Mr Right Now: A Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Lila Monroe

  “I’m just doing my parental duty,” Mrs. Hayes says, and winks at me.

  Maggie mutters something under her breath, but she’s smiling again as we slide into the backseat of the limo. She runs her fingers over the smooth leather and shakes her head.

  “You really didn’t have to go the whole nine yards.”

  I sling my arm over her shoulders. “Hey, you never got to have your real prom. I figured this goes toward making up for that.”

  She looks up at me, emotion shimmering in her eyes, and I’m abruptly very, very glad that one of the features that comes standard in limos is the privacy screen between us and the driver. I shift forward just long enough to tell him to take us to the school, and then I hit the button to send it up.

  “Hmm,” Maggie says, her expression turning mischievous. “Why did you figure we need that?”

  “Because I’m about to do this.”

  I pull her into a kiss. Her fingers curl around the label of my suit, tugging me even closer. I should be mindful of her makeup, her hair, but when she opens her mouth under mine, I can’t think about anything except the hot rush of her breath and how fucking good just kissing her feels.

  My hand grazes her skin just above the bodice of her dress, the tops of her breasts too tempting to ignore. She murmurs encouragingly and scoots even closer. I fondle her curves through the fabric. She arches against me with a muffled moan, and I’m this close to tipping her back and seeing if I can take her to at least third base in the short drive to the high school.

  You know, for old time’s sake.

  I kiss her again, stroking her face, but all at once my throat feels full of all the things I might have to say to her.

  Like the fact I might be leaving on tour soon. Category 5 2.0. I do owe it to the other guys. Maybe it’d even be good for me, once I get over my instinct to balk. I could wrap up my current production jobs in the next couple months. It isn’t impossible.

  But if I give in to Charlie, if I give it a shot, I’ll be leaving town, traveling for who knows how long. Would Maggie be OK with that?

  Would I want her to be?

  “Penny for them?” Maggie asks, and I realize I’m spacing out.

  I shake my head. “Nothing. It can wait.” I see the lights of the high school ahead of us, and push back my thoughts. “Tonight, we’re going to party like it’s 2007!”

  23

  Maggie

  The high-school gymnasium is decorated in a ridiculous, horrifying, and yet somehow spectacular fashion. A huge banner with glittering letters over the doorway pronounces this is THE MOST FABULOUS NIGHT OF YOUR LIVES.

  “That sentiment would be sad even for actual prom,” I mutter to Drew as we enter.

  Colored spotlights dot the floor with rainbow hives. Neon streamers dangle around fold-out displays mounted with old yearbook photos. Someone has let loose a swarm of helium balloons that are now bobbing along the ceiling as if attempting an escape. The music of our teen years jangles from the PA system. Drew pauses. “Is this … Nickelback?”

  “I haven’t heard this song since the year it was released,” I laugh. “And for good reason.”

  He laughs. “Chin up. This is going to be fun.”

  I’m not so sure. For the first few seconds after we walk into the room, my chest clenches up. Even when I was in with McKenna and her other friends, school dances were a little painful. Standing on the sidelines watching boys ask other girls to slow dance, trying to look as approachable as possible and apparently failing. The last few I braved, after our fight, were outright excruciating. Nothing feels quite as pathetic as bopping along on your own while everyone else is clustered together, having a great time.

  I haven’t thought about that stuff in years, but the lights and the smell of the varnished gym floor bring it back so fast. Plus now there’s a room full of grown-ass adults, all sizing each other up in unspoken competition, to prove how much better our lives are now. I can already anticipate the questions.

  “What do you do, Maggie?”

  “Work catering gigs and sneak into my parents’ house after curfew.”

  Yeah, not exactly the glittering return I was hoping for.

  But then Drew’s hand wraps around mine, warm and steady, and the weight in my chest eases.

  I’m not alone.

  And not only am I not alone, but my plus-one is the hottest guy Rosemead High has ever known. And I’ve seen him naked. That has to be worth a few ego points, right?

  “You want a drink?” Drew asks, motioning to the table that holds bottles of wine and a punch that is definitely spiked.

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t go too far.” He pecks me on the cheek and ambles off, but I already feel better.

  Is there anyone here I know yet? I swivel and find myself face to face with a hawk-nosed man in a tweed blazer. Oh dear God. It’s Mr. Matthews, the calculus teacher. I think he’s shrunk an inch or two since I last saw him, but he still looks ready to rain down holy terror on anyone who forgets how to differentiate their functions.

  One of the benefits of a huge poufy skirt: it keeps everyone at a very safe distance.

  “Ms. Hayes,” he says in a raspy voice. “You look well.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “Er, you too.”

  “What are you occupying yourself with these days?” He gives me a look that seems to say he hopes very much it has nothing to do with numbers, because he’s certain I’d be mangling them.

  “Oh, well, I actually bake. Cakes and … Mostly cakes.” Let’s skip the part about what kind. “For parties, and, well …” I definitely don’t want to get into failed bakeries. I think briefly of the job opportunity in New York, but I haven’t even begun to figure that one out. I’m hoping I’ll have a moment to talk it through with Drew later, after the party is over.

  “Hey, Mr. Matthews, how’s it going?” Drew swoops in, placing a plastic cup in my hand and slinging his arm around me. Mr. Matthews blinks—because he’s startled by my famous cakes or because he’s a secret Category 5 fanboy, who can tell?—and I spot a familiar face by one of the photo displays.

  “I should go say hi to everyone,” I say, and hustle on out of there with Drew in tow.

  “I swear I had nightmares about that guy for years,” Drew says under his breath.

  I laugh. “I’m glad it wasn’t just me. Hey, Noreen!”

  The woman I’m addressing lights up more than I think our brief acquaintance on the school paper really warrants. It could be just a general pregnancy glow. Her belly protrudes in an impressive arc under her empire waist dress.

  “Is that Maggie?” she says, opening her eyes wide. “Look at you!”

  “Look at you,” I say, and accept an awkward, belly-avoiding hug. “When are you due?”

  “I know, I know, it looks like I should have popped him out last year, right? Another few weeks. The end is in sight.” She chuckles. Then her attention travels to Drew. I see her not quite manage to suppress a double take.

  “Hi,” Drew says smoothly, offering his hand. “I don’t know if we’ve met before. I’m just tagging along with Maggie. I’m—”

  “Drew Delaney. I know,” Noreen babbles, and then flushes red. “I mean, sorry. I was a big fan way back.” Her gaze darts back and forth between the two of us, but I’ll give her credit—she manages not to ask the gossipy questions. Or to continue drooling over my date. “So, Maggie, what are you up to these days?”

  I should have known I’d be fielding that question over and over tonight. “Still into the baking. I’m starting to do some, ah, media work.” Might as well take a page from Drew’s strategy book.

  Noreen looks like she’s about to ask more, but Drew manages a quick redirect. “How about you?”

  It turns out Noreen has stayed in the newspaper business, and she’s very happy to chatter on about that. Her husband comes around and drags her off to talk with old friends. I say hi and volley small talk with a couple of women I only vaguely recognize. Then I take
my first sip of the punch Drew brought me.

  The cheap alcohol mixed with over-sweet fruit drink mix nearly makes me gag. “Wow. That is impressively vile.”

  “Hmm.” Drew tests his, grimaces, and tosses both our cups into the nearest trash can. “Lucky for you, I believe in being prepared.”

  He retrieves a silver flask from a pocket inside his suit jacket. His eyebrow arches as he unscrews it. “Think we can sneak a proper drink?”

  I doubt anyone here cares, but the pretend rebellion gives me a bit of a giddy rush anyway. I wish he had been around to pass secret drinks with at those dances way back then. “Give me that.”

  The burn of some of the best brandy I’ve ever tasted washes the punch-y aftertaste away. “Now that hits the spot.”

  Drew downs a mouthful himself before tucking the flask away. “It isn’t prom without it.”

  I spot Becky and her crew across the room. Becky, naturally, ignored the playful side of the theme and instead dressed up in a red evening gown so swanky you’d think she was going to the Oscars. She breaks from taking selfies to glance my way, and the glance turns to a glare.

  Whoops.

  Thankfully McKenna walks in with a few gals from our old group. She waves to us. “Hey!”

  We go join them. “Isn’t this a trip?” she says, looking around. “My old psychology professor would have a field day.”

  “I don’t want to know,” I laugh. “I’m probably a case study waiting to happen.”

  “Look,” one of the others says. “They have all the old photos!”

  McKenna groans. “You mean, the ones I deleted off social media?”

  “Aww, come on,” I grin. “Remember those glasses you used to wear?”

  “The big red ones I’ve wiped from my memory?” she asks, but she lets me drag her over to take a look through the yearbooks and goofy photos from proms past. We grab snacks off the refreshments table, take another surreptitious drink of brandy, and circulate a little more. Then the woman who coordinated the reunion takes the stage.

  “It’s so great to see so many familiar faces,” she says, and rattles off a whole bunch of names of people she wants to particularly thank. “And now, let’s get on with the prom part of the evening. I want to see every one of you dancing—teachers too!”

  The overhead lights dim and the music turns up. Drew grabs my hand. “Come on.”

  “I don’t know,” I say reluctantly. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “I beg to differ,” he grins, reminding me of my sexy striptease.

  I laugh. “You think I’m pulling those moves on the dance floor?”

  Drew smirks. “You’d make poor Mr. Matthews’ day.”

  He tugs again, and I give in, following him into the crowd. He’s a natural, of course. “Those years of choreography are good for something, I guess,” he says sheepishly. I sway my hips and raise my hands and try to keep up as McKenna and company join us in the fun.

  The music switches to a slower song. “Ah, now this is more my pace.” Drew guides me to the side of the crowd. He spins me around and pulls me back against him with a little dip. The feel of his arm around my waist makes my breath catch. Thank God for the crazy lighting to disguise the blush I can feel flooding my cheeks.

  Drew keeps the dance playful, but his fingers slip just for a second over my hips. They skim up from my elbow to my bare shoulder as he turns me to face him again. I have to clench my hands to stop myself from grabbing his shirt and yanking him all the way to me. He leans close in time with our slow sway.

  “What do you say we break a few more rules?”

  The flush in my face travels right down my body. “What did you have in mind?”

  He puts his finger to his lips and makes a stealthy motion toward the gymnasium doors. I follow with a grin. We stroll casually past the welcome table as if we’re just making a trip to the restrooms. As soon as we’re out of sight around the corner, Drew twines his arm with mine and urges me along faster.

  We hustle down the hall, testing doors until a knob turns in Drew’s hand. He whisks me inside and shuts the door behind us. Then he’s pressing me against a wall tacked with history posters.

  “You are looking way too gorgeous for me to keep my hands to myself all night,” he says in a low voice that sends a shiver of electricity through me.

  He kisses me hard there against the wall before spinning us around and sitting me on one of the vacant desks. My legs splay around his hips, my many layers of skirt hitching up around my thighs. Drew holds me in place with a hand on the small of my back, his other hand tangling in my hair.

  We kiss until I’m breathless and starving for more. I wrench up his shirt, wanting to feel his hot skin under my fingers. He hums and dips his head to trail his lips across my cleavage. With a jerk, he lowers the dress’s zipper just enough for my breasts to spill over the bodice. The chill of the air conditioning washes over them like a shock, and then his mouth has captured one, and I’m feeling nothing but hot.

  I clutch his head, his shoulders, as a whimper works its way out of my throat. His tongue flicks across my nipple. I hook my legs around him, urging him closer. I can’t imagine how embarrassed I’d be if someone walked in on us here, but that possibility seems so remote, and so thrilling at the same time, that I don’t give a fuck.

  Drew’s mouth travels back up over my chest and neck to nip the corner of my jaw. “This is just a start,” he murmurs by my ear. “You’ll get the full queen treatment at my place afterward.”

  Before I can worry that he’s planning on stopping any time soon, his hand slides up my thigh. I sigh and arch into his touch as he slips it between my legs. He strokes my clit through my panties until I must be drenched, until I’m dying for more. I grab his belt buckle.

  “Please tell me you’re prepared in every possible way?”

  He chuckles. “Hell yes.”

  With a yank of a zipper and a rustle of fabric, I’m closing my hand around his cock. He groans, his hips swaying. I pump my fingers over the silky hardness of him, but I’m too impatient to really tease.

  “I want you,” I say, with a gasp as he tucks his hand under my panties. “Now, please, God.”

  He pulls my panties aside and rolls on a condom with impressive speed, and then the head of his cock is stroking over my pussy. I press forward and he guides himself in.

  The breath rushes out of me with another gasp. I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to how amazing he feels inside, filling me completely. The desk legs squeak against the floor as we find our rhythm. His mouth crashes against mine. He thrusts quick and powerful, sending pleasure surging through me, and I buck to meet him. I don’t want this to end, but I don’t want to risk it being cut short before I reach that peak either.

  His hand finds my bare breast again, tweaking the nipple, pinching it. I moan into his mouth. He pulls me even tighter against him, plunging harder, deeper. I scratch my fingernails down his back, and he sucks in an awed breath.

  “You feel so. Fucking. Amazing,” he gasps out. His fingers trail down to circle my clit. A fresh rush of bliss races through me. My hips jerk, and I shatter. Drew groans as he follows me over the edge.

  We sag together against the desk. His hair is adorably rumpled. I reach to try to smooth it out, and he catches my hand. Kisses the palm with a glint in his eyes. My heart turns a slow somersault.

  Am I really thinking about leaving this behind?

  I straighten my clothes as he tucks himself back in, but I suspect my makeup is looking a little worse for wear at this point. “I think I’d better make a quick trip to the ladies’ room,” I say, and tug him in by the lapel for one more kiss. “I’ll see you back at the party?”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  I always thought the phrase “walking on air” was silly, but I can’t think of any better way to describe how I feel wandering down the hall. How is it that when I’m with Drew, everything seems so easy?

  Maybe that’s all the an
swer I should need. I wanted to take tonight to just be with him, no worries about the future or impending decisions. Now, I don’t feel so nervous about having that talk tomorrow morning. All I’ve got to do is ask him where he sees this going. I don’t think he’s going to be shy about telling me. And then we can figure out where to go from there. Together, I hope.

  I find the bathroom and fix my hair in front of the bathroom mirror. As I’m pawing through my purse for my lipstick, McKenna ducks in. She takes one look at me, even in my repaired state, and shakes her head with a grin.

  “What have you been up to?”

  “I’m pretty sure you don’t want to know,” I tell her. “Boundaries and all.”

  “Good point. Girl talk isn’t quite the same when it’s my brother we’re discussing.” She pauses by one of the stalls. “It really is great seeing how happy the two of you are together, you know. Have you talked about what’s going to happen, with the tour and everything?”

  “Tour?”

  At my puzzled expression, McKenna’s eyebrows rise. “Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  My stomach starts to sink. “Now you really need to explain.”

  McKenna pauses. “It’s not official, but apparently the band is doing some big reunion tour. It’s all over the entertainment websites.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “I mean … Drew hasn’t mentioned anything about that.”

  “It was just announced today,” McKenna says quickly. “I don’t know when they decided it. I haven’t talked to Drew yet. Maybe it’s all a big mistake?”

  She flees into the stall. I pull out my phone. All it takes is one search, and a whole bunch of excited headlines pop up.

  Storm Warning: Category 5 on the move!

  Cat-5 Ready for action!

  It’s even trending on Twitter: #Cat5Reunion. I scan through, that sinking feeling turning into a heavy pit in my stomach. Maybe it’s all a mistake? But no, there’s an interview too, some journalist from Buzzfeed talking about her exclusive sit-down with Charlie and Drew, and their plans for world domination. He’s even quoted. “A lot of people are still enthusiastic … we’re grateful for the chance.”