Page 59 of Numbers Boy
That makes him stop for a second, clearly torn. His need to meddle must be taking a day off, though, because he just shakes his head and walks back over to his viewing spot. “Nah, I’ll just let my imagination come up with something. Now, are you going to dance in those things or what?”
“Well, I would if you’d pipe down for a second, shorty.” I wink at him and strut back to my starting mark. The heels definitely add another layer of sass as Eve comes out to play.
Stu chuckles as Henry mimes zipping his lips. Then the music starts, and I’m dancing.
“HOW’S IT GOING, hot stuff? You ready for tonight?” Helen asks from her place beside me in the green room Shimmer set up for all the performers in tonight’s fundraiser. It’s one of the nicer ones I’ve seen, with a station for each king or queen, and plenty of good lighting. There are a handful of us in here now, but most have finished getting ready and are out mingling as they wait for the show.
I grin over at her, my face covered in Eve’s heavy stage makeup and dress on but not zipped up. The big night has finally arrived, and I’m currently being transformed into my alter ego. Helen is almost completely ready, checking her skates before she starts the show. She’s emceeing tonight and the reason I knew about the audition process in the first place. I should really figure out what her favorite foundation is and get it for her as a thank-you.
“Born ready,” I answer, blowing her a kiss as she rolls effortlessly to the door.
“Perfect. Break a heel, baby girl!” she says with a wink, and then she’s gone.
I turn back to my preparations, throwing a wave over my shoulder. I’m just pulling my wig into place when my phone buzzes on the dressing table. I eagerly snatch it up, knowing Noah was going to text when he and the guys got here. But when I see who the message is from, my heart sinks and bile rises in my throat.
Cheating Douchebag: please tell me i didn’t see you going back stage earlier with your duffle bag. I thought you were past that drag nonsense
In an instant, I’m back to who I was toward the end of last year. Ice-cold dread slips down my spine and settles like a rock in my stomach. All of the doubts about whether what I like is acceptable, whether what I can give to my partner is enough, press down on my chest. My dress, still undone along the side, suddenly feels too tight, and it’s hard to breathe. My hand tightens around my phone, and I stare unseeingly at the device.
What the fuck is Adam doing here? He’s supposed to be in Chicago, not at Shimmer. Not about to watch Eve step out onstage. He’s not supposed to be able to ruin my life anymore. He’s…
Another message pops up on my screen, the notification enough of a change to cut into my increasingly agitated thoughts. This time, itisfrom Noah. I click it open with shaking fingers, bracing myself for more bad news. It feels like that has to be what it is. Nothing good can happen if Adam is here.
Noah: We’re here! I’m so excited to see you, Princess. You’re going to be so amazing.
A choked sob rips from my throat at the difference between the two messages. And when a picture comes through moments later, I feel one solitary tear roll down my cheek. It’s an image of Noah, arm extended to fit everyone in the frame. Surrounding him are all of the Working Boys, along with Blake. Even Andrew is here, Greg tucked under his arm. They all have massive smileson their faces, but none more so than my boyfriend. Seeing their support, something inside my chest finally snaps. I quickly swipe my cheek and meet my own gaze in the mirror.
“They are what matters,” I tell myself quietly, eyes blazing. “Adam will not ruin tonight. Adam will not ruin my life.”
I rake my eyes over my appearance, from my long hair to my fly-as-fuck makeup, on down to my dress and killer heels. This is part of who I am, and I will not let anyone take it from me. They don’t have the power to do so. Not anymore.
I send a quick heart-react to the picture before tapping angrily back to the text thread with my ex.
Me: Lose my number, asshole.
And then I block him.
It feels like the final weight has been lifted from my chest, and tossing my phone down into my bag, I stand to my full height. I revel in the feeling of power that cascades over me as I pull the dress zipper closed and put the finishing touches on my look. It feels like I’m preparing for battle, each carefully placed rhinestone along my dress another link in my chainmail armor. Blowing my reflection a kiss, I swagger off to the wings near the stage. It’s time for Eve to shine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Noah
THE AIR ATthe club is electric. I’ve only been to Shimmer a few times before, and each time, it’s been crowded. But there’s something extra tonight, and it’s building up the anticipation flooding my system.
There are people everywhere, standing at high-top tables near the walls, milling around the bar, and filling in the chairs lined up near the stage. The stage itself takes up a good portion of what’s normally the dance floor. It’s a platform that butts up against the DJ booth, behind which hangs the glittering fabric that the club is known for. There’s a curtain a few feet out from the next section of wall, giving the performers a way to appear onstage without being seen by the audience. From the platform extends a catwalk, matching shimmering material hanging down to the floor.
After taking a selfie of all of us, we found chairs close to the stage, and now, most of us are saving our seats while a few of the guys get drinks. Blake taps my arm and signals that he’s going to join them in line for the bar. I nod and tell him what I want, having to nearly shout over the noise. I’m about to talk to Mark, who’s on the other side of Blake’s seat, when I hear a gasp come from behind me. I spin toward Henry to see him glaring daggers at someone in the crowd.
“Why the fuck ishehere?”
I follow his narrowed gaze to a man looking down at his phone. At first glance, he’s attractive, in an I’ve-got-my-life-put-together way. His blond hair is neatly styled, and his short-sleeved dress shirt is clearly pressed. But when I take a closer look, what stands out is the way his classically handsome face is pinched, his nose crinkled slightly like whatever he’s looking at disgusts him. The expression doesn’t falter when he looks up. If anything, his lip curls in disdain for his surroundings.
“Who is th–” I start to ask when Chad interrupts with the answer.
“Goddamn fucking Adam,” he mutters. His words might be said low, but I hear them just fine. I feel my eyes widen as I look at the man again with fresh perspective.
“That’sAdam?” Maybe I’m biased, knowing how much Steve loves his cozy sweaters and cuddling, how much he scoffs at things that seem overly prim and proper, but I can’t imagine him with someone so visually uptight.
