Blake laughed, then snapped his mouth shut. “Uh, anyway,” he said, turning back to me. “Hang out with me in the back, if you’re not a dancer.”
I bit down on my lip. I wasn’t sure what to read into the exchange they just had, or if there even was anything to read into it. But at the same time, I felt pulled into their energy. It was like something sparked for a minute, then disappeared just as quickly, and I was left feeling disoriented.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” I said, “but that sounds fun. Whatever you all want to plan will be great, I’m sure.”
I took the plate and blinked down at a perfect omelet. It was fluffy and yellow, toasted brown and shiny with cheese, and I practically started salivating just from the look of it.
I grinned up to Casey. “This looks so, so good. Thank you again.”
“Anytime,” he answered, a satisfied smile on his face.
The Saturday morning drifted by as we ate and drank our coffee, and just like I’d hoped, I managed to chill and enjoy myself. They asked me questions, and we caught up on stuff we’d missed over the past eight years, and as I drank more and more coffee, I started actually talking and sharing stuff that I didn’t expect to share, like how it was to come out to my mom.
The guys weren’t quite as intimidating as I always made them out to be. In fact, they were kind of goofy together, in a way that was charming.
And the more I let myself relax and enjoy their company, the more I settled into my crush.
If I just thought Casey was hot, it would be one thing. I’d never in a million years have the confidence to make a move on him or something ridiculous like that, but at least he was bi, so it was a little more reasonable. I could bury that down and live with my other secret, no problem.
But that wasn’t what this felt like. It was like I had a crush on both of them at once. Together. A straight man and his best friend. Peyton’s closest and oldest friends.
It was weird, and I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about something like that.Delusionalwas probably the best word for it. And desperate.
But it also felt good. Attention from them was comforting and exciting and flattering in a way that I really, really liked. And I found myself wanting to ask them a million questions and listen to all of their answers, too.
When it came time to take off for the movie theater, I got an impulse and decided to ride the good feeling a little bit longer. I ran downstairs to grab my stuff, then pulled the cardboard box out from underneath my bed and rummaged around until I found the mascara I wanted.
Not quite ready to walk upstairs with luscious eyelashes, I shoved it in my pocket instead and then hurried to catch the bus.
* * *
About a blockaway from the movie theater, I slipped into a coffee shop to use the restroom, then pulled out my mascara wand.
It wasn’t like this was the first time I’d worn makeup. At least, not exactly. I had a couple of friends in college who took me out the club sometimes and encouraged me to dress like I wanted, but mainly, my experience had all been in my own apartment and late at night, usually after a few drinks.
But my college friends all moved away and quickly disappeared into their new lives. And I didn’t want to just wear makeup in my room at night, when I was the only one who could see it.
I just liked to feel softer sometimes and to let a different part of my personality shine to the surface. I didn’t need to be the center of attention or to show off the flashiest look at the club.
It was pretty simple, actually. Dressing up made me happy, and it made me feel like me.
Leaning over the sink, I plunged the wand into the mascara, then drew it out slowly. The dark blue was so inky and rich, it almost looked black, and when I swiped it up along my eyelashes, they plumped and extended, adding a touch of drama to the speckled hazel and brown in my irises.
I fluttered my eyelashes, admiring the way the color caught the blue of my button-up shirt. For just a moment, I tried to relax into the pleasure of looking like I wanted to look, then zipped my jacket halfway up and hurried back out to the street.
“Russell!” River exclaimed from down the block. “You made it!”
I waved, then jogged over to him. “Of course,” I said. “I love documentaries.”
River smiled. He had an elegant white scarf hanging off his neck and a gray cable-knit sweater that hugged him just right. When he extended his arm, offering me a hug, I leaned in lightly to greet him and noticed the subtle touch of pink lipstick on his smile.
“You must need to rush in,” I said. “You’re organizing this, right?”
River shook his head. “My work is done. I’m just here to enjoy the film. But you’re right that I’ll get bombarded with work conversations the second I arrive.” He tilted his eyes up to the clear sky, and the sun fell down on his cheeks. “I was just going to go for a walk to enjoy the light. Want to join me?”
I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets. “Sure. Sounds nice!”
My heart thudded. River was confident and warm, and his style seemed like a natural extension of his personality. Whenever I tried to dress up more, I felt like I was in an awkward costume, and no matter how many YouTube videos I watched, I never could figure out winged eyeliner or contouring or anything like that.
