I liked making ttes. My favorite part was drawing the little designs in the foam. Tulips, and rosettes, and hearts. A lot of hearts today, because it was Valentine's Day.

  Fuck Valentine’s Day.

  Valentine's Day was the most bullshit, unfair, lopsided holiday ever. As if modern romance wasn't already bad enough, Valentine's Day took that dynamic and cranked it to one hundred. Men were expected to do everything. Pn a date, buy chocote and flowers, pay for dinner, and treat their women like princesses. You couldn't miss a single step, or you clearly didn't care about the retionship. But you couldn't be cliche either, because then your heart wasn't in it. Everything had to be perfect, and spontaneous, and you couldn't fuck up even for a second. The amount of expectations pced on men was ridiculous. How was I supposed to live up to that?

  I mean, not that it had ever actually been an issue. No girl had ever gone out with me, let alone on Valentine's Day. And it's not like I hadn't tried. Back in high school I spent hours searching through Valentine's cards, trying to find the perfect one, write the perfect message, pick the perfect girl who might actually give me a chance. All I ever got was rejection. I remember eagerly watching my crush read the hand-made card I left in her locker, and the way her face fell with disappointment when she realized it was from me. When I cried to my grandma about it ter that day, she expined that it was just the way of the world. Women had certain expectations for the type of men they want to be with, and short, weedy, nerdy little Emmett Garcia didn't live up to them.

  But I had a job to do, so here I was on Valentine's Day, at Gold Medal Cafe, drawing hearts in the tte art for happy couples to coo over together. It wasn't so bad, as long as…

  “Garcia!” my manager, Oscar, barked at me from the cash register, “A customer needs your expertise.”

  I groaned internally. That only ever meant one thing. Sure enough, when I trudged over from the coffee machine, I saw the customer in question was a gorgeous Latina, impatiently checking her phone as she waited for service.

  I opened my mouth to compin, but Oscar was already moving on. No matter how many times I told him I couldn't speak Spanish, he refused to listen. I was Latino, and therefore I must be fluent, and therefore it was my job to handle any customer who wanted to order en Espa?ol. Or en Portuguese, since Oscar couldn't tell the difference.

  My hands were already sweating as I summoned the courage to speak.

  “Um, ho,” I started mely, “Que cafe te gusta?”

  The dy looked up at me sharply, clearly appalled by my botched pronunciation. She was extremely pretty, which didn't help how embarrassed I felt.

  “The fuck was that?” she said, in lightly accented English, “I’ll just have a tte. Grande, That means big, by the way.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I bowed my head, cheeks burning, and fumbled for the register to input her order. Fucking Oscar! Had she even tried to order in Spanish in the first pce, or did he just take one look at her and assume?

  The customer sighed, and held out a handful of bills for me. I took it meekly and hesitated. She was really pretty, and she was all alone on Valentine' Day, and she seemed upset about it. Should I… should I ask her out?

  I knew I should. I would be stupid to pass up the opportunity with a girl this pretty, even if it was a long shot. I took a shaky breath and asked, “Hey, um, w-would you maybe want to, um, get coffee sometime?”

  She looked at me with disgust, “Yeah buddy, that's why I'm here.”

  “R-right,” I blushed, then I hit the wrong button on the register and it let out an angry beep and locked up.

  “For fuck’s sake,” she groaned, “Can anything go right today?”

  “Sorry!” I squeaked, frantically trying to fix my mistake and almost dropping her money all over the floor in the process, “I'll just try and–”

  I felt a firm, comforting hand on my shoulder and a deep, warm voice said, “I got this. Buenos dias, chica. Can I help you?”

  “Oh!” the dy perked up and smiled over my shoulder, “You sure can.”

  I sighed and stepped away, letting Tony take over.

  “Hold up, Emmett,” he said, and held out his hand.

  “Oh, right,” I said, and handed him the money.

  He picked up smoothly, fixing the register in an instant and casually flirting with the customer in Spanish until she was blushing and giggling. Typical.

  Tony Pérez was everything I wasn't. Tall, muscur, cssically handsome. Looking at him, you would think he was a model or a professional athlete, but he was just a college student like me. Except that he was nothing like me. Tony was confident and easy-going and seemed to always be in control of the situation. He was exactly the type of guy my grandma wanted me to be, except for the fact he was bisexual. It wasn't just the female customers he flirted with, I had seen him get more than a few numbers from guys, too. Everyone loved Tony. To be honest, I really envied him. Besides the whole dating guys thing, obviously.

  Tony finished up with the customer and handed her the receipt. She scribbled her number and handed it back to him with a grin. I shook my head and started making her coffee. No tte art for her.

  Ugh, fine. I gave her a boring rosette just to be professional. When I handed her the coffee, she gave me a dirty look, like I was a gross little bug or something.

  I scowled and turned back to Tony.

  “I fucking love Valentine's Day, dude,” he said.

  I blinked, “What?”

  “It's so cute,” he said, beaming out at the cafe full of happy couples on cute coffee dates, “Everyone's so happy and in love. It's nice to see.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I grumbled, “Everything's so easy for you.”

  He frowned, “What do you mean?”

  “Girls love you!” I blurted out, “You're so tall and hot and confident. You can just take anyone you want! It's not easy for guys like me.”

  “Hey, don't say that,” he said, “I’m sure tons of girls are into you.”

  “Yeah right,” I said, “I've never even been on a date.”

  Tony’s jaw dropped, “Really?”

  “Yes?” I huffed, “Obviously. Look at me. I'm a fucking shrimp. I have a weak jaw, and a negative canthal tilt, and I get all stupid and nervous when I talk to hot girls. That customer was looking at me like I was shit on her shoe.”

  “You've really never been on a date?” Tony said.

  “Sure, just rub it in,” I muttered.

  “Sorry, it's just… hard to believe,” he said, “I dunno what a negative cantalope is, but you're cute, dude. Lots of girls are into short guys.”

  “Maybe,” I said bitterly, “But I would still have to ask them out without turning into a fucking mess. God, I wish just once someone would ask me out for a change.”

  “Okay,” Tony grinned, “Emmett, will you be my Valentine?”

  I jumped, for real actually jumped, like I had been shocked.

  “What?” I said.

  “I'm serious,” Tony said, “You're cute. I like talking to you. I'm not doing anything tonight. Let's go out.”

  My face felt all hot, and my stupid hands were shaking again. Tony Pérez was actually asking me out? Me?

  “W-what about that girl who just gave you her number?”

  Tony snorted, “The one who was treating you like shit? Fuck her.” He screwed up the receipt and tossed it in the trash pipe, then looked back at me expectantly, “So, how about it? Will you be my Valentine?”

  “Um,” I blushed. Obviously I didn't want to be a guy’s Valentine. Obviously. I opened my mouth to respond, trying to stop my lips from trembling, but then Oscar popped his head out from the storeroom and spotted us.

  “Hey!” Oscar snapped, “Garcia, Perez, back to work!”

  “Sorry, boss,” Tony waved nguidly. Oscar rolled his eyes and ducked away again.

  I got back to work, feeling slightly dizzy. Luckily, I didn't have to do much thinking. With Tony on the register, I didn't have to worry about talking to people and could just focus on making the coffees they asked for, the way I liked it. Tony welcomed the next customer, a burly white guy with a beard, and within a few moments had him blushing and giggling just like the st one.

  He really wanted to spend his Valentine's Day with me? Sure, it was out of pity, but still, something about it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Tony asked me on a date. He asked me, without me even having to do anything to deserve it!

  It was only a couple of minutes ter that I remembered the big problem with that.

  “Tony,” I hissed. He looked up from the register, concerned, “I'm not gay.”

  “What?” Tony ughed.

  “I'm not gay!” I said firmly, “So this date better just be as friends, okay? Because I'm not going to, y'know…”

  Tony covered his grin behind his hand, “Jeez Emmett, it's only a first date. Don't get too excited.”

  I blushed bright red and his face softened, “For real, dude, it's cool. Just as friends, I got it.”

  “Okay,” I breathed a sigh of relief. I wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea. “Sorry, I know you probably have actual dates you could be going on…”

  “Hey,” Tony pointed at me seriously, “You already promised you’d be my Valentine. Don't try and back out of it now.”

  “Okay,” I blushed.

  “Perfect,” said Tony, “I'll pick you up at six.”

  “Okay,” I said again. Why was I so tongue-tied?

  “It's a date,” Tony grinned.

  The next few hearts I drew came out a little shaky, but for some stupid reason I couldn't stop smiling for the rest of my shift. I had a date!

  Maybe Valentine’s Day wasn't so bad after all.