Angel

Cat is nowhere to be found. Figures. I stopped at Java Jamaica, and the girl working said she took the day off. I called. No answer. I texted, and still nothing, so I’m going to her apartment.

I know she told me to say yes to a date with River, and she probably won’t try and sway me from going, but I need a sounding board, even if it’s a biased one.

I pay my Uber driver and hop out onto the sidewalk in front of her posh apartment building. Cat can afford to dillydally her life away in a coffee shop because she comes from money. If she were poor, I’ll bet she would learn to control her temper and get a job doing something that challenges her, something she’s educated for like being a stock trader.

Personally, I think she’d be perfect for that job with her hot head, but so far, she hasn’t had any luck convincing anyone else of that.

The doorman holds the door for me when I’m at the top of the stairs.

“Evening, Miss,” he says.

“Hey, Arturo, have you seen Cat today?” I ask.

Arturo has worked in Cat’s building longer than she’s been alive. I’ve known him as long as I’ve known her.

“She’s home, and I believe she is ill.”

“Oh no, well that explains why she’s not at work. I’d better check on her. Nice to see you again, Arturo.”

“Thank you, Miss. Have a good evening.”

I ride the elevator up to the tenth floor and take a left when I get off. Outside her door, there is a delivery bag hanging on her doorknob. I slip it off and knock. No answer. I ring the bell, and still nothing. What the hell is up with her?

I’m thinking about heading home to hide under the covers in my bed, where I can ignore the fact that I have a date with the hottest NFA player in the league. I slip the bag back onto the doorknob and turn to leave when I hear a click and a faint, “Come in.”

Grabbing the bag again, I push the door open and find a swollen, puffy version of my best friend. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her nose is red and runny, and her hair’s a mess of wild pink and blue stripes tangled in a ponytail that has long since been pretty.

“What the hell happened to you? I just saw you twenty-four hours ago, and you were fine,” I say, reaching out to feel her forehead. She’s hot, really hot.

“I caught the flu, I guess.” She shrugs, turning around to crawl back into her cocoon of blankets on the couch. She’s been nesting here for a while. Kleenex litter the coffee table, and several glasses of water sit half-filled.

“You’re really hot. Have you called your doctor?”

She pulls her fluffy, white down comforter—that she has dragged off her bed to the couch—up to her chin.

“Thanks, and no.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, turd. Have you taken some Ibuprofen, at least?”

“Nope, gonna ride it out.”

“Why are you so stubborn? There are things you can do to make yourself feel better while you recuperate, you know.”

“It’s better to let it run its course. So what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on a date with blue eyes?”

“How did you know we had a date?”

“You had a class with him today, right? I knew he would ask you. I did worry about what you’d say, though.”

She’s snuggled on her side, shivering under her covers, but she lifts her head to glare at me with suspicion.

“I accepted.”

Her glassy eyes light up. Even with a fever and a head full of snot, she’s excited that I’ve got a date.

“But, I want to cancel. I don’t know how to get ahold of him, though. We didn’t exchange numbers.”

“And why do you want to cancel?” She may be sick as hell, but she can still make me feel like the dumbest woman alive with her tone.

“Because . . . because I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”

“Angel, how long did it take you to track me down today?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Couldn’t you have been practicing during those couple of hours?”

“Yeah, what’s your point?”

“My point is you have time for what you make time for. You were dying to talk to me, so you put your practice aside and found me. Go and do the same for your love life.”

“I wouldn’t have had to waste time hunting you down if I hadn’t said yes to going on a date with him, which you encouraged, I might add.”

She sighs and props herself up on her elbow.

“You know damn good and well that you would have said yes with or without my encouragement, so don’t go blaming me for that. I’ll bet you couldn’t even answer him verbally. What’d you do, nod your head?”

I frown. “How did you know that?”

She shakes her head back and forth and drops it back onto her pillow.

“I know you, Angel, and I’ve seen him.”

“So you’re not going to help me out of this, are you?”

“No. How would I do that anyway?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe your brother would know how to look up somebody’s personal information on a secret NFA player list or something.”

“Wow, you’re really reaching, aren’t you? I’m not calling Jesse, and you’re going on your date, end of discussion. Go and get something sexy from my closet. You probably don’t have anything but jeans and tutus in yours. And for God's sake, take a shower. You smell, and your hair is atrocious.”

“I’ve been working all day, unlike some of us.”

“I’m sick. Go clean up,” she says, waving a finger toward the hall that leads to her bedroom. Shopping in Cat’s closet is a little like shopping on Rodeo Drive. There isn’t a scrap of material in there that isn’t high-fashion and expensive as hell. She’s also much more daring than I am when it comes to clothes, so I’m a little worried about what I’ll find that’s appropriate for . . . for what? I have no idea where we’re going or what we’re doing.

Why didn’t I ask more questions? At the very least, getting his phone number would have been smart. I didn’t say anything at all. I just nodded. How pathetic.

I shower in Cat’s enormous bathroom, where it smells like a field of lavender. I’ve never smelled this girly in my life. When I pad into her bedroom from the en-suite bathroom, the closet door is open and the light is on.

Inside the closet, hanging on a freestanding garment hook, is a gorgeous burgundy colored dress. It’s knee-length and has a row of tiny buttons from the hem all the way up to the point of its V-neck. There’s a smidgen of space between every button and its corresponding hole on the opposite side. It’s beautiful, and not me.

“Don’t stand there all day and stare at it. Put it on,” she says. I flinch and turn to find her standing on the threshold of the bedroom wrapped in her comforter.

“You should be in bed.”

“Yeah, I know, but this is a once in a millennium kind of event. I had to make sure you wore it.”

“Gosh, Cat, don’t overdramatize this or anything. It’s just a date, one little date that isn’t going to lead anywhere.”

“Shush. It will if I have anything to do with it. Now let me see you in that dress.”

“You’re bossy when you’re sick. I need a bra and panties.”

“I’m bossy when I’m not sick. You just haven’t been subjected to it. And you don’t need a bra with that dress. Panties are in the top drawer on your left, but I’m pretty sure you can’t wear those either. I’m going to lie down. I feel like shit.”

She disappears from the door, and I look down at the drawer full of perfectly placed underwear. At home, mine are tossed in a drawer all willy-nilly. Cat’s look like a sale table at Victoria’s Secret.

I check the time on my phone—it’s six o’clock. Crap. I need to speed things up. I shrug my shoulders and step into the dress. It feels so weird to be so naked under the slinky material. I’ve never gone commando and braless at the same time. I stop to examine myself in the mirror and wonder if it’s obvious I’m not wearing any panties.

The dress is gorgeous. I smooth my hands over my hips and take a second to admire myself. I look good. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should go out more, have some fun, and live a little. An image of Miss Valentina with her nose wrinkled up and her mouth set in a disapproving straight line flashes through my mind, followed by one of my father shaking his head and saying, you should have been a doctor like your sister.

No, dance first, and everything else comes after that. I need to make it through tonight, guard my heart, and turn my hormone switch to off so I can get back to practicing my toes off tomorrow.

Back in the bathroom, I run a flat iron over my damp hair and use Cat’s makeup to freshen up my eyes and lips. A pair of strappy black heels, and I’m on my way back into the living room to grab my bag.

I’m met with a long whistle and a catcall from the ultimate Cat.

“Wow, you shine up like a new penny! I had no idea you could look so hot.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve seen me dressed for a show plenty of times.”

“That’s different. You’re always wearing stage makeup, sequins, and tutus. You look like a million sexy ass bucks in that dress.”

“How much did this dress cost? Am I going to go broke if I spill red sauce all over it and have to replace it?”

“It’s nothing. Go ahead, let him tear it off you. If it helps you get laid, I don’t care if I never see it again.”

“Shut up, I’m not sleeping with him. It’s just one date.”

The side of her mouth lifts in a doubtful pucker.

“Call me tomorrow and tell me how it went.”

“I can call you in a couple of hours and tell you how it went. I have to work on my audition tomorrow morning. I can’t stay out late.”

She rolls her eyes. “You can call me from his bed tomorrow. I won’t be up later. I’m sick.”

“Whatever. I’ll take a selfie of myself in my bed and send it to you later. Thanks for the dress.”

“Don’t mention it. See ya.”

“Bye.”

I carefully make my way out and down the elevator in her shoes. All I need is to break my damn leg walking in these heels tonight. When I’m in the foyer of her building, a short man with perfect baby bottom skin and a round, pudgy face approaches me.

“Miss Williams?”

“Um, yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m to drive you to the dance studio on Fifth Avenue.”

“Cat sent you?”

He nods, and I follow him to a shiny black Mercedes parked on the curb outside. He opens the back door, and I slide across the soft leather seat. Good old Cat. She sure does everything with style.

We pull away from the curb, and the damn butterflies start to flutter ever so lightly, preparing for a full-on flit fest when I see River again. It’s the feeling you get when a rollercoaster drops down the first big hill, nauseating and exhilarating at the same time.

I don’t know if I can handle an entire evening of this. I should cancel when he shows up, but I can’t very well do that dressed like this. I could say my mom is sick, or my toilet overflowed and my apartment flooded. But then again, I don’t want to jinx my mom’s health, and he seems like the kind of nice guy who would offer to come and bail me out of my flooded apartment.

Ten minutes later, we are approaching the studio when the pudgy driver asks, “Is it okay if I pull up in front?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.”

When we stop, he exits the car and rounds the rear to open my door curbside. Being chauffeured around is nice. A girl could get used to this. Why the hell does Cat work in a coffee shop when she can afford luxury clothes and a driver?

Standing on the sidewalk and pondering Cat’s strange life choices, I don’t notice River approaching me from behind until he slips his arm around my waist.

“Oh, shit, you scared me!”

Butterfly blitz.

I’m positively vibrating from the inside when his playful eyes come into view.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t want you to get all the way inside. I’ve been waiting out here for you, and I saw you pull up.”

“Crap, am I late? I thought I had time to spare.” I fumble in my bag for my phone to check the time. When I pull it out, he covers it with his hand.

“No, no, you’re fine—well, much more than fine. You look exquisite,” he says, holding my hands and spreading my arms wide to have a better look at me.

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure where we were going. I hope I’m not too dressed up.”

“You’re perfect. My sister owns a restaurant, and we have reservations for the best table in the house.”

“Really? What’s it called? Maybe I’ve been there.” I don’t know why I said that. I haven’t been out to eat, other than the occasional Chinese take-out or pizza, in a year.

“It’s not exactly local,” he says, turning me in the direction of his car.

“Where exactly is it?”

“San Jose. It’s called Poppy’s. She serves the best seafood you’ll ever eat, and her wine selection is impressive. I think you’ll like it.”

“San Jose? That’s like an hour away.”

He opens the passenger door of a slick black car and waves his hand toward the seat.

“Yes, it is. Are you okay with that? I thought we could get to know each other a little bit on the drive there.”

“Um, well yes. I have to practice in the morning, though. I can’t be out too late.”

I sound like such a dork. I can’t be out too late. What grown woman tells their hotter than hell date that she has a curfew?

“No problem. I’ll have you back and in bed by midnight, Cinderella.”

A silence hangs in the air, and we stare at each other until he blinks, breaking the awkward moment.

“Oh, I didn’t mean I’d have you in my bed, just that you’d be in your bed . . . at home . . . sleeping, you know.”

He is backpedaling so hard, he’s almost stuttering, and it’s utterly adorable. I smile and duck under his arm gracefully and fold my legs into the front seat.

I hear him chuckle as he closes the door. He passes in front of the car, unbuttoning his blazer before climbing in next to me.

This guy knows how to dress. It’s no wonder he’s done some modeling. His clothes look like they were just taken from the mannequin in the window of Wilkes Bashford. His crisp white dress shirt against his tanned skin makes my mouth water, and his navy sports coat and light gray slacks fit like they are tailor-made for his lean, muscular body. What am I thinking? They probably are tailor-made. He’s filthy rich.

“Buckle up, Pretty Dancer.”

Oh, my.