The Trouble With Quarterbacks

by R.S. Grey

  “Maybe we ought to search for some ‘dressy separates’?” Kat suggests with a lopsided smile.

  “Oh right, because I’ll just bet this shop has got loads of trendy tuxedos for women!”

  She shrugs. “They might.”

  Then I hear footsteps pounding out in the hall connecting the dressing rooms and Yasmine breathing hard on the other side of the flimsy door. Her fists pound for us to let her in, and when we do, I see her eyes have gone really wide like she’s got a brilliant idea. In her arms is a silver shimmery dress comprising less material than what I’d use to cover one of my arms, let alone my whole body.

  “Okay, I know”—huff huff—“what you’re thinking.”—huff huff—“It might be horrible. Or it might be—”

  “Wonderful!” Kat squeals. “That fabric is so glam. You’ll look like a disco ball!”

  Just what every girl wants.

  I wish I were at Bloomingdale’s picking from a slew of gorgeous gowns, but the issue lies in the fact that I’ve got absolutely no money to spare on this dress even after covering all those shifts at District this week. I managed to land tables who were absolute shite tippers, so here I am, searching through secondhand racks and praying I’ll find a dress for about fifteen bucks that will look like it’s worth fifteen hundred.

  Yasmine hands the dress over to Kat, who holds it up for me to inspect. There are loads of flimsy straps, and it’s all kinds of twisted.

  “Where’s the top part? I can’t make it out.”

  “Just take off that monstrosity you’re wearing and we’ll figure it out,” Yasmine says, squinting her eyes at the dress I’ve got on like it’s offensive to her. “I found this new dress in the bargain racks, way down at the end as if it’d been totally forgotten, but then I looked at the tag and it’s VALENTINO! TRULY! And even more perfect, I think it’ll have a tie in the back so we can get it cinched really tight and it’ll look like it’s your exact size.”

  All in all, it takes us about half an hour to get me into the damn thing. It’s really confusing what with all the thin straps going this way and that across my back. It’s a slinky material that clings to my skin and exposes way more than I’m comfortable with. There’s a deep V-neck in front, a slit up my left thigh, and basically no back to speak of.

  “Oh my god. I cannot wear this,” I say after Kat and Yasmine have tied me into it so it’s hugging my figure tightly.

  It’s divine, truly, something I’d never allow myself to wear in normal life. At The Day School, it’s all day dresses and trainers. At District, I’ve got that black uniform and my work apron. This little number is for some confident model traipsing around St. Barts while every hunk in a ten-meter radius salivates over her.

  “You’ll have to go braless,” Kat says with a shrug. “Your breasts are perky though, so it’s no big deal.”

  “Oh great, thanks. Maybe speak up—I’m not sure the people one block over have heard you talking about my breasts.”

  “And your knickers will have to be tiny,” Yasmine adds. “No pulling out the huge cotton ones like you normally wear—the same ones my gran uses. Not with that slit up the thigh.”

  I look at my reflection and instantly redden. It’s a lot of dress. Or rather…not a lot of dress. It’s obscene, right? I couldn’t be caught dead in this in public! Mum would have a heart attack!

  “It’s great, Yaz. You did a good job, but we’ll have to keep looking. I can’t wear this to the gala. I’m not nearly chic enough to pull it off.”

  “Bollocks! You’re making it out to be racier than it is. I bet every female there will be dressed sexy. This dress is fancy and tasteful and, more importantly, within our budget.”

  Kat chimes in now. “Besides, it’s not as if we’ve got the time to keep looking. We have to get back to the flat if you want us to help with your hair and makeup. Didn’t Logan’s assistant say you had to get there by 7:00 PM?”

  Oh jeez. My pulse is pounding. I hate this. I was hoping to find some simple gown that fit well enough to let me blend in with the crowd tonight, something black and sensible. This dress, however, ensures I won’t be blending in at all. My stomach twists into a knot, but it doesn’t even matter because my mates are already collecting our things and helping me get out of the dress so we can take it to the counter and buy it.

  I haven’t even fully agreed to wear it, but the wheels are already in motion. We head back so I can shower and take my time lathering on lotion everywhere so my skin glows. Then I slip into a robe and sit down in the living room so Kat and Yasmine can work their magic on me.

  Kat does my hair while Yasmine applies my makeup. Yasmine is bloody brilliant with a makeup brush, way better than I could ever hope to be. She says she used to spend hours applying shadows to her eyes back in school instead of doing any proper studying, and it’s paid off.

  “I think because your dress has got a sort of vintage vibe, I’m going to straighten your hair so it’s sleek and shiny and then leave it down. Then we can pin it behind your ear so it’s not in your face the whole night.”

  Thank god it’ll be down; maybe it’ll help conceal how racy the back of the dress is.

  I’m too nervous to bother checking my mobile while they get me ready. I know Logan texted me earlier, reminding me that I’ll have to get there before him. I hate the idea of being there when he’s not. Who am I going to talk to? Where will I stand? Off in the corner? With the bartenders? Argh. It sends my heart racing all over again just to think about it. I wish we could just go together, but I guess I understand. Don’t want the press going crazy, I suppose. It’s fine, I assure myself all over again.

  I have to hand it to Yasmine and Kat. By the time they’re finished with me, I blink at my reflection in disbelief. I look like a proper Bond girl what with my shimmery dress and my heels and my fancy makeup. More importantly, I feel like a Bond girl. I turn in a circle to inspect and admire the way the straps crisscross over my back. I like the dress now more than I did in the shop. I think with my hair and makeup done, it seems more realistic that I could pull it off.

  After I grab my clutch and load it full of the essentials (snacks mainly), they make me pose for loads of pictures out in the living room, like they’re my two mums sending me off to a school dance.

  “Don’t slouch! Hold your head up and make sure to walk in like you bloody well belong there!” Yasmine reminds me as they direct me toward the door of the flat.

  “And send us loads of pics if you can! Remember what kind of food they serve! And all the celebrities you see!” Kat shouts out as I start to head slowly down the stairs, careful not to trip and fall and ruin all their hard work.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Pat down at the curb waiting for me. When he sees me, he gives me an over-the-top reaction, clapping his hands against his cheeks as if he can’t believe how nice I look.

  “You’re the most beautiful gal in New York City!”

  I roll my eyes teasingly. “Now now, don’t go filling my head up with compliments. I’ll need to remember who I am come midnight when my carriage turns back into a pumpkin.”

  He laughs and shakes his head, and we hop into the car together.

  There’s terrible traffic on the street around Gotham Hall. I tell Pat he can drop me a ways off and I can just walk the rest, but he says he doesn’t mind.

  “You’re early anyway, right? Looks like there isn’t anyone on the red carpet yet.”

  I gulp. Did I read Rosie’s email wrong? Was I supposed to arrive later? No. I check again. She said 7:00 and it’s only 7:01. I’m on time and have no choice but to open my door when Pat pulls up to the curb.

  “Any chance I can convince you to come in with me?” I plead, looking back at him as I hover halfway out of the car.

  He gives me a lopsided smile, like he pities me. “Would if I could. Bet there’s going to be some good food in there.”

  “You could be my date,” I tease, and he laughs.

  “Your date will be here soon.
You’re gonna knock his socks off. Have fun, kiddo.”

  “Right. Okay. I’ll see you later! Thanks for the lift!”

  I step out onto the curb and fix my dress so the slit is centered on my left thigh and not my crotch (lovely). Then, instead of making a move for the front entrance, I watch as Pat drives away and makes room for the next car to pull up. My gut twists as I watch him leave, like he’s my security blanket and, without him, I’ve got nothing.

  A group of people hop out of the car that just pulled up, laughing and chatting as they pass me by. I feel lonely as I follow behind them, letting them lead me in the right direction. There are loads of media already lined up on either side of the red carpet, but they don’t bother looking our way. It must be clear that all the normal people are arriving early and skipping the red carpet, so there’s no need to turn around and snap photos of us.

  I slip right behind them then wait my turn at the side entrance. A group of people dressed in black with headsets on and tablets in their hands asks each guest for their ID before they’re allowed past. I’m shaky with nerves as I pass mine over.

  “Hopefully my name’s on your list! I was only added this week, I think,” I stammer, though she’s paying me no attention.

  “Williams, Candace. You can go in.”

  Then she hands me back my ID and looks behind me toward the next person.

  Right, well, I’ve breached the defenses rather easily!

  The joke makes me smile to myself as I join the small crowd of people heading inside Gotham Hall. The building is huge, but it’s easy enough to follow the carpet-lined passage toward a huge set of double doors, which are open so people can flood into the main event space. The gala is housed inside a huge round room covered with a dome made up of ornate stained-glass. Wowzers, it’s quite a venue, all tinted blue with snazzy lighting so everyone looks their absolute best. There’re loads of attendants hovering around in tuxedos, ready with trays of canapés and flutes of champagne. I grab one and take a heavy sip, smiling with delight as the bubbles fill my mouth.

  “Delicious,” I say, smiling at the waiter.

  He grins back and I think he’s about to say something, but then another guest catches his attention and asks for two flutes of her own.

  I drift around the perimeter of the space, taking in the crowd. Since it’s still early, not many people are here yet. I sort of hate it because it makes it harder to blend in. I look for someone else standing off by themselves, like me, but it seems like everyone else belongs more than I do. I try not to stop walking for long, aware that if I do, I’ll really look like a sad sap. I sip my champagne and try to take my time looking around the room at the stained glass and the night sky showing through it.

  It’s lovely, really, and I’m trying hard to admire it and forget about how self-conscious I feel when I sense someone stop near me.

  It’s the waiter from earlier, a young guy about my age with floppy blond hair and a huge smile.

  “Nice party, huh?”

  I laugh and nod. “Very fahn-cy,” I drawl.

  His grin widens. “Yeah. Never been at an event like this.”

  “Neither have I,” I admit, feeling better having gotten the confession off my chest.

  He nods and volunteers, “I don’t usually work these things, to be honest. I’m a grad student over at NYU and needed some spare cash.” He shrugs. “Thought it’d be fun.”

  “That’s great. You’ll probably make great tips.” Then I hold up my hand in warning. “Not from me, mind you. I’m one of the poor ones. You’ll have to spot the guests whose purses and trousers are sagging from all the cash they’ve got loaded in them.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “It’s cool. Tips aren’t really necessary. They’re paying us pretty well.”

  “Really? That’s good. I sort of wish I were working the event with you. I think I’d feel loads more comfortable.”

  His gaze falls on my lips, as if he’s finally caught on to my accent. “You’re British?”

  I shrug. “Guilty.”

  “Cool. I like the accent. It’s…” His gaze sort of falls down my dress for a moment, and I think the word “cute” dies on his lips. “It’s cool. I like it.”

  I blush like a bloody buffoon and take another sip of my champagne.

  “You should finish that quickly so I can hand you a new one. That way it looks like I’m supposed to be hanging around you.”

  “Ha. What a ploy! I’ll be tipsy if I go too fast. Kind of a lightweight.”

  His brow quirks. “Yeah? All right, then I’ll go easy on you.”

  He’s definitely doing some proper flirting, and it feels so odd considering I’m waiting for Logan to arrive. It’s not like I want to lead this guy on, but it feels nice to not be standing totally alone.

  “Ah hell. That’s my boss waving her hand, telling me to circulate. You stay put. I’ll be back soon.”

  I laugh and promise him I won’t be far. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere to go.

  The minutes drag while I stand alone, damn near close to twiddling my thumbs. I check my mobile and see a text from Logan. My heart skips a beat.

  LOGAN: Be there soon. Leaving my apartment now.

  Thank GOD.

  I might leap on him when he arrives.

  My waiter friend comes back a few minutes later with a tray of food. Little crab cakes preloaded on spoons and crackers with something lovely and savory heaped on top. I take one of each, and then another, and then tease him that he’ll have to leave or I’ll finish off the whole tray by myself.

  “That’s okay. As long as I come back with it empty, they won’t care.”

  I grin and take another sip of champagne.

  I ask him about what he’s studying at NYU, and he asks me how long I’ve been in the States. I try to give him my full attention, but truthfully, my gaze keeps leaping back to the entrance of the room, waiting for Logan to pass through the doors.

  A real crowd is starting to gather now, and I’ve seen more than one notable person walk in: the mayor of New York City, Billie Eilish, Lester Holt. The crowd is quite diverse, and I’m giddy from how many celebrities are circulating the room now. One actress from Modern Family, the one who plays the older sister, even compliments my dress as she walks by me! Ace! I can’t wait to tell Yasmine and Kat. They’ll die!

  Then I finally spot Logan at the entrance, and my heart sort of collapses in on itself. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve waited so long for him to arrive. Maybe it’s how kind he’s been this week, sending the flowers and having Pat come round to District to drive me home every night. Maybe it’s the way he looks. He walks in with a crowd around him, donning a sharp black tuxedo. His hair is combed back, real formal and sexy. My hands instantly go clammy and I lose the ability to do much of anything except stare.

  My waiter friend notices. He follows my gaze and laughs in disbelief.

  “Logan Matthews is here. That’s so fucking cool. I should try to sneak his autograph without my boss seeing.”

  I force out a tight laugh and try not to pass out.

  It takes me too long to register that I recognize the people he’s walking in with. There’s Darius and Liz, and Melody too. I wasn’t expecting to see her tonight, but duh, of course she’d attend. She belongs here way more than I do. She’s right beside Logan, tugging on his arm to get his attention, and they chat for a moment. I try not to let it bother me. They’re friends, of course; he’s known her longer than he’s known me.

  He’ll find me soon enough, I assure myself, wondering what I should do. Run across the place and fling myself at him? Play it cool and sort of wave if he looks in my direction? It’s totally hopeless—there’s no way he’ll spot me in the crowd now. He has the advantage. He’s tall and…well, famous. Everyone sort of either gives him a wide berth or rushes in to get closer. He draws a crowd, and I frown, looking down at my nearly empty champagne.

  “Have you got another flute I could top mine off with?” I suddenly re
gret not getting utterly toasted while I waited for him to arrive. Some liquid courage would be quite nice right about now.

  “Sure thing,” the waiter says, taking my flute so he can go swap it out for another. “Oh shit, he’s headed this way.”

  “What?!”

  I turn, and it’s true. Oh Lordy. Logan has somehow spotted me amidst the masses, and he’s cutting through the crowd to get to me.

  My new friend turns to me, more than a little confused. “Do you know him?”

  I try to feign surprise. “Oh. Well…yes? A bit?”

  What am I supposed to say?! You know what? I happened to have humped his thigh just the other day, if you can believe it, and then I cuddled with him in his huge bed all night. It was absolute bliss.

  “Candace,” Logan says from a few feet away.

  I glance over and wave like we’re two mates meeting on the street. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  His eyes narrow and then he glances at my new friend standing beside me.

  “Logan,” I start. “Err…this is…sorry, didn’t get your name?”

  “Max.”

  “Right, this is Max. He’s been so nice and kept me company while I was waiting for you. I think he’d like an autograph.”

  “That’d be awesome, but like, no pressure. I’ll probably get in trouble for asking.”

  “Nonsense!” I grab a cocktail napkin and hold out my hand for the pen Max has in his apron pocket. He fumbles for it then hands it over with shaky fingers. “I’m asking for the autograph, not you. See? Here Logan, sign right here.”

  He does, and then I hand the napkin to the waiter, who immediately stares at it like I’ve just handed him a solid gold bar.

  “Thanks, man. This is so cool!”

  “No problem,” Logan says, stepping toward me. “Candace, can I talk to you for a second? Alone?”

  “Oh. Um…” I look around us, wondering where exactly we could go to be alone. Already I see people starting to whisper about Logan. It’ll only be a matter of seconds before we’re surrounded again.

  But Logan knows what he’s doing. He steps closer and turns me so he can rest his hand on the small of my back, directing me to a side door just to my left. It leads back out into the hall surrounding the main room, and since it’s so far from the main entrance, it’s deserted.