Girl Crush(23)

“A little after six, why? You got somewhere to be?”

“Crap. Yes! I have a date at seven.” I scurried to find my bag and put my shoes back on.

“Damn, West. Your girl’s dating other dudes?”

My eyes went wide. I hadn’t even sat next to him. There was no reason anyone would think West and I were together. None. At. All.

“Shut the fuck up, Parker.” He threw a magazine at his friend and stood. “Come on, Giselle. I’ll walk you out.”

I didn’t have time for formalities, so I threw my hand up in a quick goodbye. And then thanked West at the door for letting me hang out.

“Anytime. Give me a call.”

I was wasting precious moments, but I didn’t want him to think I didn’t want to talk to him, but I couldn’t very well call without his number. Once he realized what I was missing, he added his contact to my phone and quickly sent himself a text to get my number, and I squealed my tires trying to get back to my house. I didn’t care about my clothes, hair, or makeup, but I hated being late…anywhere.



*

I managed to make it to pick Roxie up and arrived at two minutes to seven. Thankfully, she’d told me to dress casually, so it hadn’t taken long to change clothes. I’d opted for layered tanks and skinny jeans with a kick-ass pair of black platform heels. My unruly hair piled high on top of my head in a messy knot took more time to perfect than it appeared. With a swipe of gloss across my lips, I assessed myself in the rearview mirror, puckered my mouth to ensure it had just the right pout, and then got out of the car.

When Roxie answered the door, my jaw dropped. I could have dragged her into the house and spent hours having her give me makeup lessons. She was tricked out like a fifties’ pin-up girl, and every detail was accounted for, but instead of the polka dot dress, she’d gone for a bright-red button-up she’d tied at the belly button and left agape at the cleavage and tight jean shorts that were cuffed just below her knee. Her shoes alone were reason enough to try to make this work. Talk about fuck-me heels—black patent leather. My furry furnace just danced a jig and started to pant between my legs taking her in.

Roxie could go from classic rock to chic fifties in the blink of an eye and owned it. Her eyes ran the length of my body and returned to my face with a mischievous grin. “You ready?”

“Yep. Where are we going?” She pulled the door shut and turned to lock it. “By the way, you look phenomenal.”

She turned around and kissed my cheek. “You look pretty damn delicious yourself.”

I stopped in front of the car, unsure of whether I should open her door or just get in. I always loved when a man helped me into the car on a date. Her face lit up when I beat her to the door just in time to pull the handle. With her settled, I rounded the front, took a seat, and let my baby sing when I turned the ignition. I couldn’t help it. Every single time I started the car, I held the key and closed my eyes to feel the power fill my body. It irritated the shit out of Ronnie, and my ex-husband always thought my fascination with cars was insipid.

But Roxie didn’t say a word. When I opened my eyes, ready to go, she was focused on me with just a hint of a smile playing on her cheeks.

“So where to?”

“You promise you’ll keep an open mind?” Excitement danced in her eyes, and her laugh lines became prominent as she spoke.

I nodded. I didn’t care what we did as long as I wasn’t sitting at home alone on a Saturday night.

“Roller derby.”

My heart raced at the thought. I’d heard lots about it and seen it on television, but I’d never been.

“My favorite team has a bout tonight. It’s actually a double header, but I wanted to go to see High Rollers battle it out against Bone Breakers.”

“I take it you’re a High Rollers fan?”

She blushed a warm shade of embarrassment, and her eyes softened in the cutest way. “Actually, I’m a Grim D. Mise fan. She happens to be a High Roller.”

“What’s a Grim D. Mise? Keep in mind, I know nothing about roller derby.”

Before she answered my question, she told me where to go. And I drove while she talked. Every time I glanced in her direction, she was more animated than the last. I wished I’d waited to ask questions until we got there. I felt like her facial expressions and clear love affair with the sport were an important part of who she was. Having to keep my focus on the road, I missed those tiny nuances that said so much.

“Surely, she’s not a hundred years old.”

Her shoulders rose in an exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve never asked her just how ancient she is, but she looks like she’s every bit that old. She’s teeny tiny, like five foot nothing, hell on wheels, and can bring a grown man to his knees in tears. She’s just badass.”

I parked the car, but before I could open her door, she’d gotten out and met me on the sidewalk. She took my hand in both of hers and kept turning to face me while she continued talking about the different derby girls who would be here tonight. Her shoulders would curl in as she got worked up in anticipation. The confidence I’d seen in her Thursday night still hovered just under the surface, but this version of her was much more feminine and less hard.

Roxie pulled tickets out of her back pocket when we got to the door, and once inside, I became a puppy on a leash. She knew exactly where she was going and led the way. Roxie also seemed to know every person we passed. It dawned on me everyone here appeared to know everyone—like a cult, or maybe a family. But the second an awkward feeling hit me, this bubble of energy popped next to us, nearly scaring the shit out of me.