The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(72)
He watches my slow twirl, and I revel in satisfaction watching him watch me. Any guy who loves a dressed-up geek costume is okay in my book.
I make a show of asking him to do a twirl of his own in my entryway. “You, however, are not dressed properly for the gala. Matteo, this is a costume ball.”
He shifts uncomfortably. “I brought this.” He holds up a black plastic Zorro mask, complete with a single elastic band to hold it on his head.
“No.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I was prepared for this too.” I lean down and grab a plastic bag sitting by my feet near the door. I hand it to him, and he raises his eyebrows at me.
“My costume, I presume?”
“It may not fit perfectly, but it will do, and we’ll go together with our forties-throwback stuff. You can only be one superhero. This is one of Ryan’s. I made it for him a few years ago. Navy paratrooper pants. Navy army-inspired jacket with the insignia, and”—I back away a few steps and pick up the cardboard shield I made for Ryan—“tada!”
Matteo looks like he might argue with me, but he shrugs his shoulders and heads toward the downstairs bathroom. “When in Rome.”
CHAPTER 22
We arrive at my office building twenty minutes late to the party, and I already can’t focus. Matteo makes a really hot Captain America, and we touched-but-not-touched the whole car ride here. Every time I snuck a glance at him, I swear he was just turning his head from watching me. If I were a betting woman, I’d say he’s just as hot and bothered as I am, judging by the sheer volume of times he’s adjusted the neckline of his costume. So much for a calm professional front tonight.
The building glitters, lit up like the Eiffel Tower, from strings of Tivoli lights on the trees and strung up outside the main entrance. It’s magical, surreal. A huge banner hangs in the lobby declaring the thirtieth anniversary of The Hooded Falcon.
We join the queue for coat check, and I nearly break my neck trying to see everything at once. Food stacked high on trays, carried by black-tie waitstaff. Buffet tables scattered around the perimeter of the large open lobby—I immediately spot my favorite artichoke dip. The very air in the room shimmers, from the lights strung across the ceiling, to the lights onstage where a live band assembles, and to the cocktail tables set up around the room with sequined tablecloths. A funky sixties-style chrome bar is set up for the occasion, flanked by two ice sculptures of the Hooded Falcon—one the original, one the current reboot. In short, it’s magical, and it fills my geek heart to see hundreds of people in mostly Genius-inspired costumes turned out to celebrate my favorite fictional character.
When it’s our turn, I hand the girl my long velvet coat with the maybe-real-I-don’t-want-to-know fur collar—a treasured find from a thrift store. I fought Lawrence over it and won. The attendant hands me back a ticket. Then Matteo and I turn to face the room, shoulder to shoulder, Ms. Genius and Captain America among our caped compatriots.
It’s all I can do not to grab his Captain America–clad hand and drag him to the dance floor to join the crush of people. The urge to be close to him distracts, though I know that Matteo is a professional; he’s dedicated to keeping this about work tonight. I’m almost relieved as we push through the crowd to the bar. I need to keep my own head on a swivel. There’s been no word from the Golden Arrow all week, and I can’t help but feel he or she might be here tonight. This is, after all, a gala for superheroes.
The line for the bar is a million leagues long, so we settle in for the long wait. It gives us a good vantage point and a good reason to people-watch—how I like to label “spying on my coworkers” to myself. The guy in front of us wears an impressive adaptation of the original Hooded Falcon. His brown forest cape is draped expertly over one shoulder, and a quiver of real hand-fletched arrows sits on the opposite. I’m admiring the detailed stitching when I realize that I know this stitching. I did this stitching.
“Ryan!” I reach forward, grab the man’s shoulder, and spin him around.
“Oh hey, MG!” Ryan’s gaze flicks from me to Matteo, back to me, then across the room. He offers his hand to Matteo with a “Hey, man.” We all stand awkwardly for a long stretch. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about Lelani. We’ve both been so busy this week. In fact, I’ve hardly seen Ryan all month. He’s watching Matteo with a hostile look that makes me think I know why Ryan’s being weird. I’ve never let a guy come between us before. It’s a rule in our house. Yet for all he knows, I met this guy in the coffee shop and pretty much dropped off the planet.
Matteo clears his throat. “I see a colleague of mine. I’m going to go say hello. I’ll be right back, MG?”
“Yeah, okay.” No need to ask me twice. I want space to talk to Ryan.
Ryan’s face jumps to life the second Matteo leaves. “Did you bring Lawrence? I need to talk to him, and he’s not returning my calls.”
“No, I—uh—think he went to visit his drag mom, right? He’ll be back soon. I think he told me a week?”
Ryan frowns at me. He can so tell I’m lying. It’s why I’ve avoided talking to anyone about Lawrence. With all I’m carrying around, I’m about to come apart at the seams, and Ryan knows me best.
“What did you need to tell him?” I ask.