Friday night.

Little Temple, Silverlake.

We’re in the first room, closest to the door taking advantage of what little breeze actually comes through the door. The hottest day of the year has turned in to the hottest night of the year. It’s insufferable.

My favorite people are there. They’ve come out all the way from Ontario and Hacienda Heights to celebrate with me. They don’t seem to be enjoying themselves. Mike, my sister’s boyfriend, complains that his jack and coke costs too much. I look at him like he’s from the Inland Empire (IE) and has never been to an LA club. I wish he’d stop complaining. After all, he saved ten bucks on the cover charge because I know the DJ and he gladly put us on the guest list.

The Little Temple is my favorite spot to dance and chill. The music is a mix of good hip hop, some old school R&B, pop, and reggae. Of course, the DJs are not so snooty they won’t play the average overproduced pop or hip hop booty song.

I’m feeling good in spite of the heat, Mike’s complaining, and my guests’ unwillingness to get up and dance. I’m pretty sure my mood is a byproduct of still being in las nubes the night before. And I look good.
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I checked my cell phone for the fourth time in 10 minutes.

6:30.

Ojitos was running late. The show would be starting soon and we still had to pick up snacks and drinks. Although the Los Lobos concert was only a few miles away, I worried we wouldn’t be able to find parking. The beach was bound to be packed for a free show.

He called. Did he get lost, I wondered? No, he was on my street, which he insisted was pronounced with a long A rather than the short A.

I grabbed my things and walked out to greet him. Unlike the Sunday comedy show, all jitters were gone.

He stood outside his car smiling. I hugged him and breathed in the lingering scent of coconut sunblock. He was handsome and casual in a light blue Ñoño t-shirt, jeans, a green track jacket, and Chucks. I smiled as I noticed how that we were dressed similarly (my black t-shirt depicted an Aztec rockero). It was only fitting that I’d be attracted to a guy who looked great in the standard Chicano uniform.
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Ojitos was a different kind of guy. Getting to know him was simultaneously new and familiar. At the same time I was learning more about him, I felt like he already knew me. I wondered if he’d read my blog. He was saying and doing all the right things.

I liked it, but it made me feel a bit uneasy. So I kept my guard up. While Ojitos would be frank and sweet, I’d be a little sarcastic not quite ready to show just how much I liked him.

***

H (cheese party hostess): How’s Ojitos?
Me: Cool. He’s super sweet and bit cheesy. The guys I date aren’t usually like that.
H: Well, he certainly seems like he likes you. He had to ask his friend for your info.
Me: I know, but it all makes me wonder. Is he sincere? Does he mean what he says? Or is he just spouting lines?
H: You’re probably overthinking it.
Me: What if he’s just being so nice and sweet because he’s trying to get in to my pants or needs a green card?
H: *gasp* I can’t believe you said that!
Me: It’s okay. I’m Mexican…
H: Still…
Me: It was a joke. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need a green card. Okay, so how do I know?
H: You’ll just have to wait.

***

I didn’t have to wait long. A few hours after my frozen yogurt session with H, Ojitos admitted that he had been “kinda giddy” since he’d met me. That was enough for me.

After all, if I could have that effect on him, he had to be sincere.