonsense. Maybe I am. I don’t know much about music other than the fact that it’s an important part of my life.

“Because,” he says slowly, still holding onto my hand, “this is what we know. This is what we’re known for. There’s no risk. Other than the occasional shitty show, we can’t really fail. There aren’t a lot of Depeche Mode cover bands out there because no one can pull it off like we can.”

“But you can’t really move forward if you’re always doing the same thing.” I don’t want to mention he’s just coasting along and never really committing to anything, because his band is just a hobby and not a career and it really isn’t any of my business. But sometimes I want to point out the similarities between that and his failed relationships.

“And that’s why we’re trying new material.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you later.”

“Do we still have another date or is this it?”

I hope I didn’t sound desperate just then.

He just grins at me. “You better believe we have another date. Date number three, bumble bee.”

He turns and walks off, leaving me standing on the grass, bee suit in hand, sad to see him go but dangerously giddy at the fact that we have another date, another chance to pretend.

I’m not ready to think about what will happen when we can’t pretend anymore.