Page 22 of Rivals
About Three Weeks Until Round Three
Ikeepturningbackand forth in the mirror, trying to focus on my appearance instead of the fact that Lachlan and I made it into the next round. It’s been a week and I still can’t believe it. I’m excited, but heavy dread weighs on me for what’s to come with him. We work together so well, and it’s unnerving. I’m not sure I like how I feel when I’m with him.
My long black hair cascades down my back. I opted for one of my favorite dresses I found at the thrift store. One of the upsides of living in New York City is that rich people get rid of things after wearing them once. The deep black of the dress compliments my hair, and the corset top pushes my breasts up in a sweetheart neckline. The skirt flares out in tulle, like a longer ballerina skirt that hits above my knee. I’m petite, so the fact that this fits so well makes me feel like it was made for me. I put on my black heels that I am sure I will regret by the end of the night.
A knock on the door echoes in the apartment. My roommate isn’t here. I honestly don’t know where he is because we are sort of like ships passing in the night.
Forcing my feet to move to the door, it just hit me that I have no idea where we are going and I might be completely overdressed.Shit. I stand frozen in front of the door and glance back at my room. I can’t leave him out there. That would be rude.
Gritting my teeth, I open the door and tip my lips up in what I hope is a smile and not the look of an insane person about to bite your ear off. Ryan jerks back as his eyes land on me. “Whoa, Revna.”
“Hi. So, um, I realized I have no idea where we are going, and I probably over-dressed, didn’t I?”
Then I look at what he’s wearing. A button-down shirt, jeans that don’t have holes, and some cool sneakers. “Um, no. I’d say you’re dressed fine, but if you were too dolled up, we would go to another place that deserves you and that dress.”
“Oh,” I say, breathless. “Thanks.”
He steps into the apartment, and his eyes skate around. “Are you good, or do you need a few minutes?”
I close the door behind me and then lock it. This is New York City, after all. “Um, let me finish my makeup, and then I will be good to go.”
He nods. “Yeah, ok, take your time.”
I hustle to the bathroom and close the door behind me. My makeup is already done, but I need a minute. Ok, Revna, you got this. It’s been a while. It’s not like you’re putting out on the first date. You don’t have to give him your life’s story. This is just fun. Yes, fun, I say to myself in the mirror. My mind flashes to Lachlan and the look on his face when I said yes. Ha, screw him. His time isn’t as important as he thinks it is. The world does not revolve around him.
My heels tap on the fake wood floor, and I find Ryan looking at a piece I hung up on the wall above the couch. He turns towards me and smiles. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” I say.
He steps closer to me. “You look beautiful, Revna.”
I look up at him and smile sheepishly. “Thank you.”
He leads the way and I follow behind, locking my door. We walk towards the stairwell, and he holds out his hand. “Figured you might need some help with those heels.” I smirk and accept his offer. His hand gently grips mine as we make our way down the many flights of stairs. Yep, already regretting the heels. We make it to the ground floor, and Ryan opens the door to the hallway before the exterior door, gesturing for me to go first. His hand grazes my lower back and I force the shiver down. Ryan is growing on me, and we haven’t even walked out of my building.
New York feels like a wind tunnel sometimes. Ryan’s hand grazes mine, and I let him take it again. “We don’t have to walk far.” I nod without responding, and he tugs me along.
We come up to a door that has no signage. No logos or decals can be found anywhere on the door or the wall around it. My feet falter and my skin gets clammy. Maybe I should have asked where we were going first. Ryan stops to look at me. “You good? You look white as a sheet.”
I cough, clearing my throat of the rock lodged in it. “Yeah, uh, what is this?” He smiles at me.
“It’s a speakeasy that’s purely by word-of-mouth.”
“Oh,” I say, catching my breath. Ok, I hopefully won’t get murdered by a fellow art student today, good.
“I think you’re really going to like it. It’s got a cool seventies club vibe.” He holds the door open for me.
Alright, well, here goes nothing. Also, this man does not strike me as a speakeasy kind of guy. He strikes me as one of the tortured artists you find at an old biker bar looking for trouble. I don’t know where those are in New York City, but that seems to fit him better than whatever this is. He takes my hand again, helping me down the stairs.
The room opens up to a dimly lit space with a mixture of leather and suede booths. The lighting is calm but feels secretive, with a stage at the front of the room with the quintessential old-timey mic. There are small tables and chairs upholstered with leather and fringe backs. The smell of tobacco and whiskey fills the air. Small lava lamps sit in the center of the tables, and some scattered framed psychedelic prints around the wall. There are a few people sitting at the bar and various couples throughout the large room. All it’s missing is feathered haircuts and bellbottom jeans. I have to admit, it’s pretty cool.
“Would you like a drink or a seat first?” Ryan’s expectant smile makes me feel a sickening combination of excitement. Because this dude genuinely likes me, and I’m nervous that maybe more is expected from me tonight. But I’m too anxious to open my mouth to make myself clear.
“Drink, please,” I say, feeling parched.
We walk to the bar and wait for the bartender to come over to us. “What do you think?”
“It’s pretty cool, not as dingy as I expected.”
