“Yes, please,” I chirp, and let him lead me to the bar, where one of the event staffers in a Comets-branded golf shirt is mixing elaborate cocktails. “I’ll have … whatever you’re having,” I say to Dom, and the bartender chuckles.
“Two sodas,” Dom tells him, and the bartender cracks a grin. “We got practice at eight.” He turns to me as if this explains all life choices, which, for Dom, I guess maybe it does.
We take our sodas and turn to survey the lounge, which is done up with little Comets flags and a catering spread that could feed an entire high school. The music is fun but not overly loud, and the lighting soft enough to make the atmosphere welcoming.
Dom nudges me. “Balcony? We can check out the city lights or whatever you people here think is picturesque.”
I peer up at him and laugh. “Absolutely, let’s go be cliche.”
However, before we make it to the double glass doors, one of the other basketball players and his girl steps in front of us. I can’t remember the player’s name, but the look on Dom’s face is complex enough that I can’t tell if he’s a fan.
“You played like a champ today.” The guy, a blond who looks younger than me, sticks out his hand to Dom.
“Thanks.” Dom shakes his hand, but his voice is flat.
I smile at the woman. She’s tall, leggy, with jet black hair and fake lashes. She smiles back at me, and then her face flashes with recognition. “Oh my … Nicole Farrarah,” she gasps, and for a moment, I’m not sure if this is good or catastrophic. “IknewI totally recognized you! You were the Glow Girl creator, right?”
I freeze. This isnotthe context I want to be recognized in.
Not in front of Dom.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “That was my startup. For a bit. It didn’t… Um… It obviously was just a starting point.”
The woman gives me a weird smile and then turns to the guy she’s with. “Babe, Nicole was huge on TikTok for, like, three months.” She beams at me, her smile edged with something not entirely nice. “Didn’t you do a face cream that went viral?”
I nod, already feeling heat crawl up my cheeks. “Yeah, for a second. Then it went less viral and more like … bacteria.” I try to land the joke, but only Dom chuckles.
The woman leans in, placing a hand on my free forearm. “Wasn’t that the one where the face cream smelled like rotten eggs?”
Before I can answer, the other teammate jumps in. “Oh man! My sister bought that stuff,” he says, laughing, “Said it was like smearing rancid butter on her face.”
I want to die.I want to melt into the floor.
I want to time travel back to the moment I decided to make Glow Girl a thing and, instead, take up a quiet life in a cave with Cocoa. But instead, I just smile, the kind of smile that makes your jaw ache for days. “Yeah, that was it. We got it reformulated, but the memes were unstoppable by then. It just wasn’t meant to be.”
The woman nods, a glimmer of what I think might be actual pity in her eyes. “That’s so LA, though. Fail hard, fail fast, make a comeback. Are you working on something now?”
I hesitate. There’s a thousand ways to play this, but only one that lets me leave this conversation with any dignity. “Maybe,” I say. “Still working on the concept.”
“Good for you,” she says, but it comes out laced with even more pity.
“Anyway,” Dom cuts in, his voice an octave deeper than normal. “I hope the next game goes as well.”
“Yeah, for sure,” the guy replies, and Dom suddenly retreats, tugging me away from the glass doors to the balcony.
“What are we doing?” I ask, looking up at him, and then back toward all the people, some of whom are staring at us. I try to nod, but my chest’s gone all tight.
“Wanna get out of here?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “But also, this is totally your night.” I can’t hide the guilt in my voice. “I don’t want to ruin it for you just because I’m kind of a viral failure.”
“Well, first of all—” Dom leans down, bopping me on the nose—”Idon’tthink you’re a failure. And secondly, who cares about the internet, anyway? It might be the worst invention ever.”
“Okay.” I sigh, glancing back over at a couple of people near us. “That’s definitely not a reason to leave.”
“You’re right.” Dom nods, straightening. “The reason to leave is that I absolutely hate afterparties and only came tonight so I could torture you.”
I can’t help but smile. “You’re flattering.”
