by Cassie Mae
I’m so ready.
“I’ll just wear the blue one,” I say, reaching around to tug at the zipper of the sea monster’s prom dress.
“He’s seen you in that,” Liz calls from the closet.
“He likes it too.” I remember those knee-weakening green eyes widening and that chiseled jaw dropping when I wore it last. (It was at Liz and Landon’s going-away party. That was a sad night that turned into a helluva great time with him by my side.) He was practically salivating, though I’m not really one to talk. The dress most likely has sweat stains all over it from the heat I projected whenever he touched me. Or whenever I “accidentally” touched him.
A hand juts out from the closet door, holding my candy-cane-striped bikini.
“I can’t wear that,” I laugh.
“Why is this in the front?” she asks, poking her head out to give me the evil eye. “It is February. Sweaters, jackets, scarves…those things go in the front of the closet during this month.”
I pull the bikini from her hand and chuck it back in the closet. It lands on a heap of rejected clothing from an entire week of getting dressed.
“If you want to organize my closet, be my guest. But do it after I’ve found the right thing to wear.”
She sighs at my hopeless wardrobe. “There’s no point. It’ll be back to this in a week anyway.”
“Then you’ll have to schedule more visits.” I give her a cutesy funny face, which she only semi-smiles at. We’re both still trying to adjust to her living across the freaking country when we’ve spent the first twenty-some-odd years a few steps away from each other. She plays with the lace hem of a blue cami hanging in front of her, not so subtly sniffing away the girly emotions that seem to creep into every conversation we have lately.
“Do you have anything purple?” she asks, letting the cami float back into its place in the closet.
“He’s seen me in all my purple clothes too.” I cross my arms and gaze at every piece of clothing I own. “He’s seen me in practically everything.” And in nothing too.
“We’ll just hit the store before the auction.” She nudges me in my shoulder. “And we’ll return the dress, since you hate it.”
“I’m green, Liz.”
She sighs. “Take it off. We’ve only got two hours, and that’s barely enough prep time.”
I strip out of the dress, and my skin goes back to its normal shade of Cover Girl Golden Beige. I vow to never wear yellow again and to make sure that Liz tries on many sea-monster-colored bridesmaid dresses at my wedding.
Wedding.
I just contemplated impending nuptials, which may not seem significant for a woman in her mid-twenties seeing all of her friends pair off to start families, but believe me, it’s definitely noteworthy.
Yes. I am so ready now.
“What is that?” Liz asks, pointing directly at my ass, her mouth hanging open.
“Nice, huh? Gym four times this week,” I tease, and attempt to shake my booty, but I end up knocking over half the body spray bottles on my dresser.
“No, no.” She gapes. “The tattoo.”
I snort and twist so that I can show her the whole thing. I tuck my thumb into the waistband of my brand-new Fruit of the Looms and pull it down just a tad.
“Got it the other day. Cute, right?”
A knock comes at the door before she can respond, and a long muffled whine from the other side tells me it’s Shay. Liz hurries to answer while I toss on a tank top and my gym shorts. I’m not exactly shy about my body around Liz, but I’ve only known Shay for a little while.
“I’m going to kill your landlord,” Shay says, waddling into the living room. It’s not really cold outside, especially for this time of year, but still…it’s not warm enough for what she’s wearing. The spaghetti straps on her maternity dress slide a little off her shoulders as she tosses her purse on my floor. She looks like she’s been sitting in a furnace all day.
She plops down on my unusually free-of-laundry sofa, her knees a foot apart from each other. “When are they gonna get that damn elevator working?”
“They said this weekend, but who knows.” I skip around to the fridge to grab her a water. She looks at me as if I’m handing her a million dollars, and when she takes her first gulp (and second and third and fourth…damn, she just puts half of it away within five seconds) tears start falling from her eyes.
Liz gives her a concerned look, dropping down to the couch next to her. Shay just shakes her head and says, “I don’t know why. I just cry all the time for no reason. Probably making up for all the days I forced myself not to cry. Or maybe it’s because none of my cute heels fit or because it’s eighty thousand degrees in midwinter. Or maybe because I sneeze-peed in the hallway.”
Shay swipes at her tears while Liz presses her lips together (she does a much better job at covering her laugh than I do) and gives Shay a side hug. I catch her eyes drifting to Shay’s round stomach and I know that she’s stoked for Shay and Jace having a baby together, but she’s also envious of it. Liz and Landon have been trying to get those eggs fertilized for a while now, and, well, patience isn’t the greatest strength of either of them. I hope he knocks her up soon.
“Hey, do you want to come with us?” Liz asks. “We need to make Theresa’s ass look as good as mine.”
I chuck an unpaid bill from the counter at her.
“Not really…,” Shay answers, moving her eyes up to meet mine. Her bottom lip juts out the teensiest bit; I don’t even think she’s aware she’s silently begging. But I know her well enough to know what she’s asking for. Shay’s been bouncing around in an RV for the last six months, and she’s ready for a steady bed and a Netflix binge.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Just don’t sneeze-pee on my sheets.”
She makes a tiny squeal, like a parrot mating with a rat, and sticks her arms out so we can hoist her off my couch. For such a tiny person, it sure takes a lot of effort to get her out of there.
Once we set her up for the night, remote in hand, eyes already fluttering closed, and pillows under her knees, Liz tosses my coat at me and we head out to get a dress that doesn’t make me change color. Time for the night that will change my life.
Chapter 14
PRESENT DAY
With all the nerves and excitement about the momentous gesture I’m making, I plumb forgot about all the work I have to do.
“Line up, damn it!” I yell at the bachelors, and none of them listen. I blow my already failed hairdo from my face and shove bachelor number two, who is too busy texting to notice me pushing. When I get through the very potent-smelling and oily crowd I start counting how many of the guys are back here.
I can’t even find bachelor number one, because not everyone has grabbed their number yet. And I don’t even see Alec. I was 10,000 percent sure he’d come tonight, yet I can feel the panic settling in my stomach that maybe he didn’t come.
“Fifteen minutes, guys!” I shout. “Fifteen minutes! I need all the bachelors lined up here.” I thrust my arms out and gesture at the curtain. My ability to give a shit about professionalism went out the window an hour ago. “If you don’t have a number, come get it!”
Some asshole moos as I just grab random arms and tug them into what looks like a line. I’m sweaty and gross and this just won’t do for tonight. I make a mental note to clean up before the bidding starts.
I grab number thirteen’s shoulders and steer him into the line. He’s calling back at number seventeen like I’m not even here. The oil soaks through his shirt and onto my hands, and I stare at them, because what the heck am I supposed to wipe them off on?
Then suddenly I feel a rush of warmth flow through my stomach, through my chest, and up my neck, and I forget the stress and the smell and the need to wash my hands. A smile hits my lips, turning them up and up until they’ve reached the moon. Alec hasn’t even said anything, I don’t even see him, but I know he’s right behind me.
“You said something about a numbe
r?” His voice is in my ear, making all sense and control flutter away. I turn around, he grins, and I melt right into the floor. Funny how he’s given me that same smile for years, but only recently have I realized how much it means to me.
“You’re here.” Like duh, of course he’s here. But the panic about him possibly not showing up is now transforming into panic that he did show up and I’m minutes away from declaring myself.
I toss my arms around him to hide my face, but also because I haven’t hugged him since the night he left and I’ve missed it. He’s oily, but I don’t even care anymore. My heart is performing a drum solo against his chest, but he doesn’t let me hang on long enough for him to notice, or at least I don’t think so.
“You are saving my life right now,” I say, looking around the chaotic room.
He pulls out the note card we handed out to the bachelors so that they could write down all their talents and jobs and things like that. “I don’t know about that. What the hell am I supposed to write?”
He could write ten million things on that card, starting with how humble he is. “How great a catch you are.”
He laughs, then leans in close. His breath smells like Icebreakers. Those grape duo ones he keeps in his car. I’m usually the one who eats them all, but he’s had a Theresa-free three weeks.
“If it’s dead quiet during the bidding, start bribing some of the girls, ’kay?” His deep, playful eyes stay on mine. He really should get a ribbon in eye contact. “Preferably a blonde,” he continues, and his awesome eye contact falters a bit as he looks at my mess of a head. “Long hair.”
If I wasn’t already nervous enough, he has to go and say, Hey, get a hot chick that has exactly not your hair style to bid on me. I’m sure it’s a joke, but I don’t find it funny right now, and it’s my own damn fault for pushing him away for too long.
Instead of giving him an underhanded slight like I normally would have, I opt for taking the card from his hand instead.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“The bribing part?” he asks, and his eyebrow tilts up. I force back the hell no response I have. I count to five in my head before waving the card at him. I know that I could probably fill the entire thing up in about two seconds with just adjectives: sexy, funny, happy, friendly, good in bed, tall, talented, protective, great in bed, loving, caring, sweet, fantastic in bed…
“Alec, I guarantee you’ll get at least one bid tonight. At least.”
He gives me a skeptical look, but he’ll be laughing in a few minutes. Because that winning bid will be mine.
3 YEARS, 1 MONTH AGO: 8:14 P.M.
Thank God I get along with Landon’s best friend, because Liz and Landon will not stop humping like bunnies. As soon as intermission hit, they were out of here. I’m not complaining either, since they were giggling and the room was not dark enough to hide their wandering hands.
“You think they made it home or did it on the train?” I ask Alec as the curtain rises. He humors me with a laugh, but then gets to his feet and shouts praises at the actors taking their curtain call. I join him, dropping my coat onto Liz’s empty seat. The curtain falls and the lights go up and everyone starts filing out, except him. He stays a bit to bask in the Broadway afterglow.
“Perfect.” He sighs, grinning like a kid in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. “She was perfect, right? Great projection, reactions were spot on—”
“And you could see her giant boobs from clear back here,” I add, swinging my arms out in front of my chest. Alec tilts his head at me.
“They’re almost as nice as yours.”
“Can’t beat the real ones.” I tap my Playbill on top of my breasts and watch him turn red and laugh before grabbing our coats and handing them over. “So…do we risk walking in on our best friends or do we go somewhere else?”
“It’s such a tough decision.”
“I’m sure the hourlong train ride home is more than enough time for them.”
“True. But as we learned from last time, there’s no guarantee that they’ll be clothed.”
I press my lips together and nod. I’ve seen far too much of Landon—and Liz, for that matter. Last time Alec and I walked in, they were playing crazy eights buck naked. Liz called it their afterplay. I call it the killer of boners.
We step out onto the gorgeous street in Times Square, Alec’s favorite place in the whole wide world. I don’t think I’ve seen him at this spot without a giant grin on his face. I really can’t blame him; I feel that way in a bubble bath.
My phone buzzes, and Alec eyes me as I look at it. Oh, right—I forgot he’s not a fan of people “in their phones” and not “in the moment.”
“Sorry…habit.” I go to push it back into my pocket.
“Nah, it’s all right.” He looks back at the billboards and lights. “I’m in the zone.”
A small giggle rolls through my stomach and I peek at the text.
Hey, gorgeous. I’m so lonely.
“Booty call?” Alec asks, happy smile turning into a teasing one. It presses in the dimple on his right cheek.
“Yep.” I shut off the screen, wishing I’d never looked at it in the first place. No booty tonight, especially with text guy. I made the mistake of taking the first offer presented to me at last week’s party, and in my phone he has now been given the nickname “22.” One 2 is for the length of time of the sex we had, and the other is for the length of his package. If I’m going to do this open-relationship thing with Eli, I better get the “fun” out of it that I was promised.
It’s been over a year, though. And I’m not sure if I’ve had any fun outside of the nonsexual fun I have with my friends.
Alec’s green eyes watch me put the phone away and I smile up at him.
“Me over random dude? I’m so flattered.”
“I’m just pressuring you into making this night more entertaining.”
“More entertaining?” He gasps as if I’ve said a dirty word in front of his great-grandmother. “More entertaining? Broadway and my mere presence are not enough?”
I slowly shake my head, pushing back the smile that wants to creep onto my lips. He matches my stare, looking adorable with his one dimple and blond hair and boyish good looks.
“To Central Park, then.”
“Oh, to see all the creepers?”
“To skate.”
My teasing smile drops. “Ice-skate?”
“What else?”
“Anything but that.”
He turns so he’s facing me as he walks backward. “Why not?”
“I’m uncoordinated enough as it is.”
“I’ve seen you walk in shoes with heels this thin.” He pinches his fingers together, and I reach out and move him away from a patch of ice he can’t see walking the way he is. “You can handle skates.”
“Not on ice.”
“Try it with me?” He juts out his lip, and I push his face away. He pulls that crap on me all the time.
“I’ll watch you,” I say.
“While you skate next to me.”
“While I sit on a bench.”
“After you’ve gone around at least twice.” He holds up two fingers.
“Once.”
“That’s the spirit,” he exclaims.
I groan, tossing my head back.
“Wait…gaah!” I don’t know how he does that, but he gets me every time. “Fine. One lap around, but you have to hold on to me.”
“Steady hands at your service.”
It’s fortunately not very crowded at the rink. Though too many people might be good, because then I’ll just fall into someone instead of flat on the ice. My heart starts to thump harder than I expected when Alec bends down in front of me and starts lacing up my rentals. I yank up the bottom of my jeans to my knees, grateful that at least the open relationship I have forces me to shave every day in case of unexpected encounters.
A feather-light touch to my ankle makes me jolt a bit, and I lean forward to see what Alec is do
ing.
“Here,” he says, handing me the anklet I had on. “Better put it in your pocket till we’re done.”
I stick my hand out, and when he plops the jewelry into my palm small jitters crawl up and down my arm. It’s so unexpected that I shiver hard, accidentally kicking his elbow.
“Whew, got the chills,” I say with a laugh. He reaches around his neck and pulls his red scarf free, then hands me that too. I take it even though I don’t need it. Smells like him, and I’ve always loved that smell—Icebreakers and sometimes cinnamon monkey bread. Oh, I could go for a piece of that right about now.
He pulls the laces tight and finishes tying them, then stands up like he’s totally used to walking around on razor-thin steel blades.
“Ready?” he asks, holding both hands out to me.
I reach out, but pull back quickly. “One time around,” I say with narrowed eyes. “That’s it.”
“That’s it.”
I study his face, making sure I’m not setting myself up for something. Once I’m satisfied with his sincerity I settle my hands in his and let him pull me up.
“These ankles were made for rolling,” I start singing as I wobble my way to the rink entrance. “And that’s just what they’ll do.”
“One of these days these ankles will just snap themselves in two,” he finishes in his Broadway-worthy voice.
I laugh, pausing at the entrance and staring at the cut-up ice. “Exactly, my friend. So please hold on to me.”
That dimple indents, and he snakes his arm around my waist and holds one of my hands in his while I take a death grip on the wrist he has by my hip. How is it possible that I feel more unstable now? And warm. Really warm. His dimple keeps distracting me.
“I got you whenever you’re ready to step out.”
I nod like I understand what he’s saying, but to be honest I have no clue what he just said. Like, I heard the words but I don’t know what they mean. So I just step forward without really thinking and my foot does what all feet do when they hit slick ice—it slips out from under me.
