Page 62 of Home Field Advantage

My first ever queer date—well, first ever queer date who’s actually intome—is here.

And I’m going to the dance on her arm. In front of everyone.

Holy crap.

“Would you like me to get that?” Mom asks, clearly holding back laughter as she takes in my panicked expression.

I shake my head, but it still takes me a few seconds to actually slip out of the chair. I slide on my silver heels and check myself in the mirror one last time, making sure Jack will get the full effect of my sexy but delicate look, and then I open the door.

And promptly slip on my own drool.

Okay, not literally, but it does feel like a serious danger when I see Jack in all her hot glory. If my mom weren’t here, I definitely could not be held responsible for my actions.

The hair that was always knotted away as an afterthought is now front and center as a platinum mohawk. The sides look so smooth and soft, my fingers instantly itch to brush over them, and the rest is artfully tousled in that sexy just-got-out-of-bed way. I’d think shehadjust gotten out of bed if not for the rest of her looking immaculate.

The suit is… good God. It’s deep green velvet withcropped pants rolled at the cuffs and a pristine white dress shirt buttoned all the way up. In truest Jack fashion, she’s foregone heels to pair it with immaculate white tennis shoes, and a watch with a thick brown leather band and a face the size of a saucer glints from her wrist.

Dapperis the word that comes to mind.

Well, it’s the clean word, anyway.

“Hi,” I somehow manage despite my mouth going completely dry.

“Uh, hi.” She scratches behind her ear as her eyes travel up and down my dress and back again. “You look, uh.” Her eyes dart to my mom, standing a few feet behind me. “Hi.”

“Hi, Jack.” If my mom’s trying to keep the laughter out of her voice, she is desperately failing. “Nice to see you again. Take good care of my daughter tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I trust there’ll be no—”

“Oh my God, Mom, stop. No one believes you’re a master enforcer and you know we’ll probably both drink a tiny bit and neither of us is driving and obviously neither of us will be doing drugs. Can we go now?”

“Hug and kiss, first.”

I let out a big huffy sigh, but when it comes time to wrap my arms around her, I squeeze a little tighter and longer than usual. I know how lucky I am to have a mom who supports me in everything I do, who doesn’t blink at the fact that a girl in a suit is taking me to homecoming. I give her an air-kiss so asnot to smudge my lip gloss and then grab Jack by the arm and yank her out the door before she can even finish calling out “Bye, Ms. McCloud!” like the suck-up she is.

The door’s barely closed behind us before I find myself up against the wall of our building, Jack’s mouth hot on mine. I let myself melt into it immediately, one hand stroking the soft velvet of her jacket while the other brushes her newly shorn hair. It takes until we’re both just about out of oxygen before she finally pulls back, rests her forehead against mine, and says, “Sorry. I just. You look.” She laughs breathlessly, the scent of minty mouthwash ghosting over my lips. “So fucking good.”

“Trust me, I get it,” I say, coasting my hand over the tips of her mohawk, careful not to disturb it. “Oh, I get it.”

“You like it?” she asks.

“Uhhh, yeah, I like it.” I tilt my head up to kiss her again. Even with me wearing heels, she’s still a couple of inches taller than me. “Was I not clear?”

“I may have been a little nervous about it,” she confesses. “Kind of a big change. But now that I’m all out, I felt like I should actually look likeme.”

“Agreed,” I say, twining my fingers with hers. “And it does look like you, which is part of why I love it.”

“What’s the other part?”

“Umm, the ‘you look really fucking hot’ part. Again, was I not clear?”

She squeezes my hand. “Nah, I just like hearing you sayit.” She nips at my lower lip. “Are you absolutely sure you want to go to this dance thing? Because that looks like a pretty big limo and I’m gonna guess there’s a divider in there.”

“That is… extremely tempting,” I admit, gently tugging her toward the stairs down to said limo, “but unfortunately, there are a couple of stops to make on the Amber McCloud apology tour, so that may have to wait.”

“Ahh.” We get to the limo, where the driver—Stefan—is standing and holding the door open for us. We thank him and slide in, our hands never moving from their clasped position. “So this is another double date.”

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