The Cheat Sheet

I don’t know about this one. Sounds kind of douchebaggy. “What do you mean? Just like wink randomly? I don’t think I’m a winker.”

“Yeah, you know, say something sexy first, and then just…” He gives me the most suave wink I’ve ever seen. I try to mirror it back at him and he grimaces. “Work on it.”

“Forget his weird winking. You need to brush a stray hair away,” says Price.

I look at him. “Expound.”

“Don’t you watch movies? You gotta wait until a piece of her hair falls into her face and then use your fingers to brush it back from her temple. Here, watch.” He leans forward and demonstrates on me, looking deep into my eyes then slowly brushing an imaginary lock of hair behind my ear.

“Damn,” says Lawrence. “I felt that all the way over here.”

I point at the board. “Write it down.”

He obeys, and we all get to work brainstorming the most romantic ideas we can think of, debating back and forth about what level of physical touch belongs to which week and whether a food fight would actually be as sexy in real life as it always plays out in the movies. There’s also a sketchy idea of pretending the power gets knocked out so I have to fill the room with candles. I have no idea how I would make that one happen.

Finally, after our list is full, Lawrence writes “first real make-out” for item number 20. Derek wanted to write a different word on that line, but I wouldn’t let him. That’s not what this is about for me. I’m not trying to work my way into Bree’s bed; I’m trying to show her that I want a relationship with her. I want to be committed to her in a way I’ve never been with anyone else.

Later that night, when our whiteboard is completely full of notes and ideas, I hear my front door handle jiggle. The only other person besides my housekeeper who has a key is Bree, and it’s way too late for anyone to be coming to clean my place.

I shoot up out of my chair. “It’s Bree. Hide the board!”

Everyone hops out of their chairs and starts scrambling around and bumping into each other like a classic cartoon. We hear the door shut behind her, and the whiteboard is still standing in the middle of the kitchen like a lit-up marquee. I hiss at Jamal, “Get rid of it!”

His eyes are wide orbs, head whipping around in all directions. “Where? In the utensil drawer? Up my shirt?! There’s nowhere! That thing is huge!”

“LADY IN THE HOUSE!” Bree shouts from the entryway. The sound of her tennis shoes getting kicked off echoes around the room, and my heart races up my throat.

Her name is pasted all over that whiteboard along with phrases like “first kiss—keep it light” and “entwined hand-holding” and “dirty talk about her hair”.

Yeah…I’m not sure about that last one, but we’ll see. Basically, it’s all laid out there—the most incriminating board in the world. If Bree sees this thing, it’s all over for me.

“Erase it!” Price whispers frantically.

“No, we didn’t write it down anywhere else! We’ll lose all the ideas.”

I can hear Bree’s footsteps getting closer. “Nathan? Are you home?”

“Uh—yeah! In the kitchen.”

Jamal tosses me a look like I’m an idiot for announcing our location, but what am I supposed to do? Stand very still and pretend we’re not all huddled in here having a Baby-Sitter’s Club re-enactment? She would find us, and that would look even worse after keeping quiet.

“Just flip it over!” I tell anyone who’s not running in a circle chasing his tail.

As Lawrence flips the whiteboard, Price tells us all to act natural. So of course, the second Bree rounds the corner, I hop up on the table, Jamal rests his elbow on the wall and leans his head on his hand, and Lawrence just plops down on the floor and pretends to stretch. Derek can’t decide what to do so he’s caught mid-circle. We all have fake smiles plastered on. Our acting is shit.

Bree freezes, blinking at the sight of each of us not acting at all natural. “Whatcha guys doing?”

Her hair is a cute messy bun of curls on the top of her head and she’s wearing her favorite joggers with one of my old LA Sharks hoodies, which she stole from my closet a long time ago. It swallows her whole, but since she just came from the studio, I know there is a tight leotard under it. I can barely find her in all that material, and yet she’s still the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Just her presence in this room feels like finally getting hooked up to

oxygen after days of not being able to breathe deeply.

We all respond to Bree’s question at the same time but with different answers. It’s highly suspicious and likely what makes her eyes dart to the whiteboard. Sweat gathers on my spine.

“What’s with the whiteboard?” she asks, taking a step toward it.

I hop off the table and get in her path. “Huh? Oh, it’s…nothing.”

She laughs and tries to look around me. I pretend to stretch so she can’t see. “It doesn’t look like nothing. What? Are you guys drawing boobies on that board or something? You look so guilty.”