First Love: A Superbundle Boxed Set of Seven New Adult Romances

by Kent, Julia

  “Zero…”

  He sets the bag on the chair, his expression gentler now. “It means a lot to me.”

  I feel bad. Zero has been there for me for every little thing. He’s fed me. Kept me sane. “What did you have in mind for me to wear?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

  Within minutes I’m dressed like I stepped from a musical. The emerald gown could be straight from Oz. The color makes my pale skin look creamy instead of Goth. To make it seem more like a costume than just a dress, he has given me a little jacket with a shiny silver fan that stands up behind my head. I look like a witch.

  My hair could be on the cover of Glamour. Curls cascade away from my face and down my shoulders. I didn’t even realize I had that much hair.

  He apologizes for the heaviness of my makeup. “But darling, you have to pull a Victor/Victoria. No one can know I’ve brought a real woman.”

  I wince as he spreads all sorts of creams and goo on my face. The false eyelashes make my lids heavy. My lips are a color I could never describe, but Zero calls it Coral Confession.

  He steps back to examine his handiwork. “It’s my most stunning creation. The heteros will look at you and see a glamorous woman. My friends will be envious that my man is so utterly amazing in drag.” He smiles. “I’ve missed my calling.”

  The face in the mirror is not my own. It’s buried in pinks and smoky grays. But it’s almost freeing to be someone other than Jo. In this getup, I could be anybody. Maybe I could even walk right up to Colt McClure and kiss his beautiful mouth.

  There is no time for nail work, so elbow-length black gloves cover my beat-up hands. I’m worried about shoes, but Zero produces a pair of sparkling platforms that are tall, but flat. When I slip them on, I find I can walk mostly like normal.

  “Darling, you are divine,” Zero says.

  I push at the hair on my neck. “How long is this gig?” I ask.

  “Two hours, tops.” He adjusts his wig. “I’ll never forget this.”

  I’m quite sure I won’t either.

  “Let’s get this done,” I say. I hope we don’t have to walk far. The dress lets me take a stride that’s about three inches long. It’s like a straitjacket for my knees.

  Zero calls for a taxi, a rare luxury. But necessary, I guess, for our getup. When we roll to a stop in a much nicer part of town, I feel a pit of dread in my gut. A lifetime of plain dressing leads to this.

  Zero takes my arm and parades me to the door of a high-end dance hall. Panic zips through me as we get to the bouncer. It’s always sticky at these things, since I’m only twenty. But Zero hands him the tickets, and we go through without incident.

  I’ve never been any place like this. The foyer opens up to a ballroom with tables dotting the dance floor. A stage is set up with red velvet curtains and a long runway that extends out into the crowd. The ceiling is impossibly high. When I look up, I realize there is a balcony with more tables against a rail.

  We approach a tuxedoed man behind a podium. “Miss Zerobia and her escort,” Zero says.

  The man checks his list. “Follow me.”

  He leads us to a table near the back. Quite a number of men are sitting alone, their dates undoubtedly also participants in the show. Some are in drag, glamorous and sparkling. A few wear traditional suits. I’m the only woman as far as I can tell.

  Hopefully they will all accept me even if they figure it out, to keep Angel fooled. I’m hoping to stick to low light. The idea of shielding Zero from his stalker makes me want to giggle.

  “Wine and beer are included,” Zero says. “So don’t be afraid to order.” He sees another dazzling performer and waves. “I’ll be back after my number.” He leans in close. “If you see Angel, please try to be a man.” He disappears in a glittery flash.

  I settle in a chair. A waiter arrives but I wave him away. I never drink. It’s bad enough keeping my head above water when I’m sober.

  A man at the next table leans over and says, “We got the cheap seats.”

  I nod, not sure what to say, or if my voice will give me away as an impostor.

  It must be getting close to time, as the room begins filling rapidly. I scan the room looking for Colt. The people shown to the front are well dressed. Tuxes. Gowns. Jewels. Several people cluster around a super-tall guy who I think might be in the NBA.

  An overwhelming perfume makes my eyes water. I turn to see who it is, and there’s Angel Wild, staring at me like I’m the devil herself.

  “Who the hell are you?” he asks. He’s completely in white, the southern-belle pouf of his skirt filling the entire aisle. When his hands hit his hips, two feathered wings pop out.

  Time to pull this off. I try to use a voice that sounds fake girl, rather than my own. “Jo.”

  “This is Zerobia’s table.”

  I nod. “Yep.” I hope by keeping it monosyllabic, I can avoid messing up Zero’s ruse.

  “You come here with him?” Angel’s mouth is a tight line, soft pink on his powdered face.

  “Yep.”

  Angel bends down to grasp fistfuls of his skirt and stalks off. Unlike Zero, he keeps his masculine stride. I find myself thinking amateur, and another giggle threatens to surface. Zero was right to make me come. This is kind of fun. My life has way too little fun.

  “Always drama,” my neighbor says. “It’s my favorite part.”

  The lights blink, and the clustered groups begin to disperse. I search again for Colt. He might be above me, in the balcony. Rats.

  But just as the lights go down, I see him leading Brittany to a table. My light mood evaporates.

  A woman I recognize from a news channel steps onstage to talk about the charity.

  I kind of zone out. The day’s events start to settle in again. Lani, Colt, Brittany. Why was Colt taking such a risk by acting that way with me? If Brittany saw it for what it was, then I had to be right. He was hitting on me. Right there where his girlfriend could see.

  But it didn’t feel wrong. It was rapture. Like I belonged. Like everything was exactly the way it should be.

  Stupid lie.

  I’m back to sullen Jo.

  The first act is a couple dressed as a hillbilly bride and groom. The man has a fake potbelly and a straw hat that keeps shedding bits onto the stage. The one dressed as a woman has a huge blonde wig under her veil and wears a teeny polka-dot halter and cutoff denim shorts. They lip-sync a hilarious version of Georgia Satellites’ “Keep Your Hands to Yourself.”

  I find my mood lightening up again.

  After their exit, some young guy holding a guitar comes out, dressed as a guy. I’m wondering who he is when Colt stands up and wolf-whistles, making the crowd laugh.

  The guitar player salutes Colt. “Thank you very much.” He looks out across the crowd, and I can see all the women sitting up a little straighter. His charisma is irresistible, reaching us even back here in the “cheap seats.”

  “I’m Dylan Wolf,” he says. “You may know me from such great moments on YouTube as ‘Photobombing the Rich and Famous.’”

  The crowd laughs.

  “I had a little song get some attention recently, so the kind sponsors of this event allowed a dude to come onstage without a wig or girly undergarments.” He looks out across the tables. “Or do I?”

  Another laugh. He lifts his guitar. “This one is called ‘Blue Shoes.’”

  I remember this now. A viral video about a girl who ends up getting her purse stolen. I wonder how this guy knows Colt. I wish I knew everything Colt knows.

  Dylan’s song is sweet and romantic. A lot of the guys wrap their arms around their dates.

  But not Colt. He isn’t sitting very close to Brittany. There isn’t any talk between them. They don’t touch. They don’t seem to be affected by the song.

  I wonder if it would be different if he was sitting next to me.

  Angel is up next. His number is melodramatic, a drawn-out version of “In the Arms of the Angel.” He keeps glancing to one side, and I wonder i
f he has spotted Zero.

  Probably so, as Zero comes onstage directly afterward. I’m dazzled by him, as always. His arm comes up dramatically as he waits for the music. I didn’t ask what he was singing tonight.

  As the music begins to pulse, he points at various people in the audience, including me, and then Colt. My face flames as the words begin. He’s singing “I Will Survive.”

  His energy is incredible and by the time he reaches the climax, all the occupants of the back tables are standing and cheering. A number of guests turn to look, including Colt. Brittany sends a disapproving glare back at us. I hold my breath, thinking she will recognize me. But of course she doesn’t. Colt seems more amused and claps along. This makes me want to kiss him all the more, Brittany or no Brittany.

  During the fifth song, I notice Brittany do something odd. She checks her phone and glances around as if she’s looking for someone. Colt isn’t paying attention, tapping his finger on the table to the music.

  After a moment she stands. She looks around a bit nervously.

  She’s up to something.

  Brittany winds through the tables to a side door. But the restrooms are clearly marked, back behind the man with the podium. Where is she going?

  I decide to find out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I stand up anxiously and hurry past the back line of tables.

  But when I reach the door, I pause. Maybe I shouldn’t do this. It doesn’t matter.

  Except my gut tells me it does. I ease the door open. It leads to a hallway.

  I slip through. A tinkling laugh comes from a room farther down. The door is only partially closed.

  I tiptoe as easily as you can in five-inch platforms.

  Brittany’s voice is muffled. “I’m so glad you made it.”

  “I wanted to get a good look at you.” This voice is deep.

  “It’s a risk,” Brittany says.

  “How much longer do we have to do this?”

  Brittany sighs. “I’m hoping to sign that contract any day.”

  “And after that, you’ll be mine?”

  Her voice goes soft. “I promise.”

  They stop talking, and I have to look. I hold my hair away from my cheeks as I peek through the slit in the door. Brittany and the man are kissing, hanging on to each other like they might never meet again.

  My face flashes hot. I can’t believe it. She was standing there, judging me in the ring with Colt, when she’s got this other guy on the side! With plans to dump Colt!

  I back away from the door and hurry to the main ballroom. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know Colt well enough to tell him. If she’s telling the truth, then it will end soon. But if she keeps stringing Colt along, I’ll have to do something.

  I’m too anxious to sit at the table. Colt feels too close. I wander out to the entrance, wringing my hands in the black gloves.

  The doorman is joking around with the coat-check guy. They straighten up when I wander through.

  “Don’t mind me,” I say. “I’m not one of them.”

  They are unconvinced and resume their proper positions. It’s so strange to me to be the one they think they should fear. I want to tell them I’m nobody. Really nobody. But instead I go back to the ballroom. I don’t want to ruin their evening.

  I head for the bathrooms. One of my eyes is watering, and I’ve probably destroyed Zero’s work.

  But when faced with the two doors, I pause. Zero said I would look like a woman to people who expected me to be one. Surely I could go in with the women.

  But if one of his friends saw me, I’d blow my cover for Zero with Angel.

  I stand before them, unsure. Maybe I shouldn’t do either.

  I smell the perfume before I hear any steps.

  “Lost?”

  It’s Angel. He kicks out his elbows to make his wings pop. “It’s always hard to decide which door, isn’t it?”

  He grabs my arm and leads me into the men’s room. I want to dig my heels in but between the narrow dress and the platforms, I’m lucky to stay upright.

  Thankfully no one is standing at the bright white urinals. I’m not sure why Angel has dragged me in there. I guess I’ll let him say whatever it is and then I’ll go. I step up to the sinks to check my eyes.

  Angel leans on the counter. “How long have you been with Zero?” he asks.

  Oh, boy. Talking. I’m not sure how to answer. Zero has never been steady with anyone that I know of. I play it safe. “A while.”

  “A while?”

  I shrug and pull a paper towel from the dispenser. Angel watches me as I dab my eye.

  “Well, he chose well. You’re the prettiest in drag I think I’ve ever seen.” He turns away and I actually feel a little sympathy. He’s really got it bad.

  I want to say something, but I can’t. I’ll give myself away.

  The door opens, and my panic rises when Colt enters the bathroom.

  He looks at us curiously, but when he sees Angel, understanding registers. He gives a little wave. I want to groan. Now he’ll think I’m a guy. So much for any magic moments across a crowded room.

  He steps up to one of the urinals, and I’m not sure what to do, where to look. I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate.

  Angel fluffs his wig nervously. We catch each other’s eyes in the mirror. Suddenly I have to laugh at how ludicrous the whole thing is. Here I am, totally a girl, totally hooked on the guy who is —

  Unzipping his pants.

  I can’t do anything weird. Angel will think I’m interested in someone besides Zero.

  Colt might look too closely.

  I have to get out of here.

  But Angel sniffs and pulls away. “Don’t think I’m giving up this easily,” he says. He opens the door with flourish. “I know Zero. I understand him. We have a bond.” He drags out the last word.

  I hide my face with the paper towel so I won’t laugh. I will give Angel five seconds to get out of the hallway, then I will escape.

  The urinal flushes. God, Colt is going to stand right next to me.

  “Rough night?” he asks.

  I can’t imagine this ruse can hold for long. We’re right under these bright lights. I take a deep breath and lower the towel. Maybe I can come clean. Say it’s me. Tell him about Brittany.

  But his phone buzzes. He pulls it out and frowns.

  Even with a quick glance, I can see it’s Brittany. Her blonde hair takes up most of the screen, and the words “CALL NOW” are in all caps.

  I drop the towel in the trash.

  Colt sticks the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he quickly washes his hands. I can hear the phone ringing. He pauses a second to whisper, “I know you’re not a dude. Way too beautiful.”

  And he’s gone.

  I laugh out loud. Colt has told me once again that I’m beautiful. And I’m in a men’s bathroom at a drag show dressed as a man pretending to be a woman. The love of my life has just answered the phone for the woman HE supposedly loves. Who is cheating on him.

  I don’t think there’s a Facebook status for this.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’m nervous in a half-dozen ways when I lock up my apartment on Monday. Zero and I talked about it a thousand times. What to say. What to do. How to act around Colt and Brittany.

  There’s also the problem that I took off from work in the rain without explanation. I don’t think Buster will fire me. But if Brittany gets in the way, and Colt doesn’t fight for me, he might.

  I’m a wreck.

  I turn the corner to the last block, but there’s a mass of people up ahead. I walk a little faster, realizing they are clustering in front of Buster’s Gym. Flashes are popping and a news crew van is blocking one of the lanes.

  Fear grips my heart that something might have happened to Colt. But as I push through the crowd, I hear Brittany’s voice. “Isn’t it thrilling?” she asks.

  Reporters are firing questions.

  “When is the big date
?”

  “Will The Cure be the best man?”

  “Are you planning on children? Will that stall your career?”

  It starts to dawn on me what they are asking her. A wedding!

  I jostle my way forward until I can see Brittany in an innocent-looking white dress, her arms wrapped around Colt’s elbow. He’s wearing a suit and looks both sheepish and pleased.

  “Can we get a picture of the ring?”

  Brittany lifts her hand. The sun blazes off a diamond the size of Mt. Everest.

  At first I’m paralyzed with shock. Then the fury crashes down.

  The hurricane is rising and I have to get out of the crowd. I can’t believe it.

  Colt was almost-kissing me just two days ago.

  And Brittany was real-kissing some other man.

  I back out of the crowd and circle the block to go in the rear staff entrance to the gym. I’m hot with anger and disgust.

  I still don’t have any gloves but cross over to the punching bag and go at it anyway.

  Blam. Blam. My fists connect with the red vinyl again and again. I hear knuckles popping, and the pain is excruciating. But I keep going. It’s either this or cry. And I don’t cry. Not for messed-up golden boys. Not for lying scheming girlfriends. Not for dead fathers or missing mothers or evil stepmoms or their hell-spawn sons. My life isn’t even worth the tears.

  I smash into the bag until I feel spent, then I hit it some more. Finally I collapse to the mat. I sit, curled up, my knees to my chin. The lights aren’t on in here. Everyone must be out front, watching the big happy announcement.

  I’m in shadow, but above me, the sun streams through the high windows. It falls in clean lines like heavenly beams onto the fighting ring.

  The mesh is bright where the light hits it. I can’t help but stand up again to walk over. It’s like a message, clear as anything I’ve ever been told.

  This is where I belong.

  I weave my fingers into the sides of the cage, holding on with shaking arms.

  I don’t know if I have any skill. Everything Colt said might have been a lie. But if what Zero says is true, that fighting is about heart, then maybe I have something. Because if I can roll all this anger into a punch, I don’t think anyone can stop me.