The Last Guy

A silver metallic curtain flashes open, and out prances my roommate in a white mini, white lace bustier, white opera gloves, and thigh-high white tights. Eight-inch white stilettos make her even taller, and Chas has replaced her RuPaul blonde wig with an enormous white afro. Pleated metallic fabric is attached at her shoulder blades and wrists to form silver “wings,” and her dancing consists of hip shaking, arm waving, and silver metallic glitter falling from the ceiling. It’s like an angelic Mardi Gras rave, and we’re all invited.

I scream and jump up and down, clapping as she leads the celebration, and Trent is right at my ear. “Do you know her? I saw you having drinks.”

Leaning into his ear, I shout back, “That’s my roommate!”

Trent jumps back, and his eyes are so big, I can see the whites. His mouth is equally huge, and I lean forward laughing. The whole group of Trent’s friends and Cade along with the crowd has swept in around us, and it’s as if we’re all caught up in a tsunami of joy. A third round of shots filters through the group, and we scream and dance right along.

Another round of Fireball, and I can’t feel my face. Chas is onto her next number, “Let’s Hear it for the Boy,” by Deniece Williams, when a pair of strong arms circles my torso, turning me so I’m face to face and chest to chest with the man I not so long ago thought was an arrogant prick who looked way too much like my ex.

“She’s great!” he says, leaning a little too close to my face. I’m pretty sure Cade is as drunk as I am. “How the hell did you meet?”

I feel both heavy and light. I laugh and rest my cheek against Cade’s collarbone. “Chas was my date to the prom.”

“What?” He shakes me so I lift my head and look at him again. “Why?”

With a shrug, I shake my head and let my mind wander back through the years. “I wasn’t going to go. Chas couldn’t go—at least not how she wanted—but she said we were not missing senior prom. So we went together.”

“Why weren’t you going to go?” His tone is so intense, it causes me to study his mouth. I’ve never noticed until right this second how perfectly defined his lips are. I want to trace them with my fingertips.

“I thought proms were stupid.”

Those perfect lips curl into a smirky grin. “You didn’t have a date.”

Irritation heats my body. “I didn’t want a date! Proms are stupid.”

“Only people without dates say proms are stupid.” His strong arms hold me, and my fingers curl on his biceps. I notice how rock hard they are.

Chas terminates any further discussion as she launches into her grand finale, “Proud Mary” by Ike and Tina Turner. She’s full-on Tina-dancing, hip shimmy and all, and I scream with the rest of the crowd in front of the stage.

The production ends with a huge flourish, deafening applause and cheers, and my roommate blows kisses at everyone. When she spots me, I get a thumbs-up and a dramatic nod that even in my inebriated state makes me blush.

Cade’s arm is tight around my waist. My back is pressed to his chest, and I hate the idea of moving. Still, the number is over, the house music is on, and I have no reason to continue standing in such an intimate way with him.

“That was a helluva show,” Cade says, giving me a flash of his perfect teeth.

“She’ll be out in just a few minutes if you’d like to tell her yourself.”

He nods, and when Chas comes out, Trent and his group of friends scream like it’s a Beatles concert. I laugh, and again, strong arms circle over mine.

“Trent is really happy,” Cade says behind my ear in my hair. I can’t stop a shiver.

“What is this?” my roommate exclaims, eyes wide and blinking. “I have a fan club?”

Cade still has me in his arms, and I watch as my roommate dances a few measures to “Dancing Queen” by ABBA with the group. Her eyes light on me, and all six-foot-one-hundred inches of her in those platforms prances up to us.

“Well, hello!” Chas says, holding her hand toward Cade. “And you are?”

“Cade Hill,” he says in that polished, sports-director voice of his . . . although I do detect a slight slur. But what do I know? I’m a bit slurry myself.

“Chris?” Chas’s eyes roll around to me. “Did you say Chris?”

If I had better balance, I’d kick my roommate in the shins. As it is . . .

“Um . . . no.” Cade is confused.

“Oh, no matter!” Chas waves a hand. “It’s clear you know my friend Rebecca.”

Cade gives my waist a squeeze, and I melt a little more against his firm chest. I want to tear my dress off and press my body against his.

No, Rebecca!

Yes, Rebecca!

No!

Wait . . . whose side am I on?

“We work together,” Cade says.

Oh, right.

“Oh my God, that’s perfect!” Chas emphasizes the words as if it’s a dispensation from the pope. “Would you possibly be able to do me a huge favor?”

“Of course.” Cade smiles.

“I’ve just been invited to a party that will probably go all night. Rebecca and I came here together, and I really don’t want her going home alone—what with all these muggings and all.” She lightly touches Cade’s arm. “Would you possibly ease my mind and be sure she gets home safely?”

My mouth falls open, but I close it quickly. Sneaky bitch—we took an Uber here! Cade glances at me, and I see uncertainty on his face. Oh no . . .

“Sure, no problem. I’m glad to help out.”

“You really don’t have to,” I say, shaking my head.

“You are such a lifesaver, Chris!” Chas exclaims. “You are literally out of this world!”

Now I do consider kicking my roommate. “Cade is only being nice—”

“It’s not a problem,” he tells me. He arches an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t want to be alone with me?”

I lick my lips and look around. “I was planning to call an Uber—”

Chas interrupts me. “You think I trust Uber alone with you? Have you seen that meme? Gary the Uber driver who looks just like Ted Bundy? Here . . . I’ll pull it up.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I catch her texting hands.

Her eyes go round, dramatically serious. “I would never forgive myself if some skeevy Uber driver took you to the desert and stole your kidney!”

“Good God, Chas, this isn’t Brazil!”

Cade laughs, a low, rich vibration, and my roommate’s eyes dazzle. “Oh, yes! Did I mention I won’t be coming home tonight? It’s getting late. You two should run along. Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

“Jeez, here’s your hat and what’s your hurry,” I grumble.

“Goodnight, my love. I want to hear all your thoughts tomorrow.” Chas leans down and air-kisses me on both cheeks.

I begrudgingly air-kiss back, and join her in the standard RuPaul “Byeeeee!”

Cade

WITH PLANS TO return early the next morning, I leave my SUV at the Pussycat Club and order an Uber. I’ll drop her off then head home. Alone.

The car arrives, a small black sedan, which will be hell for me to fold my large frame into, but I go with it.

We crawl inside, and it smells like stale French fries and leather. I ease to my side, playing it cool, but my peripheral gaze eats up the toned legs of my companion as she gets settled. Her dress rides up and I see a flash of inner thigh. I tear my gaze away and stare out the window.