- 14 -
February 2045
Hallee
“I need your red lipstick!” Avery’s voice slides down the hall as she runs to Marlowe’s room. Her high heels click three times as they pass by my doorway, and it’s another eight until the sound finally fades.
Our girls’ nights are usually filled with laughter from the comfort of our couch, paired with our favorite pajamas, wine, Chinese takeout, and a classic romantic comedy, but tonight they are in the mood to be wild.
Correction— we are in the mood to be wild.
I’m definitely included in that. Totally ready to party.
It took an hour to perfect the “I didn’t try too hard” aesthetic. Surprisingly, it takes a whole lot of effort to appear natural. Who gave society the credentials to define “beautiful”? Chasing it sure makes me feel like I’m not already it.
My full face of makeup taunts the inadequate parts of me. The foundation to cover my uneven skin buried my freckles in their graves and depleted any sign of life from my face. Powdering blush atop the mask awakened my look, but the highlighter was the cherry on top. It’s my favorite because it makes me sparkle in the light. The eyeshadow, however—what a choice. Sexy and mysterious might not have been the move, but the inspiration pictures didn’t seem as dark as it actually looks on me now.
Should I wipe it off? I don’t have time to redo it.
The sun’s golden spotlight shines on the three dresses laid out on my bed. Two of them I borrowed from Marlowe’s closet. The other matches the rest of my clothes, walking the line of colonial style with a loose fit and high neckline. It tells me enough about who I’ve chosen to be in my past lives—someone who allows clothes to hide her as if she doesn’t deserve to be noticed.
Tonight is opposite night. It’s about embracing change and feeling beautiful because of longing stares from strangers. It’s about being new, and I can’t be me if I’m also being new, can I?
Well, I guess all of me is new. I just met me not that long ago. Met them not that long ago, too.
The dress on the left is the right one to wear. It matches my eyeshadow and is the furthest thing from typical Hallee; although, it is actually my favorite. I knew it the second I saw it because it made my heart race toward the idea of being someone else. The other two are placeholders in case I chicken out, which I won’t. But, I might?
Marlowe and Avery are laughing in the kitchen, waiting for me to pick my poison. Probably curious to see if I’m still a coward. I was at the beginning of the year, glancing away from my reflection, and I still feel like her.
I don’t want to feel like her.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and inhale a new personality. One where I can wear a tight dress and high heels, where I can wear red lipstick and show some skin, where I’m confident in my body and the personality inside it. No matter what happens, if it’s heaven or hell, it will be forgotten.
Just live, Hal.
Live. Live. Live.
Opening my door turns Marlowe’s attention to me. “You’ve been holding back on us!” she yells, raising her hands and gasping all dramatically.
An impressive whistle sounds from Avery.
“Give us a spin, honey,” she catcalls, lowering her voice a few octaves to impersonate a man checking me out.
“Call the fire department, we’ve got a smokeshow!” Marlowe jokes, overexaggerating a wink.
It feels good, showing off a little. Maybe I’ll do it more often. Spinning away my leftover insecurity, I reach my hand out.
“Lipstick, Lowe.”
She glances at Avery before making a kissy face and handing it over. With one last glance in the mirror, I paint my lips red. The confident new me is complete, and we’re out the door before I can change my mind.
Luckily there’s no wind to drop the night’s freezing temperatures even lower. None of us were about to allow a jacket to ruin our outfits. They slay, and the driver’s heated gaze proves it. Doing a double take, his eyes lock onto Marlowe’s low-cut dress. Chest out, best out, she had joked when I’d first seen it, mumbling something about putting her best foot forward. What part of me is my best?
The driver’s lingering stare threatens to shatter my fragile filter of confidence. Regret bubbles in me because wearing so many things out of my comfort zone suddenly seems like a recipe for disaster. Marlowe rolls the windows down, cranking the heat and music up. The freezing air rushes in to calm my anxiety. Not quite sure why it helps, but it does. Is that something I used to know?
My hand reaches out the window, soaring below the stars. This is the epitome of youth and invincibility. Capturing the magic of this moment, my eyelids morph into camera shutters and snap an image to store away in the archive of my mind. The writing on the back says: It’s exciting to grow—to try new things.
The club is dark except for the neon spotlights shining across the dance floor. That is a lot of bodies. The room doesn’t feel so big anymore.
“Vodka sour, please,” I beg the bartender while winning a staring contest with one of the four guys standing on the edge of the crowd, huddled and ready to pounce.
“Tequila shot,” Marlowe orders, followed by Avery: “White wine, please.”
She always keeps it classy, but this is a hurricane brewing. Wine always makes us cry; that’s why we drink it at home.
The drinks hit the bar and Marlowe throws hers back, straight-faced. Badass. She orders another before the bartender can even walk away. Together we scan the room and search for our first victims of the night. Catch and release is the game. Rules? Dance with a few strangers and maybe hit second base. Nothing more, and no feelings. Sometimes a girl just needs to be kissed.
One scan of the sea of bodies, and my eyes lock onto him. Even with a blonde hanging on him like drapes, he’s gorgeous. She is too, actually, and that hurts more than it should. His hands are on her waist, attention locked in the moment and the swing of her hips. I feel a little sick, squeezing my hands tight and remembering how his held mine this morning.
Is he thinking of me? Would he touch me like that if he could?
My blood heats on the spot, rising to a boil in record time, and some deep, territorial string stretches, shoving jealousy through my paper thin walls.
Avery and Marlowe take notice of my suddenly empty drink and stop talking. Their eyes follow the line of my heated stare, and they know exactly who they’re looking at . . . how could they not?
Marlowe begins a pep talk, but tears have already lined my eyes as if I’ve just caught a boyfriend cheating, which is crazy because we haven’t even gone on a date. He’s not mine. He knows nothing about me, save for where I work . . . and where I live . . . and my coffee order . . . shit . Maybe I just don’t know much about him, but I want to. Seeing him there, with someone else, I want to know him.
Leaving us up to fate was reckless. What if fate is that he ends up with someone, but not necessarily me? It has to be me. It didn’t have to be, but now, it has to be. His hands on her are all wrong, and his hand in mine was all right. The universe sings when we’re together. My heart is lighter when we’re together.
Nausea kicks my stomach to the floor. Blinking away my tears, I bite my lip and hand Avery my empty glass.
“Do your worst, babes,” she encourages, winking like what I’m about to do isn’t the opposite of who I am.
One second of fear is all I allow before nodding. Emphasizing the sway of my hips, I give my best spin and slide onto the dance floor. Two can play in the game of jealousy, and I am definitely going to win.
Dean
Her spin is unmistakable. Saw it enough times this morning to recognize it immediately. This time she’s modeling a little black dress, skintight and doing very little to hide her flawless figure. She’s glowing brighter than the spotlight that’s illuminating her sun-kissed legs. Breathtaking, those legs.
Treasure on earth.
Spinning again, her long hair fans out behind her and casts a spell on everyone close by. The girls want to be her, and the guys want to be with her.
On her.
All over her.
She eyes the crowd, raising her arms and tracing the outline of her body as she drags her hands down her frame. The rest of the room blurs, and it takes about two seconds for the first lion to pounce.
I hadn’t even realized I stopped dancing until the blonde grinding on me shoved my chest. Her killing scowl was a formal goodbye, but it won’t be long until another guy is pining after her. She’s at least an eight. Pales in comparison to my Sunshine, though.
There I go again, calling her mine.
She sure doesn’t look like it while a sleaze with a man bun gropes her and I watch from the sidelines. Mr. Stand and Stare strikes again , I can hear her tease. Truly, I can’t help it, and neither can the rest of the club. The men are charged—lightning bolts waiting to strike, one after the other.
There’ll be nothing left of my molars if I keep grinding them like she’s grinding on him, but it’s something to focus on other than my pounding pulse. She must’ve been a dancer in a past life. The more I watch the more I want, and Man Bun feels the same. His hands get a little too handsy and her face shifts uncomfortably before she drops low, forcing him to let go of her. As she slowly rises back up, her eyes meet mine and I could kill everyone in this room for looking at her like they own her.
I am too, I suppose, but I don’t want to use her. I want to know her—more than just her coffee order or where she works. I want to know her favorite things, the different tones of her laugh, what keeps her up at night. I want to see her in my sweatshirt, in her favorite shirt, and in nothing at all.
She’s putting on a show for me and every guy at this bar. We all want her, but I want to be wanted by her. I want to be needed by her.
My throat’s desert dry as she spins, placing the creep behind her. His wandering hands tightly grip her inner thigh. For a second her eyes shift to sadness, and my heart shatters on the floor. I hate it more than I’ve ever hated anything. He doesn’t deserve to touch her—no one does.
Her gaze is an emergency alarm, declaring checkmate on the fastest game of chess to ever exist. Am I going to punch someone tonight? Not much of a fighter, but I could be. My fists clench, ready to throw down as his hands move higher and higher up her body. I break through the circling crowd and pause before I do something I’ll regret. Swear she’s not even breathing as she spins and shoves him off of her. Without missing a beat, she backs into me and laces her fingers through my hair. Nearly kissing her collarbone, I freeze. It’s not mine to kiss.
Not yet, anyway.
“A kiss on the cheek isn’t enough, Dean? Already wanting more?”
My body comes alive when she says my name, the evidence confirmed as she leans back into me, and I cement my hands on her waist. If I hold them still, maybe she won’t notice how much they’re shaking. If I hold them still, I can’t touch her in a way that will make her eyes sad.
Regardless of how she dresses, or dances, she deserves respect. Every woman does, and I refuse to cross a line she might not be asking for. Wasting a first touch, or a first kiss, in a room so loud I can’t hear her consent? Not happening. She’s too precious to me, and it all feels very delicate.
“You haven’t noticed, then?” I chuckle.
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” She laughs, pressing back against me.
“No, not that. You haven’t noticed how the entire club is looking at you.”
Her stomach tenses as she spins to face me, immediately laying her hands on my chest.
“You don’t get it, do you, Hal?” She really, really doesn’t, and her eyes turn glassy, pooling with fear, as I continue, “They’re waiting for the encore.”
The spotlight of attention shatters her confident guise, leaving behind a woman ten seconds from falling apart. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. I’m not even sure she’s breathing. For a second I question if she’s even heard me, but then she takes one step in.
One step and I know—she needs to get out of here.
I don’t know how I know, but I do. There’s no mistaking her body language. As she swallows, her bobbing throat waves me down and tells me she needs this. She needs me. Her eyes blink three times. Get me out , they beg. They don’t have to ask me twice.
Jealous stares burn into our backs as I grab her hand and lead her off the dance floor. Her high heels sound off a pitter-patter of thank-yous all the way out the door.