Player(11)

Katherine, Amelia, and I hadn’t had the courage or occasion to wear ours yet. My little tube of Heartbreaker had been sitting on top of my dresser long enough that a thin layer of dust coated the embossed cap. But tonight? Tonight called for red lipstick and victory rolls.

Tonight, I was going to a swing club.

With Sam.

On a date.

I think.

I was the literal worst at dating.

In high school, my brothers had scared off every guy who opened his mouth to speak to me. And honestly, I hadn’t minded. Being the only girl with boobs in the fifth grade had ruined me. Boys groped. Girls name-called. I hated my body with a deep, burning passion. And by the time I got to high school, I was done with the whole thing for life.

My current roommates were also my college roommates, and the second we met, we became a unit. Well, almost the second we met. Amelia—a tiny, pale, platinum-haired introvert—was so shy, she couldn’t even call the dentist to make an appointment, and when I first met her, she didn’t speak to any of us for two weeks. Katherine was her opposite—a taller, darker emotional robot with a broken filter—and we were all sure she hated us.

Rin and I were the most alike, though she used to be so much softer and shier than me. She hadn’t wanted anyone to see her, would curl into herself with the slightest attention. I was more likely to twerk in line at Taco ’Bout It than to shy away from attention, given that the right Nicki Minaj song was playing.

But guys didn’t ask me out. The four of us were so insulated that no one could infiltrate our defenses, which was part of the problem. We went to girls’ night at our favorite bar every week with the intention of socializing. But we never left our table, and no one ever came to talk to us.

Of course, in college I’d gone on a few dates and hooked up with a few guys. They’d all been magnificent duds, which hadn’t inspired me to keep looking. I had a vibrator and internet access. What more could a girl want?

That had been my model at least. Until recently.

I pressed my lips together, inspecting my reflection once more before stepping into my room.

“That dress is incredible,” Amelia breathed.

I did a little twirl and laughed.

We’d spent the day shopping, looking for outfits befitting a swing club. Amelia wore black high-waisted pedal pushers with a short-sleeved tailored shirt, tied in the front. A black-and-white polka-dot scarf was tied around her platinum hair and knotted on top. Katherine wore a tailored shirtdress the color of rust, dotted with little mustard flowers.

And I had found a dress that nearly brought the three of us to our knees.

The silk chiffon shirtdress was the color of a ripe, juicy apple with a spaghetti-strap shell. But the sheer, fitted bodice boasted little pleats in front, a Peter Pan collar, and puffed sleeves with elastic hems. Shiny red buttons marched down to the thick waistband, which gave the illusion that my waist was much smaller than it typically appeared.

But the skirt was the best part. Layers of chiffon spilled off my hips in a circle cut so brilliant, the featherlight fabric swayed joyfully with every motion.

“I can’t believe we found something like this in my size,” I said, pressing a hand to my stomach. “Well done, Amelia.”

She flushed, red lips smiling. “One of my best and most useful skills is manipulating Google. It has all the answers—best new vintage clothing in Manhattan, how to do victory rolls, Lindy Hop for beginners.”

“I’m so glad you guys are coming with me. I don’t think I could have done this alone.” I followed them out of my room and down the stairs.

Katherine shrugged from the front of the line. “It’ll be fun. Plus, we get to wear our red lipstick without feeling weird about it.”

“Seriously,” Amelia added. “Mine’s been sitting next to my toothbrush for forever, and the thought of wearing it actually makes my fight or flight kick in. But I didn’t think twice about putting it on tonight. And I actually kind of love it.” She made a kissy face over her shoulder at me to prove it.

“You in red lipstick is the highlight of my life. Thank you, by the way—you did such a great job on my hair,” I said to Amelia, smoothing a hand over said victory rolls. Only the front was up; the back was a riot of curls. And my lips, like my friends’, were shockingly red.

Rin and her boyfriend, Court, were waiting in the living room, and the second we entered, Rin hopped out of his lap and bounded toward us, beaming.

She was a vision, all six feet of her, in high-waisted sailor pants and a corset top. She looked like a Korean pinup girl, her dark hair pinned in, rolled up, and tied with a red scarf. Her alabaster skin against the ebony of her hair and the ruby red of her lips were the embodiment of art and beauty.

“Oh my God, Val—that dress!” Her eyes moved down my body, red lips gaping. “Spin around.”

I did with a laugh, and she clapped, laughing with me.

Court stood, and I bit my tongue.

He would not have appreciated my wit in the moment.

The man was a Roman marble statue with a heartbeat—intense and chiseled to perfection. Except instead of a toga or the suit as he typically preferred, he was stiff-backed in slacks, a button-down, suspenders, and a fedora.

He looked about as comfortable as a roller skater approaching a cobblestone street covered in ice.

Court caught my eye and held it with suspicion, like he was waiting for me to tease him and had a response locked and loaded.