Going out tonight wasn’t a good idea. Even as our car pulled up to the Cruise Room and Skylar and I finished the last of our beers, I considered just leaving him there and having the driver take me home. I didn’t want to go out tonight; I didn’t want to do much of anything tonight.

Yet, when I glanced out the window into the opaque night, I realized that this, as forced and uncomfortable as it was, was still better than being alone.

“It’s time!” Skylar boomed.

Tossing the cans behind us, we stumbled out.

A few steps inside the bar, I smiled. I’d forgotten how aesthetically pleasing the place was: the art deco, swanky furniture, the red-lit yellow walls, the plush seats. Even its clientele looked more upper-class than usual, with flapper-like dresses and nonchalant expressions.

Best of all was that it wasn’t too busy yet. Good. We could order a few more drinks without having to fight the crowd.

Immediately, Skylar and I hustled over to some bar stools and asked the pretty bartender for some vodka oranges. As she got to work on our order, Skylar put his arm around me.

“Still down about the latest broad?”

I cast him a startled look. I hadn’t told him much about Donna, just that I had been seeing her a lot lately and had stopped. For a musclehead, Skylar was surprisingly perceptive.

“No, I… Okay, maybe a little,” I admitted.

Skylar nodded.

“Don’t you worry, bro. I knew you’d be sad, so I invited some friends.”

Drawing away, I shook my head.

“Skylar—no, man. I’m really not in the mood.”

But Skylar was already sliding cash to the glass-bearing bartender, telling her to keep the change.

I stood up.

“I mean it. I feel really shitty, not in the mood for that,” I told him.

Pursing his lips, Skylar nodded. Then, patting the bar stool I’d been on a second ago, he said, “It’ll be more for me than you. You don’t have to do anything. I mean it.”

A few drinks later, when vanilla musk wafted between us, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy and excited at the same time.

“Skylar…” a tall Asian girl with a short lace skirt cooed, lacing her arms around him.

“Kyra,” Skylar said, smirking at me over her shoulder.

“This is Tracie,” she told us, gesturing to her friend, a shorter redhead with breasts that were practically falling out of her top.

When we hugged, I realized the vanilla musk was coming from her.

“Sooo,” Kyra said, linking her arms in both Skylar’s and mine. “Why are we not in a booth again?”

So, Tracie linking her arm in my free one, off to a booth we waltzed, slumping into it with a haphazard expulsion of giggles.

What seemed like seconds later, Skylar had ordered a bottle, the champagne was flowing, and we were toasting.

“Like,” Kyra said, leaning into the table, so close I could see every one of her perfect white teeth, “I can’t believe you’re, like, Carter Ray. The Carter Ray.”

Her glassy eyes scanned mine, expecting something; I wasn’t sure what.

“Yeah,” was all I could think to say, and yet, this seemed to please her.

Smiling devilishly, she declared, “Don’t think I haven’t heard all the juicy rumors. I’ll have to be careful around you.”

Though, really, it was Tracie who should have been careful. Neither she nor I said much, but we didn’t have to. Our legs that were pressed side by side did the talking, while the endless downing of drinks didn’t hurt.

As everything slowly grew more and more blurry, I thought of her. Donna. Of what she was doing now, if she missed me. If I called her, would she answer? Why would I call her, though?

The answer was the sad swirl in my gut as I surveyed the bar. This whole place, as handsome as it was, was full of lonely people laughing loud to scare away the silence, of dressed-up people more practiced in the art of pretending to have fun than actually having it. And then, there was me, the loneliest and worst pretender of them all, the one who had the most reason to be happy and yet…

That was why I was going to call her. Donna was the only one who had ever made me feel like I belonged, who had ever made me almost forgot who I was, forget that I was unhappy.

“I need a minute,” I mumbled as I stumbled out of the booth. The others’ response was uproarious laughter. They didn’t know that I wouldn’t be coming back.

Outside, the night was cool and full of passersby, smoking, fleeting and content. I dialed her number slowly, enjoying not knowing whether she’d answer yet. What would I do if she didn’t pick up?

It rang. Once, twice.

“Hello?” Donna said behind me, and I turned around.

The call still on, the phone clutched in her hand, she gaped at me.

She looked hot as hell—a short red dress and red heels to match, her eyes lined in black.

“Carter,” she said.

A frowning girl pulled her to the Cruise Room’s door.

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late!”

But Donna held her ground, didn’t budge.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

The friend paused. Then, throwing up her hands, she disappeared inside. Donna turned to me, running her hand through her hair.

“You were calling me.”

I nodded. “I want to talk to you.”

She stared at me blankly. “I called you today.”

“I left my phone with my assistant. Had a meeting. Why?”

Her eyes lit up, but next thing I knew, my arm was being grasped.

“Hey there, handsome.”

It was Tracie, her red lips curled into a sultry grin. Suddenly noticing Donna, she turned to her, cocking her head at her as if to say, “And who are you?”