Almost

Super Bowl 1966 ring, Jostens.com

“I almost miss The Boy.” I put my lips to my latte, and the kiss of bitter espresso drowning in the soy milk is faint, like a memory of taste.

“Well, that’s understandable,” says Charlie. “You guys dated a long time, right?”

“Yeah, on and off,” I say. “He really became a part of my life. Of my blog.” I sigh. “I wrote about him a lot. People really liked the stories.”

“It’s tough when a relationship ends,” says Charlie.

The waiter comes and balances the bill on the edge of the table. “Mind if we split the tab?” I ask him. “I don’t want Charlie to feel any pressure to put out.”

The waiter smiles, and nods.

“If we have sex, I want him to want it, too,” I explain. “And that’s not because I respect him. It’s just otherwise he probably won’t give me brain.” We slide our credit cards in and the waiter leaves.

“I almost don’t know what to write about anymore,” I tell Charlie. “I’ve even considered not writing about overpriced sex and shoes. I mean, overpriced shoes and sex. What if I covered sports?”

“Do you like sports?”

“I’ve always loved the metaphor of the athlete, the idea of training your whole life for something.” The waiter returns, and I scribble three loops on the check for my signature. “I also really like the insane amount of money in sports. And those Super Bowl rings are rather boss.” I gaze into my soy latte and stir the drink, and the bubbles in the thick froth pop, winking at me from inside the cup. I look up. “Charlie, I’ve a proposition for you. What if we start having sex and discussions about money, and I write about it?”

“Great,” he laughs. “Only I’m gay, remember?”

“Perfect: my name’s Kristopher, and I like it up the ass. Literally, not figuratively. What do you say? We could have threesomes in Thailand with barely legals, and write it off for a tax deduction.”

“But I’m not into girls, Kris. Nothing personal.”

“And then, what if we get into a fight? Perhaps we were both into the menage originally, but your admiration for the hooker’s bad boob job brings out this hidden jealousy and really challenges our relationship.”

“Yeah, that might work,” he says. “If you were a man.”

“I have a brain like a man. And I can buy a strap-on. What do you think?”

“I’m gay.”

“You’re in med school, which is just like college, only maybe it matters. Experiment a little with heterosexuality, Charlie.”

“You’re not going to write about this, are you?”

“Hmm?” I sip my latte, and I already feel the caffeine flirting with my blood, buzzing through my smile. “Did you hear the Super Bowl is this weekend? Isn’t that the fashion week of football?”

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"Almost" keywords: Cover Story, Fashion, Jewelry, SEX .
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