All of this truly feels plucked from a rom-com movie. Images of Rafayel’s face, of his fairy-tale smile, his heartthrob hair, and his green eyes are cast through my mind like a kaleidoscope.
And once I finally begin to drift, all I see is green, and nothing else. As it should be.
Nineteen
It’s a text I never thought I’d receive fromMarlon Salvadoron a Wednesday night. If you told the Jaslene from a year ago - hell, eventwomonths ago - that she’d be watching rom-com movies with her childhood rival, she’d likely laugh in your face. Then walk right into the ocean.
My eyes trace the text over and over, as the notification floats above the wallpaper of Marlon and I, and my stomach rolls oddly, in a way that it should only be rolling for her crush. ForRafayel.
He still hasn’t replied to a text I sent a couple of hours ago, asking what he’s up to. He must be busy. Earlier today, when I called Kiara to update her on everything that transpired between Rafayel and I, she reminded me not to overthink him too much. Already, in the few weeks she’s known me, she’s become an expert on my delusional character.
“But what if he gets sick of me?” I had whined to her, to which she chastised me for jumping to such a conclusion when I’d barely had his number for a day.
When I asked her about her and Riley’s date, Kiara bashfully told me how she’d held her hand all night, and kissed her.
It seems all the narratives around me are falling rightfully into place. I hope, truly hope, that mine is too.
Marlon comes over just a little after dinner, with a container of ube cupcakes, baked fresh from his cousin Henry.
Unexpectedly, Mum gushes at this gesture, pulling me aside in the kitchen as Marlon heads upstairs.
“Look at him bringing ube cupcakes for you,” she coos, taking a bite from the cupcakes that were supposedly mine.
I roll my eyes.
“That’s forallof us, Mum,” I remind her.
She pokes my stomach, and I flinch at the contact, nerves ringing through me.
“You both enjoy your movie night, okay?”
I grab two cupcakes, a bag of chips, and a takeaway container of leftover pork barbeque from when my family had dinner with Lolo and Lola last Friday, before heading upstairs, my heart strangely thumping.
I half-expect Marlon to have made himself entirely at home, strewn on the couch.
He proves me wrong. He sits rigid on the couch, as if waiting for my permission to get comfortable. The sight makes me want to laugh. He’s been here many times before, mostly here to break my stuff, and yet he’s acting like it’s his first time.
I throw the bag of chips at him. Ever the basketball player, he catches it immediately, reflexes coming into play.
“Make yourself comfortable already,” I say, and take a seat on the other side of the couch, sinking into it. I splay my legs over the armrest, and he watches me, amused.
“Well, aren’tyoua sight for sore eyes, Garcia,” he scoffs, and I kick off my slippers, revealing my bare feet.
With Marlon, I don’t have to worry about my composure, and I like that. He leans back a little more, finally relaxing.
“So what did you want to watch?” I ask, grabbing the remote. Then, a little more quietly, in case my Mum is nearby, I ask, “And why did you want to do this in the first place?”
Marlon leans in a little closer, and my heart jumps unexpectedly.
“Well, I thought as per our contract that I should see firsthand how the romance heroes in your love movies act. You know, for tips and tricks. To up my irresistible swooniness, you know?” he whispers, wiggling his brows.
I swat at him, before he chuckles. A pang rings through my body, almost like envy, shocking me. As always, I choose to ignore it.
“Well, you’re lucky you’ve got me,” I proclaim, navigating to my Netflix account.
I flick through a few of my favourite romance titles, wondering which would be the best to show Marlon. I eventually settle onPride & Prejudice.
“I’ve seen this around,” Marlon says, taking a bite from the ube cupcake.
