They're Playing Our Song

Anything. Everything.

Leo Solano and Lauren Elicaño got along on the best of times, but were very easily at each other's throats at the worst. The head stage manager of the Larsen Theater used to tell him that it was because he was an air sign and Lauren was a fire sign, which meant instant friction, but Leo chose to think that it was just because he didn't respond well to Lauren's leadership style.

Whoever thought it was a good idea for her to commission a new musical from him, was clearly out to get them both. Lauren had called and kept on calling the week before, asking him how the music was coming along. He was still trying to convince her that her producing show of his was a bad idea, that she should cut her losses while he was still in the early stages.

Then she said, "Leo, this self-deprecating thing is getting really old. Get over yourself, come back to New York and write. Everyone's waiting to find out what you're going to do next."

He'd started and restarted his writing several times, but once he started writing about a writer with writer's block (say that quickly five times), he knew he'd hit rock bottom. There was no next.

And, because Leo was petty, he left his phone perfectly perched on the railing of his balcony, letting Lauren talk and guilt trip him while he went into his bedroom to change. Then, in a stroke of both destiny and disaster, a bird had perched on the phone, threw it off balance, and sent it on a swan dive to the resort pool, taking Nora's number along with it.

He'd lost his writing mojo, and now he'd lost Nora. Was Mercury in retrograde or something?

He knew defeat when he saw it. He'd already given La Union a solid week, and now it was time to face facts. He was stalling. This whole thing was just him stalling. If he went back to New York now, and admitted to Lauren that he had writer's block, that could be the end of this, even if he didn't want to admit to his failure. So he went to Manila, ready to accept defeat, but the universe clearly had other plans for him.

And they said destiny was for losers.

"You didn't call," she breathed, her eyelids fluttering as her lips still hovered closely to his. He didn't resist the urge to taste her lips again, he still couldn't believe it.

He'd missed having her in his arms, missed her softness, the little crease between her eyebrows when she frowned. He even missed the way blush spread across her cheeks when she looked at him. His imagination of Nora from the last week didn't do justice to the real thing.

She still wanted him. Thank fucking god.

"Excuse me," a third person he had completely missed seeing, said in front of them. "But aren't you Leo Solano? How do you know Nora?"

"No, I'm his cousin, Rogelio," Leo grinned, wrapped and arm around Nora's back (he was too tall to wrap his arm around her waist comfortably, argh) and pulled her close.

"He is not," Nora laughed, whirling away from his grasp, and Leo just managed to stop himself from whimpering at the loss of contact.

Jesus. Whimpering at the loss of contact. He really was a brilliant writer.

"Larry, this is Leo Solano. Clearly you know him," she said, Larry held out a hand for him to shake. "Leo, this is Larry Banzon, he's from Folio Fiduciary Bank, and they just agreed to be sponsors for a fundraising concert for the orchestra."

"It's an honor to meet you," Larry looked totally thrilled as he shook Leo's hand. "My boyfriend and I obsessed over the OBC of Swan Song the minute it was available to download. Olivia Cruz was a brilliant choice."

"Thank you," Leo gave Larry the same smile he gave Larsen Theatre donors and his producer, accepting the handshake. "I love the pants. I'm sorry about interrupting your meeting, I just didn't think I would ever see Nora again."