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I groan. “Those colleagues I mentioned. Apparently there are business opportunities here. Potential clients to woo. What about you?”
“The Brady Ladies dragged me here.” Lyra smiles around a sip of champagne punch, her shiny red lipstick not leaving a smudge on the glass. Maybe it’s not lipstick but something else on her mouth. I think back to graduate school, how one of the chemical engineers in my program told me she was going to make a fortune in cosmetics. But then I look right back at Lyra’s lips and can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to rub my thumb across that bright, creamy pout. I shake my head.
“You know the Brady family?”
“Logan works with me at Vinea, along with Sam. And it didn’t take the rest of those ladies very long to insert themselves into my life.”
“Mm,” I say, trying to convey my understanding. Lyra doesn’t want to hear about my college roommate recruiting me to work with his company, or that he happens to be married to the bossiest project manager I ever worked for in any job before or since. The fact that Lyra is here right now tells me she probably already understands all that.
“So it’s your birthday?” She raises her eyebrows in curiosity and I notice a tiny freckle on her left cheek. Just the one freckle on that golden skin.
I nod. “I’ve always hated it. Things are wild on New Year’s Eve, loud and bawdy. And everyone has all these huge expectations of something epic.” I shrug. “I’d rather do something quiet with low pressure.”
She frowns, considering. “Like what?”
I take another swig of my drink, thinking. Nobody has actually ever asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday. People just assume, or drag me with them to flashy parties like this one. “I don’t even know what’s open,” I tell Lyra. “Maybe bowling?”
Lyra finishes her drink and stands up, extending a hand toward me. “Let’s do it, then. Let’s go bowling.”
“What? Now?”
She waves her arms around. “They won’t notice us leave, I promise. I bet Arsenal Lanes is open and it’s only a few blocks away.”
“But…” I gesture at her outfit. “You’re in a dress.”
Lyra frowns, sets her drink on the floor near my empty beer bottle, and puts her hands on her hips. “You don’t think I can hit a turkey in a dress?”
My jaw drops hearing Lyra sling around bowling terminology. All the years of pimply isolation as the nerdy kid on the bowling team fade away as I stand beside this vision of loveliness who knows three strikes in a row is called a turkey. Feeling a sudden wave of confidence wash over me, I sling back the rest of my drink and stand beside her.
I let my eyes wander up and down her body, trying not to focus on the swell of her hips as the sequins jiggle along with her breaths. “We’d better find you some socks.”
3
LYRA
“Shoot. This one’s closed, too.”I slump against the dark window of another drug store, shivering in my heels and regretting my sexy dress. How interesting, that I regret the dress and not the ridiculous quest to find socks to go bowling with a near-stranger on New Year’s Eve. I love that we’re doing something unplanned, against the expectations.
Rayland leans next to me, arms crossed, frowning in concentration. “We could go into the bowling alley and ask if they sell socks?”
I roll my eyes and groan. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of that first.”
Ray grins, a shy smile that reveals a row of straight teeth. In the glow of the streetlights, his face is mostly shadows and unkempt hair, but the smile shines him up like a lantern. He reaches for my hand and I notice how warm his skin is. I shiver and he frowns, then puts an arm around me. “You’re definitely not dressed for adventure.”
“No,” I agree with him. “I’m dressed for a classy party at Bridges and Bitters.” We reach the bowling alley and I can tell by the music pouring out that Ray isn’t going to like what we find inside. It sounds like a swing band is performing live. Rayland pushes open the door and winces as the brass music blares out.
I squint in the dim light of the stairwell and bite my lip. “Should we bother going up?” Ray shrugs and I appreciate the warmth of the building as we climb the stairs. I can’t figure out the vibe of this bowling alley. Red velvet curtains and gold brocade line the walls and glistening chandeliers give a sense that we are in the ballroom on theTitanic.
But the clientele currently bowling to live big band music is sporting mohawk hairstyles, plenty of tattoos, and chain wallets.
At any rate, the place is packed, and even if they did sell socks here, there’s no way we are going to snag a lane in the next few hours. Rayland frowns and leans against a counter, rubbing his temples.
“Let’s get out of here,” I shout near his ear.
“What?” He frowns.
I wiggle two fingers to mimic walking. “LET’S GET OUT OF HERE.” Of course, there’s a pause in the music as I scream this last bit and I swear, people whip their heads to stare at us. I feel the Asian flush sweep over my face, even though it’s been ages since I had any alcohol.
Ray drapes an arm around me protectively, grinning as the music starts again and people return to their frames. He steers me toward the stairs and as we descend, he squeezes my hand tight. I’m not wobbly in my heels, per se, but I could be and it’s nice to feel his steady presence at my side.
