“What the fuck is a meet cute?” I take a seat on the couch in my living room, projecting my voice to be heard through Indy’s bedroom wall and her blaring music.
“It’s the way a couple meets. It’s usually a charming story about an accidental run-in or how two dogs wound their leashes up around their owners’ legs, forcing them to meet face-to-face.”
I’m thankful Indy’s in her room with the door closed so she can’t see the slight tug on my lips. Custom-fitted suit, cuff links, and a Rolex look a bit out of place paired with the stupid smile I’m wearing over my twenty-seven-year-old roommate referencing 101 Dalmatians.
“I guess if anyone asks how we met, we tell the truth,” I decide. “You came to my apartment crying then drooled over how amazing I looked as I stood shirtless in my kitchen. Then you threw up all over my shoes. Is that cute enough for you?”
One tune shifts to another, but in the break between songs, Indy asks, “Have I reminded you of how much you suck today?”
“Only twice.”
There’s a subtle comfortability between us now, most likely because I have to trust her enough to fake our relationship and vice versa. Unluckily for us, we’ve only seen each other in passing this week between her travel schedule and mine, so we’re left nailing down our relationship story five minutes before leaving for the fall banquet.
She projects her voice past the wall. “How about you saw your sister’s best friend from afar and instantly knew she was the one. I continually rejected you, because of course I did. But you followed me around like a lost puppy until I caved and gave you a pity date.”
“So much for a realistic storyline.”
“I think most people would buy it.” Her bedroom door opens. “What do you think?”
Lilac-painted toes and white strappy heels are the first thing I see as she steps into the living room. My admiring eye trails the never-ending path of her golden legs, though only one is fully on display tonight thanks to the slit falling dangerously high on her thigh. Shimmering satin paints her body in a bright pink, and I don’t understand the mechanics of it all, but the dress stays perfectly in place by a single strap across one shoulder.
I wonder how quickly it’d pool at her feet, revealing what’s underneath, if it slipped off that slope.
“Ryan.”
“Hmm.” I force my eyes up to meet hers.
“I asked, what do you think?” She holds her hands out, gesturing to herself.
Jesus Christ, get it together.
Nodding, I stand from the couch, smoothing out my suit. “You look lovely, Blue.”
“You look lovely, too.”
My chest heaves. “I was going for intimidating, regal, and suave.”
She takes a step towards me, and between her natural height and the added inches from her heels she almost meets me eye to eye. “We’ll work on that for next time.”
It takes all my willpower to keep my hands at my side when all they want to do is rest on those hips. I can only imagine how cool the satin would feel against my palms, how small she would feel under my touch. She’s utter perfection, feminine and beautiful, but we’re roommates and she’s my sister’s best friend, and the only touching that should be done is while prying eyes are watching us. Only while prying eyes are watching us.
Her matching lilac fingernails find my tie as she straightens me out and I can’t help but watch her work. Her eyelids are shimmering, her cheeks are painted rose, and her lashes are darker than usual. Maybe it’s my angle, but they’re the perfect frame for her whiskey brown eyes as she fixates on my tie.
“You did a good job on your makeup.”
Her head snaps up, brows creased in confusion.
I motion towards my own face. “Your makeup. It looks pretty on you.”
“That’s a weird thing to say.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re supposed to say you like me natural or something to that extent. That’s the typical opinion of the male species.”
“Well, what can I say? I’m not like other guys.”
She catches onto the mocking tone of the cliché phrase as she rolls her eyes and releases a subtle laugh. “You’re funny sometimes, Shay.”
“Do you like your makeup? Did you spend time on it?”
She keeps her stare on my tie and not on me. “Yes.”
“Exactly. So, I think you should know you did a good job on it.”
Those rose-painted cheeks flame. “Thank you.”
“How tall are you?” I keep my words low because she’s only inches from my lips.
“Five-nine, and no, I’m not going to change into shorter heels.”
“Why would I ask you to do that?”
She’s done straightening my tie, but her hands are lingering, fingers pretending to work. “Because I’m only a couple inches shorter than you right now.”
“I don’t mind.”
Looking down, I watch those flaming cheeks ignite once again. At this rate, I should’ve warned her not to wear blush at all tonight.
“We should go.” She takes off to the door, grabbing her tiny purse on the way.
“Your jacket,” I remind her.
She turns with attitude, showing off that shiny pink dress. “I’m not taking one. Beauty is pain, and this outfit needs its moment.”
It took the entire drive for Indy to stop shivering thanks to the short walk from my apartment to the town car. I offered her my jacket, but she refused, claiming if she’s going to be photographed on my arm then it’s going to be in this dress. I don’t blame her because goddamn, this dress, but I’m going to come off like an asshole allowing my date to freeze in the Chicago evening temperatures.
“You ready?” I ask her as we pull up to the swanky hotel hosting the fall banquet. And though the question is directed at Indy, I’m internally asking myself the same thing.
Besides the favor-date last year, I haven’t been photographed with a woman since I moved to Chicago, and now I’m regretting pulling Indy into this madness. My life is forever on display, and I hate it. Anonymity is rare and I’m about to take hers away.
“Yeah, I think so.” Her words are breathy, fogging the back window as her eyes stay glued to the hoard of photographers right outside.
An image of Stevie flashes through my mind. I couldn’t protect her from the scrutiny of the press last spring, and I vividly remember the mental toll it took on her. She was a normal girl and I kept her out of the limelight the best I could, but once word got out that Evan Zanders had a girlfriend, her life was upended for weeks.
And I’m intentionally about to do that to her closest friend.
Although, I doubt speculation over my dating life would be as big of a deal as it was for Zanders. I’m not a playboy. I’m not flashy. I’ve never flaunted my single life the way he used to, but it’s still too risky.
“Harold, turn around,” I project to my driver. “Back home, please.”
Indy’s head snaps to me. “What are you doing?”