Page 40 of Along Came Amor
She turned the page to a tell-all from a former child star. “Well, they still have plenty of time to plan.”
A pair of salon aestheticians entered the room and Romanstopped talking about his notoriously private friend. But when he glanced at his phone, he saw he had a text from Ashton. Speak of el diablo.
Ashton:Boarding our flight. Sorry we missed you. It was Jasmine’s cousin’s birthday.
Roman:It’s cool. I’ll be in California in a couple months. We’ll meet up then.
Ashton:Oh, and thanks for the signed Jeter jersey. Yadi está que se mea.
Roman grinned at the implication that Ashton’s son was so happy, he was pissing himself. A second later, a photo of Yadi wearing a blue and white Yankees jersey and a huge smile popped up on the screen.
Not for the first time, Roman was glad he and Ashton had reconnected. The two of them had met in Miami in their early twenties. Roman had been fresh out of college and working as a bartender while he applied for jobs he wasn’t sure he wanted. Dulce had a friend whose cousin was a casting director, and while auditioning for a telenovela, Roman had crossed paths with Ashton, an aspiring actor newly arrived from Puerto Rico.
The second Roman had seen the other man, he’d been sure Ashton would get the part. Ashton was tall and handsome, and Roman had been floored by how quickly Ashton’s entire personality and demeanor shifted when he was in character. Witnessing the transformation had given Roman permission to delve more fully into his own role, and by the time they’d leftthe studio, they’d formed a bond. Fortunately,Recuerdos Peligrososhad revolved around two brothers who loved the same woman, so they’d both gotten cast.
The experience of filming together had cemented their friendship, and even after Roman left show business, they’d remained thick as thieves.
Until one day, Ashton had dropped off the face of the planet. He still appeared in telenovelas, but he’d become famously reclusive, not answering phone calls or emails.
Roman couldn’t say it hadn’t hurt. He’d wondered if he’d done something, but whenever Ashton did reply, he just said he was working a lot, or that he was busy with his family. Eventually, Roman had taken the hint and left him alone.
Then, a year and a half ago, Roman had been buying mints during a layover at Chicago O’Hare when he’d seen Ashton’s face on the cover of a magazine. Roman couldn’t resist buying it, and from his first-class seat he read about the son Ashton had hidden from the world for eight years.
Most of the article had been speculation, but it had included some blurry photos of Yadiel, along with pictures of Ashton and Jasmine.
Roman had texted Ashton immediately, just a single word: “Drinks?”
He’d waited, chest tight, bracing himself for silence, or a refusal, or another “I’m busy,” until he saw the indication that Ashton was typing back. A second later, a reply popped up: “Sí.”
They met up in New York at a speakeasy, and it was like they’d never been apart. Ashton had explained everything and apologized for shutting Roman out. Roman, happy to have his friend back and to finally know why Ashton had disappeared, forgave him. They laughed over the crow’s feet and gray hairsthey’d developed since the last time they’d gotten trashed together, and proceeded to drink too many gin and tonics before parting for the night. Shortly after, Roman took a rare day off to meet Yadiel and Jasmine. From then on, he made time for them whenever he could and did his level best to spoil Yadi rotten and earn the “tío” label he’d been given.
The phone rang before Roman could text Ashton again, and the name of Roman’s publicist, Nigella Daniels, popped up on the screen.
Roman hesitated. He knew why Nigella was calling, and he didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with his mother present.
“Answer it,” Dulce said, not looking up from the magazine. “I don’t mind.”
Biting back a sigh, Roman accepted the call and raised the phone to his ear. “Hi Nigella. And no, I haven’t been avoiding you.”
“Glad to hear it.” Nigella’s tone, as always, was a mix of cheerful and hurried. “The HIV/AIDS research fundraiser gala is next week. Did you line up your plus-one?”
Roman sighed, remembering how Ava had erected her boundaries before he could even consider how to issue the invitation. “Not yet.”
“Well, there’s going to be a lot of Broadway people there, and Anastasia Marquez would love to go, if you want a companion. Do you remember her? She’s—”
“I remember her,” Roman broke in.
Anastasia was an up-and-coming stage actress, a triple threat of incredible talent. Roman had escorted her to last year’s Met Gala and attended the premiere of her current Broadway show,Light It Up, over the summer.
The “Dominican Diva,” as she called herself—a nod to her opera background—was an excellent plus-one. She was confident and charismatic, had a great sense of humor, and knew how to rock a designer dress.
The only problem was, both times he’d seen Anastasia, they’d ended up going back to her tiny walk-up apartment in Hell’s Kitchen to fuck.
Roman thought of Ava. They’d spent only two nights together, three months apart, and he wasn’t even allowed to text her unless she initiated contact first. The boundaries were glaringly clear.
So why did the thought of attending an event with another woman, one he’d previously been happy to engage in adult activities with, strike him as wrong?
“Thanks, but I’ll go on my own,” he told Nigella. “Need to make it an early night.”
