Even though there are plenty of other places to sit, someone walks through the empty row and stops at the seat right next to me. I’m about to tell them to find a different spot, but when I see who it is, I keep quiet. 

He holds up two bottles. “Hard cider or boozy lemonade?”

I take the lemonade as Jesse sits down beside me. 

“I didn’t picture you as a fan of musical comedies, Richie.” 

“Richard. I like classic films. And Kelly and O’Connor are comic geniuses.”

Jesse nods. “That may be true, but I’m here solely for Cyd Charisse. That woman has legs. Hell, that woman islegs.”

As the movie plays, he leans toward me to tell me things I didn’t know. It feels strange because I’m usually the film expert. But musical theater is not my focus, and it’s his major.

I find out that Cyd Charisse had polio as a child and that Gene Kelly did his own choreography to make sure no one could tell that he was shorter than Cyd Charisse.

Jesse doesn’t whisper, which I appreciate. Whispers carry in a quiet theater. He knows how to speak softly, his head near my shoulder, so only I can hear. 

I do know some things about the movie; at one point we turn to each other to share the same information: “They mixed milk with the water so the rain would show up better on film,” I say.

“Which made his wool suit shrink. And he was running a fever for the whole shoot,” Jesse adds.

After the movie we head to the bar down the street that serves deep fried pickles, which are unexpectedly decent when dipped in ranch. I don’t know why I agreed to go with him. I had planned to head back to my room, but I enjoyed his company more than I expected.

Jesse orders for both of us. Whoever is carding people is not even trying. Jesse looks like he’s fourteen. Well, maybe not—he’s not that scrawny. But he doesn’t look anywhere near 21.

He gets a beer for me and a fruity drink for himself. The beer tastes like piss. I bet his drink is better.

“Want some, Richie?” he asks.

“Richard.” I take a sip. It’s so sweet it makes my tongue curl. 

Jesse grins again. He smiles a lot. “So—neither beer nor mai tais are your drink?”

“Not this beer anyway.”

“Mm hmm…” Jesse drums his fingers on the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll find your drink.” He orders himself another mai tai and a mojito for me.

Better.

“Still too sweet?” Jesse takes a sip of his mai tai.

“I can’t tell yet.”

Jesse’s brother is a bartender, so he knows every drink there is. He rattles off a list of ones he thinks I might like. 

I’m not much concerned with finding “my drink.” But I enjoy watching Jesse when he is talking about his long-term plan to educate my palate. He talks with his hands when he gets excited. 

“Okay, movie guy,” Jesse fixes me with a serious look, templing his fingers. “Best classic movie?”

“How classic? Color or black and white?”

“Gimme one of each,” he says.

“Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope is the finest movie ever made. And for black and white? Roman Holiday.”

Jesse nods thoughtfully. “I’ve actually never seen Roman Holiday.”

I frown and shake my head. “Are you even allowed to be gay if you haven’t seen Roman Holiday? I’m pretty sure they kick you out of the club.”

Jesse waves a finger at me. “Ah, well… That’s a common misconception. It is suggested, but not required, that you are familiar with Audrey’s entire filmography. I’ve seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

“Not her finest. I mean, she’s great in it, of course. And the imagery of New York is iconic. But it’s not a favorite. What’s your classic film?”

“I don’t actually know a lot of old movies. Oh, how about White Christmas?”

I grimace.

“What? It’s a classic.”

“It's a ripoff of Holiday Inn, but in color and without Fred Astaire.”

“Okay, okay! New topic,” Jesse says, waving a white cocktail napkin in surrender.

I don’t remember what else we talk about. I know I say some things that come off as rude or insensitive, because Jesse laughs at me quite frequently and shakes his head.

A lot of people take things I say the wrong way. It’s a pain in the ass to navigate constant misunderstandings with people I don’t know, so it’s nice that Jesse can figure out what I am actually trying to say. And he thinks it’s “cute” when I’m too direct and say things that might be rude. 

“You look terrible,” I tell him after his second mai tai. His cheeks are flushed and he looks ready to pass out.

“Wow. You really know how to make a gal feel special.”

“ALDH2.”

“What?” Jesse turns his bleary eyes toward me.

“That’s why you're flushed. And probably feel like crap. The enzyme to break down alcohol doesn’t work. Common in people of Asian descent.”

Jesse stares at me with his eyes wide open, unblinking. Like I’m speaking a foreign language. I guess I am. “Biochemistry major.”

 “Huh. Biochem for the win. Also—even alcohol is racist? That totally sucks.”

“We should go back to the dorm.”

He stumbles when he stands up and I grab his elbow to steady him. 

“Looks like your boyfriend has had enough,” the bartender says as we walk past. Then he mutters as an aside: “You’re welcome,” and gives me a wink. 

I stop and slap my hand on the bar. “Did you do something to his drinks? Maybe make them a little too strong?” 

Jesse puts his hand on my arm. “Whoa there, tiger. Leave the poor man alone. You already explained the chemistry to me, science boy. And honestly I should know better than to drink above my weight class.”

When we get back to the dorm there is a note on Jesse’s door that says: “Stay Out. Busy.” There are muffled moans coming from behind the door.

He shrugs. “Guess I’ll be couch surfing again.” He fumbles for his phone

“Does he do this a lot? Kick you out? Without warning?” This sort of behavior is not making me think any better of Nick. 

“There’s a reason you haven’t seen much of me.”

“I’ve seen plenty of you. Your bathrobe leaves little to the imagination.”

“Richie! A gentleman does not divulge such indelicate information.” He gasps in pretend shock, clutching his hands to his chest.

“My cover is blown. Not a gentleman. You should stay here.”

“You mean in the hallway? Because that isn’t a very appealing choice. I mean, it’s a fine place to linger for a while, but it doesn’t really have what I’m looking for in terms of amenities for overnight accommodations.”

“Not the hallway. My room. I have an extra bed. You can go get the stuff you need from your room in the morning. Unless you want me to pound on the door for you now. I’m pretty sure Nick is afraid of me.”

Jesse laughs. “Yes to the room, no to the intimidation. Although it’s a kind offer. I can tell that it comes from a place of love.”

Matt’s bed doesn’t have bedding on it, but I have a spare set of sheets. I toss them at Jesse. “Here.” I also get him a water bottle and a couple of Advil. 

“Friends don’t let friends go to bed drunk and dehydrated,” Jesse says. Then he blows me a kiss and then strips down to his boxers.

When he changed out of his robe before I hadn’t actually seen anything since my back was turned. But my back isn’t turned now. Before he gets under the covers I get a clear view of his dancer’s physique.

And… damn.