That night, Ciro and I have Mrs. Brandt’s amazing albondiga soup on his terrace. It’s dark, romantic, the candles flicker, and the soft indie-rock he plays in the background makes the night perfect. I want to slink around the table and sit on my friend’s lap. I want to nuzzle against his neck and draw in the scent of him.

Ciro pulls the spoon out of his mouth slowly and deposits it in his bowl. Eyes on me, lingering and scorching, he murmurs, “Is the friend zone doing it for you?”

I shut my eyes to hide my emotions. When I open them again, his gaze is calm. “I’m not giving up on you, Savannah. I’m just giving you space.”

What do you say to that? There are a thousand invisible threads between us, connecting my body to his and pulling. The way I feel about this man is so big it’s a presence at our table. Of course, of course he senses it.

“About the friend zone...” I stuff half an albondiga into my mouth and chew while I try to suppress my response to him. “There are other possibilities. Like dating. Or casual, you know.”

“Friends with benefits?” he asks so silkily my lower region floods with warmth. “Is that what you want, Savannah, friends but more? Friends plus-plus?”

I don’t know. He’s talking to the girl who hails Status Quo. What option will hurt the least? How can I get more of him without feeling used, disrespected—not becoming more obsessed than I am?

He lifts his hands, palms open in the night air. “I’ll do it. You know how I feel about you. I want you, body, mind, and heart. I want as much Savannah as I can have, and it’s okay if that doesn’t include a girlfriend yet.”

Yet.

“I just— Ana Suarez and I have been hanging out lately. I met her at the dog park with Princess, and today I met her boyfriend for the first time. She told me you’re going to work together the rest of this week.”

He nods slowly, gauging my reaction. I smile. I’m not going to insist that it’s a relaxed smile. “She thinks you’re a cool dude, and she can’t wait to work with you again.”

“She’s a great girl. I love her like a sister.”

“Sister. That sounds bad. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” He lifts a shoulder in a one-sided shrug. “We do that sometimes. Play the roles of sisters and brothers.”

“Please, eew. You’re not making any of this easier, Ciro.”

“Sorry. I honestly wish I could shield you. I tried.”

“Right, lying by omission,” I snap.

“Are we back to that now?”

I shake my head to remember that I’m not that girl anymore. That girl, the girlfriend girl. “No, we’re not.”

“Come here.” Ciro holds out a hand and scoots his chair back, giving me room. Hard thighs spread, inviting me in, and I need it so much I sink in there anyway.

This. Could have been so easy.

Fucking job.

“Don’t beat yourself up, baby girl. Don’t overthink things. If this is what you want, just a hug and a dinner, then that’s what I’ll give you.”

I hate nightmares. Especially of the kind I just woke up from, where you scream and can’t get out of it until your forehead is damp with terror. I plod into the kitchen and pour myself some of Lin’s sweet tea.

Ciro having sex with someone on camera. Me, right there, crying. He looked up at me, smirking, and then he scrunched his eyes shut in pleasure as he rammed into a woman I’d never seen before. I’m having dinner with her next, he mouthed to me. Ah she’s the full package. Body and heart. Lover and girlfriend.

The girl’s face morphed into Ana’s. She smiled and said, “What’re you looking at? You shouldn’t be here. Unless you’re just a friend of his?”

I’m not impulsive, nothing like my mother. It’s why I’m in this situation in the first place. I can’t let go, and I can’t jump both feet in. Yet now, with the dream eating at my insides, I send him a text to the accompaniment of our humming fridge.

I had a nightmare.

He replies immediately. Sometimes I think he only naps when I’m next to him. Come sleep here.

He’s on his side. With an arm under his head, he watches me lazily when I wake up. “You were tired.”

I groan. “What time is it?”

“Ten.”

“Oh god, seriously?” My pulse speeds up until I remember that Daisy and Rough have their annual checkup at the vet’s this morning and I’m not supposed to walk them.

“You’re good,” he confirms what I’m realizing too. “Or are you?” A warm hand glides under the sheet and down my spine to my butt. With skilled fingers, he trails down until he finds my heat and massages it lightly. “Sore?”

I puff out a happy breath. “A little. Not too bad.”

“Sorry. I’d missed you,” he murmurs, kissing my head and rolling close.

“Ciro, what are we doing?” I whisper.

“That’s up to you. I vote all the way.”

“That wasn’t all the way?” I tease.

“You know what I mean.”

That hand down there doesn’t leave me, and I find myself spreading my thighs again for him. I feel better with each circle he makes on me, and my breathing is already turning irregular.

“How do people do it, then? Say I was your girlfriend and you slept with other girls for a living, what would I do?”

His mouth descends on mine, sucking and licking. “All you have to do is love me.”

“Yeah, but would you expect me to be celibate and only with you when you’re sleeping around?”

“I’m not sleeping around.”

“Technically, you are. You’re just not doing it for free. Would you be okay with me sleeping with someone from my job, for instance?”

“Do you like someone at work?”

“No. It’s just an example.”

“Because if you like someone better than me, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Seriously? That would be imposing?”

He pulls me into a comforting hug. “Listen. I don’t think you understand. If my girlfriend had sex to pay bills, I wouldn’t be opposed to it. But if she gets a crush on some other guy and sleeps with him, then that means he’s engaged more than her body. That’s when I’d feel betrayed. And if I were a douche and slept with someone outside of work, I’d expect my girlfriend to raise hell too. I’d never do that.”

“Ah you’re exasperating. Basically, I can’t sleep around and you can.”

“Would you want to?”

I’m upset. He’s not. His aqua eyes are the calmest waters, holding my stormy ones captive.

“No! Gah, no, that’s gross. I can’t just sleep with someone for the heck of it. Sex isn’t just sex to me. But I’d want to know that the rules were the same for both of us. I mean, what if your lifestyle totally corrupted me and I wanted to have sex with other people too? Hey, how about if one of your porn star friends wanted to hang out and I said yes to a quick round in the hay?”

“Again, let me turn that around: would you want to sleep with that friend of mine?” His lashes are so thick. And this discussion doesn’t rock his cool. Does he not care about me after all?

“As I said, not at the moment, but who knows?” I mutter. “What if I decide sex is a game and want to play it in the future? Like, ‘Ciro’s home late tonight. I’m horny. Want to hang out?’”

I sound ridiculous, but I have a point to make.

His head slides back to the pillow as his mouth twists a little. “That’s a lot to take in. One of the reasons I fell for you was how genuine and regular-person you are. If you changed that much... Hmm.”

“See? You’d stop loving me.”

“Of course not. I just have to think this through. Obviously, you’d have made a big adjustment before that. You’d have worked hard to understand my side, how things have to be for me to keep my livelihood. This would be you asking me to make a sacrifice too, one I don’t believe in.”

His hand leaves my body to rub two fingers against his forehead. “I would have to understand it. I’d have to trust that if you wanted to sleep with my friend while I was gone, you’d do it for the pleasure only and not because you needed his love and support.”

His gaze flicks back to me, and he squints out a small smile. “Yeah, it would be hard. But I’d do it as long as we weren’t hiding anything from each other.”

“You’re so crazy,” I say, then go on to mimic my future voicemail for him. “Hi, honey, I’ll be back late. Just playing with Bobo first. Can you get the pot roast ready if you’re home before me? It’s in the slow cooker. Have it ready by eight, please.”

He snorts. “Bobo? You’re into clowns now? Hmm, I can work with that. You won’t need your imaginary friend by the time I’m done with you. Hell, I’ll get a big old red nose and everything.”

“No!” I laugh when he starts tickling me. Then I squirm when he unwraps me completely and makes my laughter drown in desire.

Ciro shrugged when I told him I wanted everything but the GF label. I don’t know how I feel about this. Am I one of those girls who is never happy?

“I don’t get you anymore.” Frieda stuffs yet another Twizzler into her mouth. A low sun sprains the restaurant blinds, leaving Mintrer’s in its magic hour. “Seriously, I don’t, and you know how long I’ve known you.”

“Sure do.” I roll my eyes. “As long as I’ve known you, three years.”

“Exactly, and you were never like this.”

“I hadn’t met Ciro yet.”

I’m taking a break from thinking. I work off instincts and feelings, and I get wet just by visualizing him. It’s uncomfortable. I mean, if I were a boy I’d probably be running to the restroom to jack off all day.

“Okay.” With two hands lifted, palms turned toward me and the Twizzler sticking out of the side of her mouth, she over-dramatizes. “So you’ve decided to keep seeing him. Correct?”

“Sort of.”

“Whatever. You’ve also decided that you don’t want to formalize what you guys do, because that would be weird since he has sex with others.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So that’s your way of fixing the problem with him cheating on you, to name it something else? What’re you going to call it now then—is this ‘dating’ to you, to be with him seven days a week and sleep over at his house all the time?”

“What’s this obsession with labels all of a sudden?”

“Ha, like it hasn’t been all about labels since the first time he took you out. I’ve never met a more label-obsessed couple in my life.”

“We’re not a couple!”

“See what I mean? Jesus Christ.”

“Frieda, it’s the only solution I have. I can’t stand being just friends with him, and I definitely can’t stand losing him. So yeah, this is the answer. I’m gonna see if I can stomach it.”

I nod a fake smile at the door, to the four guests coming in. They look business-serious, like they’re not here for the food.

“Anywhere you like,” I call out. My early shift is over in a minute. It’s almost five. Frieda came for the second shift. I can’t wait to leave her nosy butt behind and for Ciro to pick me up.

“I don’t get you. I’d so rather be alone,” she mutters and straightens her apron.

The bell over the entrance jingles again.

“Speaking of sexy devils and their pack.” Frieda glares at Ciro in the doorway and blows the leftover piece of Twizzler into the trashcan.

My heart does a leap, the way it always does when I see him. Behind him stand Ana and Aaron.

“Hey! What’re you doing?” I have no breath left knowing they all came to pick me up. Ciro is shockingly beautiful, freshly showered with golden just-fucked tips standing up in ruffled sections of his hair. Eyes gleaming, he looks me over like I’m a stunning piece of art.

“Hey, baby girl! I brought the pack to see where you spend your waking hours.”

“Ha, the pack,” Frieda repeats, trailing into a mock-laugh. “Ciro,” she adds and nods stiffly in passing. Thank goodness for her business guests.

Ciro squints before he responds in the same manner, “Frieda.”

“This place is awesome.” Ana hugs me, ample silicone bosom pillowing against me. She lowers her voice. “Ciro says the food is crazy good too. Want to eat here tonight instead of at Ocean Breeze?”

I widen both eyes and mouth to object, but she cuts in first. “Ha, like you want to be here when you’re off from work. Good one though, right?”

“Very good. I commend you,” I say.

Ciro loops me into his arms. With a quick scan of the locale, he finds it free of Il Signores. He rocks me, letting out a small m-hmm, as if he didn’t drop me off here at the beginning of my shift. “I’ve missed you.”

“Gah, they’re cu-u-ute,” Ana draws out. “Aren’t they, sweetie?”

Aaron grins politely. “Adorbs.”

At the house, I shower and put on makeup while Lin entertains my guests with magic tricks: how to make ping pong balls disappear from his hand and reappear in Ciro’s pants. Miraculously, we still get to the pier before the sun sets.

Pelicans dive over us and land with heavy thumps on the poles in a last hurrah before bedtime. The wind is brisk down here, which is in my favor, because Ciro makes it his mission to get rid of my goosebumps in that hard warmth of his.

Ocean Breeze, a rustic seafood restaurant, is situated at the furthest edge of the pier. Weather-worn steps make a semi-spiral up to the second floor where we enter and get seated.

Our waitress is a carbon copy of Carmen both in looks and level of absolutely charmed by my non-boyfriend. Is it odd that it makes me take his hand and put it in my lap?

“Champagne!” Ana orders. “A bottle. No, two, right?” She glances around at us, wiggling a little in her chair. I try not to think about why we’re celebrating, that my... what, exactly? (Frieda might be right in me obsessing over labels) is finished drilling her. I want to ask how she manages not to look sore. I want to ask Aaron how he manages to look genuinely excited for her.

“Let’s do one at a time,” Aaron decides but looks at Ana to make sure she agrees.

“Yes.” She claps small hands with French-tipped fingers. “One at a time, because the fizzzzz.” She pulls the zzz out for us, so I join her until we both laugh.

Ciro is beaming. I don’t think I’ve seen him so happy before.

“Do you have real champagne?” he asks the waitress.

She touches her chest as if he just asked her out. “I— Yes... Veuve Clicquot.”

“That’ll do. Right?” He double-checks with Ana, who claps again. Geez, her clapping is so funny.

“Yep, yep! Omigod. This film’s the one. It’s going to be awesome. Don’t you think? I’m so glad Lucid paid the money to get you in it. Now everyone’s going to watch it, and— and...”

“You did great,” Ciro replies, reminding me of a proud father. “Your girlfriend has become an amazing performer since the last time I worked with her. It wouldn’t surprise me if you snagged an award from it, Ana.”

“Oh god. Can you imagine?” Her voice breaks with excitement, and then she snuggles into her Aaron, who’s so, so happy for her. Wow, I can’t. Even.

Here I am, having a hard time connecting the dots between this conversation and the fact that Ciro just had sex with her for three days straight.

And then, here I am, a normal person, just a regular waitress and student, smiling and being on a date with him. And in between what he did with my new super-sweet friend, Ana, I’ve been in his arms—in his bed—with him in me.

I’m the first to grab my full glass of champagne, lifting it high and then downing the whole damn thing in two gulps. I shudder. Veuve Clicquot or not, if you down it like water, it’s going to hurt.

I don’t move out of the crook of Ciro’s arm until I’m three glasses in. By then, I’m relaxed enough to not feel absolutely weirded out.

I laugh a lot.

They laugh a lot.

There’s a game starting around the third bottle of champagne and after the second course—because we’re having courses—where, whenever one of us kiss our date, the other couple kisses too.

It’s childish. It’s ridiculous. It’s silly. The boys outdo each other, sticking their tongues down our throats like we’re all twelve. I almost choke once, which sends Ana to the floor. Or maybe it was her fifth glass of champagne that did it. The girl is tiny.

And not once does Ana or Ciro make any move toward each other. Perhaps that is what my thwarted brain understands the least.