Page 65 of For One Night Only

My heart twists at that, and it sobers me a little. “We got caught, I guess.”

“Oh my god,I fucking knew you two wouldn’t last the summer,” Keeley says, face lighting up in vindication.

Jane looks at me, her brows furrowed. “So…how much of this is strategy and how much is…you know, real?”

God, I wish I knew.

“We’re figuring it out!” Valerie says, almost too brightly. “But that’s not important right now—my stylist quit months ago, and I’m so excited to work with a new one for the red carpet!” I try not to take thenot importantpersonally, but ouch.It’s impossible. My chest goes tight.

“Fine, but we’re talking about this later,” Keeley says dryly. She and Valerie return to the rack, but Jane’s still looking at me, frowning.

It’s all good, I mouth at Jane with a shrug.

She shakes her head, placing one of her small, warm hands on my arm. It makes me miss my sister so badly it hurts. Cameron would know what to say right now. She always has the best advice, and she has a fresh perspective since she’s not in the industry. I wish I could call her, but she works today, and I don’t want her to think it’s an emergency.

And Valerie and I will figure it out. Her voice breaks me out of my spiral, and Jane and I turn to the others.

“You could always go with the sexy suit option, Keels,” Valerie is suggesting. “Like Blake Lively inA Simple Favor.”

“Definitely not ruling it out,” Keeley says. “There are also some gorgeous gowns and jumpsuits.” It goes against all of her badassgirl drummer vibes, but out of all of us, Keeley is the one who gets the most excited about these events. When you’re doing red carpets, it’s a lot of nonstop smiling, a lot of waiting, long hours in uncomfortable clothes, but I think Keeley enjoys getting out from behind the drum set and stepping into center stage.

I’ve seen this woman dancing and downing tequila shots in a skintight Tom Ford gown at three a.m. like she hadn’t been parading in front of cameras for twelve hours. Something about the long days just energizes her when it exhausts the rest of us, and I wish I had an ounce of her enthusiasm.

Then again, if I did, I might still be in the industry.

“I’ve always been tempted to take the pants route, but I can’t resist a pretty dress,” Valerie adds.

“Oooh, we have to find you something backless!” Keeley says, heading to the other rack of gowns with Jane close on her heels.

“Backless is good,” I murmur to Valerie, who winks before following them.

“Caleb, come here a sec,” Wade calls. I hurry over, and he introduces me to our team for the day. The stylist, a slender Black person with short curls and a perfectly tailored jumpsuit, introduces themselves as Rowan. They met Keeley through Bianca Martin, Keeley’s still-friendly ex, and they’re going to be styling us for Glitter Bats press as well as theInto the Dragon Realmpremiere.

The tailor, a white and curvy woman with spiky gray hair, introduces herself as Jenna. She hasn’t met anyone in the band before, but Rowan enthusiastically vouches for her talent.

“We’re going to be working off the rack due to the timing, but with a build like this? You haveoptions,” Rowan says, gesturing at me. My cheeks warm at the compliment, because I’m not used to being scrutinized like this anymore, but I manage a muttered thank-you as they comb through the racks. My heart stops as I see the names on the labels. Six years ago, I wouldn’t have thoughttwice about buying a bunch of these suits, blowing five figures in one shopping trip like the money would never run out.

Suddenly, my breathing shallows as the cost of everything in the room hits me with full force. It’s probably enough to buy my mom a house. At least I’m not picking up the bill today—designers usually provide red-carpet clothes because they want them to be seen and talked about.

Jenna crosses her arms, oblivious to my mental spiral.

“We can rush an alteration if needed, though, so let’s get a few quick measurements. Do you mind?” she asks, gesturing at me. The no-nonsense tone behind her question leaves no roomtomind, but I’m grateful for the ask.

“Not at all,” I say weakly. At least I remembered how to handle this part. I’m in a T-shirt and athletic shorts, something easy to change out of without any added bulk. Jenna gestures me up onto the platform, then measures my waist, the breadth of my shoulders, the length of my arms. She rattles off measurements, and Rowan takes them down. Once they’ve got everything they need recorded on a tablet, they both hurry over to the rack of suits, grabbing three options after some hushed consultation.

“Let’s put him in the Hugo Boss and see what we have to work with,” Rowan says. I’m ushered behind a screen, where I’m handed the suit and a white button-down. I strip out of my clothes and shrug into the suit.

When I step out, Riker wolf whistles across the room, apparently having finally shown up for his own fitting. I flip him off before stepping up onto the makeshift platform and staring at myself in the mirror. Rowan hurries over and takes stock of the ensemble, tugging at a sleeve here and straightening a pant leg there. Excitement ripples around me, but I don’t feel it. I’m just numb. A stranger stares back at me from the mirror.

I swallow thickly. At least the eyeliner and pomade were thingsI chose, so putting them back on didn’t feel so jarring. Wearing a suit that I could never afford on my teacher salary just makes me feel like I’m playing dress-up, like this summer is all pretend.

“Honestly, even if we had more time, I’d put you in Boss. You’re lean but broad-shouldered—hell, this suit was made for you,” Rowan says, swooping in over my shoulder to smooth my lapel.

“We’ll just take the hem up a bit and call it good,” Jenna adds. I laugh, because thea bitis generous. At my five foot seven, she’ll definitely need to take a big chunk off the pants like past tailors usually did, but that never really bothered me.

“Sounds good,” I say. It’s a nice suit, and I’m excited to celebrate Jane, but I really don’t care what I look like. I’d rather skip the premiere if I could get away with it. I don’t feel like the guy who wears designer suits and smiles for a hundred flashbulbs anymore.

But whether I feel like him or not, it’s what I have to do.

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