The Trouble With Quarterbacks(44)

I’m smiling for what feels like the first time all day as I type out a quick reply.

LOGAN: I like the nickname. I’ll be sure to listen for your roommates, though I wish you were in the audience too.





I’m expecting her to reply, so I’m looking down at my phone, waiting for a new text to pop up when there’s a knock on my door and people start to flood into my dressing room for hair and makeup.

“We have forty minutes until airtime. I need everyone to focus,” a producer shouts, grabbing everyone’s attention, including mine.

If Candace texts me again, I don’t have time to notice.





Chapter Fourteen





Candace





“Oh my god, I’m going to stand out like a sore thumb,” I moan, turning in the mirror to check the back of the dress I’m trying on. There’s a huge hole just under my left arm where the fabric has split at the seam, and even without that, the dress itself is still two sizes too big for me.

“Right. Well. This isn’t exactly the winner, is it?” Kat says, scrunching her nose in distaste. “Just take it off and we’ll keep looking.”

We’ve been at it all day though, running round town, rummaging through resale shops for dresses that fit into the parameters Logan’s assistant sent over via email. I’ve got them memorized by heart. I’m meant to wear a “formal evening gown or dressy cocktail dress or dressy separates, paired with an elegant wrap, brooch, or themed jewelry.”

I haven’t even found a dress, let alone a brooch! I’m doomed.

“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.”