The Trouble With Quarterbacks(45)
“Bollocks! You’re making it out to be racier than it is. I bet every female there will be dressed sexy. This dress is fancy and tasteful and, more importantly, within our budget.”
Kat chimes in now. “Besides, it’s not as if we’ve got the time to keep looking. We have to get back to the flat if you want us to help with your hair and makeup. Didn’t Logan’s assistant say you had to get there by 7:00 PM?”
Oh jeez. My pulse is pounding. I hate this. I was hoping to find some simple gown that fit well enough to let me blend in with the crowd tonight, something black and sensible. This dress, however, ensures I won’t be blending in at all. My stomach twists into a knot, but it doesn’t even matter because my mates are already collecting our things and helping me get out of the dress so we can take it to the counter and buy it.
I haven’t even fully agreed to wear it, but the wheels are already in motion. We head back so I can shower and take my time lathering on lotion everywhere so my skin glows. Then I slip into a robe and sit down in the living room so Kat and Yasmine can work their magic on me.
Kat does my hair while Yasmine applies my makeup. Yasmine is bloody brilliant with a makeup brush, way better than I could ever hope to be. She says she used to spend hours applying shadows to her eyes back in school instead of doing any proper studying, and it’s paid off.
“I think because your dress has got a sort of vintage vibe, I’m going to straighten your hair so it’s sleek and shiny and then leave it down. Then we can pin it behind your ear so it’s not in your face the whole night.”
Thank god it’ll be down; maybe it’ll help conceal how racy the back of the dress is.
I’m too nervous to bother checking my mobile while they get me ready. I know Logan texted me earlier, reminding me that I’ll have to get there before him. I hate the idea of being there when he’s not. Who am I going to talk to? Where will I stand? Off in the corner? With the bartenders? Argh. It sends my heart racing all over again just to think about it. I wish we could just go together, but I guess I understand. Don’t want the press going crazy, I suppose. It’s fine, I assure myself all over again.
I have to hand it to Yasmine and Kat. By the time they’re finished with me, I blink at my reflection in disbelief. I look like a proper Bond girl what with my shimmery dress and my heels and my fancy makeup. More importantly, I feel like a Bond girl. I turn in a circle to inspect and admire the way the straps crisscross over my back. I like the dress now more than I did in the shop. I think with my hair and makeup done, it seems more realistic that I could pull it off.
After I grab my clutch and load it full of the essentials (snacks mainly), they make me pose for loads of pictures out in the living room, like they’re my two mums sending me off to a school dance.
“Don’t slouch! Hold your head up and make sure to walk in like you bloody well belong there!” Yasmine reminds me as they direct me toward the door of the flat.
“And send us loads of pics if you can! Remember what kind of food they serve! And all the celebrities you see!” Kat shouts out as I start to head slowly down the stairs, careful not to trip and fall and ruin all their hard work.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Pat down at the curb waiting for me. When he sees me, he gives me an over-the-top reaction, clapping his hands against his cheeks as if he can’t believe how nice I look.
“You’re the most beautiful gal in New York City!”
I roll my eyes teasingly. “Now now, don’t go filling my head up with compliments. I’ll need to remember who I am come midnight when my carriage turns back into a pumpkin.”
He laughs and shakes his head, and we hop into the car together.
There’s terrible traffic on the street around Gotham Hall. I tell Pat he can drop me a ways off and I can just walk the rest, but he says he doesn’t mind.
“You’re early anyway, right? Looks like there isn’t anyone on the red carpet yet.”
I gulp. Did I read Rosie’s email wrong? Was I supposed to arrive later? No. I check again. She said 7:00 and it’s only 7:01. I’m on time and have no choice but to open my door when Pat pulls up to the curb.
“Any chance I can convince you to come in with me?” I plead, looking back at him as I hover halfway out of the car.
He gives me a lopsided smile, like he pities me. “Would if I could. Bet there’s going to be some good food in there.”
“You could be my date,” I tease, and he laughs.
“Your date will be here soon. You’re gonna knock his socks off. Have fun, kiddo.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll see you later! Thanks for the lift!”
I step out onto the curb and fix my dress so the slit is centered on my left thigh and not my crotch (lovely). Then, instead of making a move for the front entrance, I watch as Pat drives away and makes room for the next car to pull up. My gut twists as I watch him leave, like he’s my security blanket and, without him, I’ve got nothing.
A group of people hop out of the car that just pulled up, laughing and chatting as they pass me by. I feel lonely as I follow behind them, letting them lead me in the right direction. There are loads of media already lined up on either side of the red carpet, but they don’t bother looking our way. It must be clear that all the normal people are arriving early and skipping the red carpet, so there’s no need to turn around and snap photos of us.