Xavi came back from the studio just in time for his club set with Jazmin, leaving me alone to think about what I'd done. And think I did. All night long.

Her scent lingered in my nose, thrusting me back to our joint betrayal of Xavi's trust just hours before. The way her skin felt on mine, the taste of her kisses, her cries of pleasure as she bucked against my tongue, her warmth and the way she tasted down lower... I couldn't get it out of my head. I wanted more, and I felt fucking awful for it.

I was still awake when they stumbled back in at three o'clock in the morning, wasted from the drinks they threw back during and after their set. I sank into Xavi's embrace as he passed out beside me in bed with his arms wrapped tight around me and his tequila-laced breaths hitting my cheek.

I didn't sleep at all Saturday night.

Their hangovers kept them both in bed for most of yesterday, too. I was thankful for another delay in properly facing Xavi. I spent that time shifting between pacing in the living room and sitting with my feet tapping far too fast and erratic for it to be a beat. My heart felt like it would break through my ribcage any minute—for the entire day. I kind of wished it would, just to end the torture.

They pulled themselves together just in time for their final set of the weekend, swearing off alcohol for the rest of their lives as they went and knowing damn well they didn't mean a word of it. I paced until my legs started to hurt at around two o'clock, then retreated to Xavi's bed where I finally found sleep. I woke up in his arms to the sound of my alarm just three hours later, still exhausted and with a fluttering ache in my chest.

I'm so drained from the lack of sleep these last two nights that I can't even really remember how I ended up in the driver's seat of Xavi's white Camaro. We're already almost at the Beverly Hills mansion, though, so there's not much sense in protesting now. Xavi's fast asleep anyway, snoring gently with his feet on the dash and the passenger seat reclined.

As my eyes struggle to focus on the road, a tightness moves into my chest and my thoughts turn dark. What if we get into an accident? We come to a stop at a red light and a semi-truck passes in front of us, drawing my eyes to his feet once more. What if I didn't stop in time? My grip on the steering wheel tightens as I tear my eyes away in time for the light to turn green, and I slowly inch forward.

LA traffic knows how to keep me on my toes, though—not that I need any help these days—and a blue SUV comes barreling through the intersection in front of crossing traffic. I slam on the brakes much harder than I need to at my speed, launching Xavi forward as his eyes rip open to the sound of horns blaring and his hands fly out to steady himself. Traffic creeps forward again, and I watch with quiet satisfaction in my peripheral vision as his feet slowly lower to the floor.

"What the hell was that about?" he asks groggily as he relaxes back into his seat with an exhale.

"Someone ran a red light," I answer simply, not taking my eyes off the road. "I had to brake hard. You would have been mangled with your legs on the dash like that."

He snickers, shaking his head as it becomes a groan. "You sound like my mom."

His comment irks me more than I expect, sending my pulse into a frenzy once again. You sound like an idiot, I want to say. My fingers dig into the steering wheel so hard they just might leave an imprint.

"Damn," he sighs exaggeratedly out of nowhere.

What now? I snap in my head. Oh, how I'd love to say it, but I've never been the one to start confrontations.

Xavi continues anyway. "We already passed—"

"Yes," I interrupt him, anticipating the question about his favorite breakfast spot in LA. "In any case, I'm running late. We wouldn't have had time to stop."

He turns away as he yawns and then looks back at me, much to my chagrin. "Chris and Rigo wouldn't care," he replies dismissively.

They're not the ones I'm worried about.

I inhale sharply, attempting to focus my thoughts on the road ahead and nothing else. "I'd rather not push my luck."

He exhales heavily as his arms cross over his chest and he glares out his window. "Fine," he huffs.

Fine, I scoff in my mind. Of course it's fine.

We make it to the Beverly Hills mansion not long after, both still bitterly silent as I pull into Xavi's designated spot. Mariluz's red Compass is already parked beside the carport, because she and Kyle are already inside. It's five past nine. I'm late.

Xavi slides lazily out of his seat and stretches his arms above his head as he stands, groaning with exhaustion. He strides toward the trunk and pauses for a moment before waving his hand dismissively. "I'll grab our stuff later," he yawns.

I pop the trunk open anyway, not looking at him. "I want to bring it in now."

His hand appears on my suitcase before I can even reach for it. I step back as he pulls it out and slings his duffel bag over his shoulder. He doesn't look at me, but I can see the tension in his jaw as he slams the trunk closed and heads for the house without waiting for me.

You're making him hate you.

I follow after him slowly, my chest growing tighter with each step. Ending things will be easier if he hates me. I know this. I just... don't want him to hate me. The mere thought brings a tearful pinprick to my eyes. I still need him.

Rigo meets him at the door, watching his brother walk inside in a huff before looking back at me curiously. I swear I can see the hint of a smile on his lips, as if he's reveling in the disquiet of our relationship.

He is.

I keep my eyes ahead as I pass him, fighting back a scowl until my face is no longer in his line of sight. Xavi's already halfway up the stairs, and Kyle's boisterous laugh in the kitchen is all I can hear. I don't want to face my friends alone, but I can't ask for special attention anymore. Not after what I did this weekend.

"Ugh, where have you been?" Kyle complains from the island as I walk into the kitchen.

His greeting stuns me at first, because exactly one week ago was the last time my friends were happy to see me. But his eyes don't actually appear to be on me, and then I realize—after a moment frozen there like an absolute moron—that I'm standing in Rigo's way.

Right. Rigo actually likes Kyle.

"I had to let my brother in," he answers from behind me.

I quickly shuffle out of his way, taking the open seat beside Kyle as my cheeks burn up with embarrassment. Neither of them looks at me as I sit.

"You do everything for that kid," Kyle snickers, his eyes on his laptop screen as he types.

Shit. My laptop.

"His hands were full," Rigo replies with his narrowed eyes on me.

I look at the floor as I jump up from my seat and rush for the doorway, quietly muttering, "I forgot something," as I go.

My legs wobble up the stairs as the anxious trembles set in, and I'm tempted to ask Xavi to come downstairs with me anyway. He's somehow already fast asleep in his bed when I get up there, though; facedown with the comforter tossed lazily over his still-fully clothed body. Careful not to wake him, I begrudgingly pull my laptop out of my suitcase and trudge back to the kitchen alone.

Mariluz and Kyle once again have their noses stuck in their laptops when I get back, clacking away while Chris and Rigo scroll mindlessly on their phones. I take my seat beside Kyle again and hesitantly open my laptop. It quickly loads to my home screen, and that's all the time it takes for me to realize that I have no clue what we're working on right now.

I peek over at Kyle and Mariluz, and they keep on silently typing without acknowledging my presence. My gaze flicks across the island to Chris and Rigo, and they're equally oblivious to my return. Messaging it is, I guess.

Our team message app opens up to the last conversation we had while here. It's bland; all strictly professional messages bearing no resemblance to those we'd exchanged just the week before. No jokes, teasing, or fangirling in sight.

You're all alone again. Just like you deserve.

If my chest gets any heavier, I don't think I'll be able to hold myself up anymore. I swallow back the lump that forms in my throat and blink back the tears before they have a chance to fall as I start typing.

Lola M: Hey, what are we working on?

Mariluz C: script

Lola M: Any particular part?

Kyle G: I'm on the second Overcast

Mariluz C: I'm working on casting calls

Lola M: What should I work on?

Kyle G: Check the excel doc for what we need

Even with the expectation of their curtness, it still hurts. I close out the chat so I don't have to look at it anymore and open up the project document to find something to do. Except none of the letters on the screen combine to create anything sensible to my sleep-deprived brain. All I want to do is throw in the towel today and sleep.

Chris stands after a few minutes, snapping my attention away from the nonsense on my screen. "You guys want coffee?"

"I would blow you for some coffee right now," Kyle sighs in exaggerated relief as he closes his laptop.

"Kyle!" Mariluz chastises him with a gentle shove.

Chris's eyes narrow in response, now completely accustomed to Kyle's inappropriate comments. "I didn't ask if you wanted cream."

Without glancing up from his phone, Rigo chimes in, "I want some."

"Tell us something we don't know," Kyle fires back sarcastically.

"I will fuck your mother," Rigo threatens as his phone drops onto the island countertop.

Kyle smirks as his arms fold across his chest. "You're married."

Rigo smirks too. "Mi vida, puedo chingarme a su mamá?"

"Go for it," Chris calls back from the coffeepot.

"See?" Rigo snickers as his grin turns smug.

Kyle sighs with defeat. "Honestly, she could probably use it."

Rigo leans in, his eyebrows raised. "Ah, so you want a Mexican little brother?"

"I don't even think that's possible with her age," Kyle chuckles.

"I can make it happen."

Chris sets coffees in front of Rigo and Mariluz, pausing to glance between his husband and Kyle. "What do I get out of this?"

"La mamá de Mariluz," Rigo declares proudly.

She chokes on a sip of coffee and sets the mug down quickly, coughing hard. "No!"

Chris rolls his eyes as he heads back to grab the rest of the coffees. "You can't just offer up people's mothers."

"It's fair," Kyle disagrees, "as long as I get a turn with Papi Reyes himself."

Rigo bursts into laughter. "No mames!"

"Oh, come on!" Kyle whines. Chris sets his coffee in front of him with a snicker. "He's so hot!"

"I get a turn with him too, then," Mariluz asserts with a pout.

Kyle looks at me with a mischievous smirk; the first time he's broken his unspoken vow of strict professionalism with me. "Are Xavi's mom and Papi Reyes serious?"

"Uh—yeah, I'd say so," I answer with a hesitant laugh.

"If things ever seem rocky, let me know," he insists.

"Yeah, I don't see that happening," Chris maintains as he approaches with the last two cups of coffee—his and mine. He sets them down and gently slides mine across to me with a soft smile as our eyes meet.

"We're fucking your moms, so you can fuck Chris's mom," Rigo suggests, raising his mug to his lips. "I don't have a mom for you to fuck."

"I still didn't agree to this," Mariluz says flatly.

Kyle groans exaggeratedly as his shoulders drop. "Well then, let's make it dads! Wouldn't you rather fuck our dads, anyway?"

Rigo's eyes widen and his eyebrows knit together. "No."

Kyle squints skeptically at him. "You guys are gay, so why not?"

"I'm not gay," Rigo objects with a shrug.

"Oh god," Kyle sighs. He looks at Chris pleadingly. "Please tell me you're not still delusional too."

"Who cares?" Mariluz counters. "It's not public business."

Kyle shrugs. "They're going to be asked, regardless. Forgive me for caring if they sound dumb."

Chris shrinks down somewhat under the pressure of the question, chewing on his bottom lip as he stares into his coffee. "I'm bisexual. I didn't know that at first, but I know it now," he answers quietly.

I can sense his discomfort from across the island and feel a pang of guilt for not knowing how to soothe him the way he has me. Coming to terms with one's sexuality can be hard, and we've learned from these days with him that it's been a hellish process.

"But Rigo," Kyle begins, his frustration clear in his expression, "you're somehow still convinced—while married to a man whom you fuck every single day, mind you—that you're straight?"

Rigo purses his lips thoughtfully and nods once. "Sí."

"Interviews, Rigo," Kyle warns him. 

"Do you have a better answer?" Rigo challenges him, taking another sip of his coffee.

Mariluz perks up, her eyebrows furrowing pensively as she clears her throat. "Before Chris, you were only with women. Did you ever love any of them?" she inquires.

Now Rigo seems to mull it over properly. "One of them," he says after a moment.

"And you've never felt sexually attracted to another man before?" Kyle clarifies.

With a curt shake of his head, Rigo replies, "Nope."

I pull up The People Agenda's webpage as they speak, navigating to the sexuality glossary. I'm already pretty familiar with many of these terms, but Rigo's situation sounds like it may require some investigation.

"You've said you weren't attracted to Chris right away," Kyle muses, reading back his notes on his laptop now.

"Maybe we should be following the Split Attraction Model here," I suggest quietly. Rigo looks at me for a half-second, unamused by my contribution, and then back at my friends.

"What's that?" Chris inquires curiously, watching me with his full attention.

"It basically recognizes that sexual attraction and romantic attraction are two different things, so wanting to have sex with men wouldn't necessarily mean you want anything else with them. Just for one example," I explain, talking fast as his attention re-energizes me with fangirl adrenaline.

"What mixed with what, though?" Kyle presses, skimming the document with laser focus.

"Are Chris and that one woman the only ones you've ever been romantically attracted to?" Mariluz poses. "Or have you felt romance with others?"

"No romance," Rigo confirms. "It was just sex."

Mariluz grins. "Maybe you're demiromantic, like me."

Interest flashes in his eyes. "Qué es eso?"

"It's when you only feel romantic attraction for people after building a connection with them," Mariluz explains with pride.

His eyes and Chris's meet for a moment, appearing to reach an understanding. "Sí, that sounds right."

"What about the sexual attraction?" Kyle presses, determined to find a complete answer.

"Maybe bisexual," Mariluz says. "You can still prefer one gender more than the other."

Rigo grimaces at the label, exhaling heavily. "Es que, I really don't like men like that," he clarifies, appearing pensive. "Just Chris."

We fall into thoughtful silence for a few minutes, the three of us from The People Agenda researching possible sexualities for Rigo while he sips coffee and thinks about the way he can label his feelings. My eyes glance through the sexualities list quickly, skimming for the ones that allow for multiple genders; bisexuality, pansexuality, and omnisexuality being the big three.

There are other, more specific sexualities with a preference for more than one gender, but I'm confident that one of these broader categories will fit him. There is a lot of overlap between them, and people may identify with one for a period and decide that another fits better later on. With sexuality being the spectrum that it is, general preference toward certain traits in a partner—including gender—still makes them all valid labels for people like Rigo.

I stand abruptly, drawing everyone's eyes to me, and slide my laptop across the island toward Chris. I know Rigo is the one who really needs to look at it, but he won't appreciate anything coming from me.

"I think one of these might work," I tell him confidently.

Chris pulls the laptop between them and eagerly reads. Rigo isn't as enthusiastic to look at it, but he sighs in defeat and leans in for a read. His gruffness falls away quickly as he reads though, the words finally piquing his interest. He points at one on the screen as his eyes lock with Chris's again, and he nods.

"Pansexual," he announces, his voice somewhat uncertain as he slides the computer back to me.

"Okay!" Kyle chirps giddily. "It's finally confirmed: Chris Ellington is bisexual, and Rigo Reyes is demiromantic and pansexual. And I don't ever want to hear the words 'I'm not gay' out of either of your mouths again." He grins widely at them, resting his chin in his hands with a content sigh.

"Yes sir," Chris concedes, lifting his coffee to his lips with relief.

As everyone returns to enjoying their coffees and conversing, I'm left to my increasingly dark thoughts.

You're still lesbian, and still engaged to a man you can never love. Now you're a fucking cheater on top of it.

That vision of rushing waters and a rocky fall floods my mind for the first time in a long time, and it's calming. Sweet release, that's all it looks like. Sweet, sweet release.