Page 15 of Her Secret Santa

“No foundation?” I ask as she coats my lashes with mascara.

“Frankie said everyone wears masks to ensure anonymity, so pretty much only your mouth and chin will be visible. He sent me this whole long list of stuff, so I made sure to memorize the important bits. Our masks are silver and the Elites wear black. Your skin is perfect, so you just get lip gloss,” she says with a grin.

Masks? This gets more and more exciting—and nerve wracking—by the minute. I ignore her comment about my skin because she makes a habit of complimenting me almost daily. She’d find something to compliment even if I was an old hag covered in warts. I drop my mouth open when she pulls out the gloss, letting her slick it across my lips.

“Perfect. I’m a genius,” she praises herself. “Alright, little miss, go get dressed. Your outfit is in the paper bag.”

“You bought me clothes?”

She doesn’t need to be spending money on me, especially not to buy clubbing clothes. I know her youngest brother has a birthday coming up in the new year, and her money would be put to better use on him than on me. And it’s not like she doesn’t have bills of her own—and her family’s—to pay. Her dad died when she was still in high school, a horrible case of mistaken identity mixed with being in the wrong place at the wrong time that wound up with a bullet in the back of his head. She doesn’t like to talk about it, but her family has struggled ever since he passed, and she does everything she can to support them now.

“Ithriftedyou clothes,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Go put them on and stop complaining. You can pay me back by having a good time tonight.”

She waves me off, already starting on her own eyeshadow. Snagging the bag off the floor, I can’t help but giggle as I leave todress. I feel less awful about her thrifting clothes for me, but I’ll still have to pay her back when I get my check.

She hums along to whatever song is stuck in her head as I return to my bedroom and empty the contents of the bag on my bed. I should be prepared for something out of my comfort zone, but this is a little past insane.

“Allie!” I screech, holding it up and staring in shock.

I'd call it a dress, but I don't know if the flimsy scraps of fabric in front of me qualify as a full article of clothing. There's no way I can actually go out in this.

“Put it on before you start complaining!” she calls, her voice echoing from the bathroom..

I sigh in defeat, knowing better than to try to argue with her. It doesn't take long to strip out of the white shirt and khakis I wore to work and pull a lacy thong out of my drawer. I haven't worn anything just to feel sexy in so long that I almost forgot what it feels like.

The sight of my own body in the mirror is a little shocking, and I blush at the thought of someone getting to see me like this later.

I grab the dress off the bed and step into it, refusing to think twice about it. Tonight is a night for fun and pleasure, and the black silk clings to my skin like a promise of both. It criss-crosses over my body, offering glimpses of my sides and dipping low in the back. All that holds it up are two tiny strings that look like they'll snap at the slightest pressure. It only just barely covers my ass, and I stare in shock at my reflection.

I’m all mile long legs and perfectly wavy hair. I lookhot. Andwaytaller than I actually am. These heels are insane.

Allie lets out a low, appreciative whistle from the entrance to the bathroom, her brows raised in appreciation.

“Damn, I'm good,” she says with a grin.

I have to admit, she made me look like an absolute goddess.

“You better be wearing something similar,” I say, pointing a warning finger her way even as a grin teases at my lips.

“Me?” she asks, fluttering a hand over her heart playfully. “Please. I'm wearing even less.”

I laugh at her confidence, wishing I could be that sure of myself. I know what I like and what I want, but it’s not easy for me to talk to people about my own desires. I’m much better at giving than I am at taking, but tonight is supposed to be for my own selfish wants.

Maybe it’ll be easier when I can hide behind a mask.

Allie finishes getting ready quickly, stepping into a lacy bodysuit and a shiny black latex skirt that’s only barely modest enough to count as street legal. There’s no doubt that she’ll catch someone’s eye tonight. We decide to take a cab over to the club, since it’s in a much richer part of Manhattan than either of us could ever afford, and we don’t want to show up in my old beater of a car.

We spend the ride over practically vibrating with anticipation, texting each other excitedly so as to spare the poor cabbie from having to listen to our debaucherous fantasies of what the night will bring.

The city scape shifts from houses and worn down brick walls to bright, glittering lights and sleek buildings. Stepping out of the cab feels like stepping into a whole different world. I share an excited glance with Allie as she joins me on the sidewalk. It’s time for a completely new adventure to begin.

She walks confidently up to the heavyset man standing in front of a nondescript black door and pulls the tickets from her purse, handing them over.

“Take a silver mask when you go inside,” he tells us, his voice low and gravelly. “Put it on before you go through the door to the left. The Floor Master will go through your paperwork before you can enter.”

My heart pounds with excitement as he reaches for the door and pulls it open, stepping aside to allow us entry.

“Welcome to Eternity.”

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