ONE
The bass hits like a heartbeat I can’t sync with. Lights strobe across the dance floor, painting everyone in flashes of violet and gold. I’m standing at the edge of it all, clutching a sweating glass of cola like it’s a lifeline.
“Come on, Chi!” Marcus shouts over the music, already halfway to the center of the floor. His shirt is unbuttoned too far, his grin too wide. “You promised you’d dance tonight!”
“I said I’d show up,” I yell back, but he’s already gone, swallowed by the crowd.
He’s my best friend since we were 10, he's the kind of man who can charm anyone, anywhere. He’s also the only reason I’m here, in a gay bar pulsing with bodies and glitter and heat. I told him I’d rather stay home, but he said I needed to “get out of my spreadsheets and into some trouble.”
Or get Laid!. Ironic right? Because,
Now he’s grinding with a stranger, and I’m left alone, watching the condensation slide down my glass.
I hate this part, the waiting, the pretending I’m not out of place. I’m not shy, not really. I just don’t know how to behave in public.
The DJ shifts the beat, something slower but heavier, and that’s when I see her.
She’s in the middle of the floor, dancing alone. A red dress clings to her like it was made for her bod, short, shimmering, scandalous. Her face is half-hidden behind a butterfly mask, ruby-colored and glittering under the lights. Her hair falls in glowing blonde waves, her skin glowing like she’s lit from within.
She moves like she owns the night. Like she’s never been told no.
I can’t look away.
She catches me staring.
For a second, I think she’ll turn away, but instead, she smile, slow, deliberate, and keeps dancing. Her hips roll with the rhythm, her eyes never leaving mine.
My throat goes dry. I take a sip of my drink just to have something to do.
Then she’s walking toward me.
The crowd parts for her like it knows better. She stops in front of me, close enough that I can smell her perfume, something floral, expensive, and faintly dangerous.
“You seemed like a whiskey kinda girl,” she says, her voice smooth, her accent crisp and posh, like she’s from somewhere that still has castles.
I blink. “You’re not wrong.”
She smiles, handing me a glass. The amber liquid catches the light. “Then I’m not wrong about you.”
I take it, fingers brushing hers. Her skin is warm. “You always buy drinks for strangers?”
“Only the ones who stare like they’re trying to solve me.”
I laugh, embarrassed. “Was I that obvious?”
“Painfully.” She tilts her head, studying me. “But I like that. Honesty looks good on you.”
I take a sip. It burns, but in a good way. “And what should I call you, mysterious stranger?”
“Ruby,” she says, like it’s both a name and a dare.
“Ruby,” I repeat, tasting it. “That your real name?”
She leans in, her lips close to my ear. “Does it matter?”
It shouldn’t. But it does.
Her mask catches the light again, tiny jewels glinting like stars. I want to ask why she’s wearing it, but the question dies on my tongue. She’s too close, too magnetic.
“So, Ruby,” I say instead, “what brings you here? Lost a bet? Run away from a masquerade ball?”
She laughs, low and rich. “Something like that.”
Her laugh does something to me, loosens something tight in my chest.
“Chicago,” I say, offering my hand.
Her brows lift. “Like the city?”
“Like the mistake my parents made at a club named after it.”
She grins. “That’s delightfully tragic.”
“Thanks. I try.”
She takes my hand, her grip firm, her thumb brushing my knuckles. “Well, Chicago, you don’t seem like the type who dances.”
“I’m not.”
“Then let me change that.”
Before I can protest, she’s pulling me toward the dance floor. The crowd swallows us whole heat, sound, motion. Her hand stays on mine, guiding me through the rhythm.
I’m stiff at first, awkward, but she moves like water, and I start to follow. Her body presses close, her breath warm against my neck.
“See?” she murmurs. “You can move.”
“Barely.”
“Barely is enough.”
The song shifts again, slower now. Her hands slide to my waist, and I let her. My heart’s racing, but not from the music.
She smells like jasmine and whiskey. Her lips are inches from mine.
“Do you always wear a mask to bars?” I ask, my voice barely audible.
“Only when I want to be someone else.”
“And who are you tonight?”
She smiles. “Free.”
Her smile is inviting, lips soft to the eye and I loose my control, I don’t think. I just lean in.
Her lips meet mine, soft, deliberate, tasting of whiskey and something sweeter. The world blurs. The music fades. It’s just her and me and the pulse between us.
When we break apart, she’s smiling again, that same secret smile.
“Not bad,” she says.
“Not bad?” I echo, breathless. “That was at least an A.”
She laughs, the sound bright and dangerous. “You grade kisses now?”
“Only the ones that ruin my night in the best way.”
Her fingers trace the edge of my jaw. “Then I’ll have to aim for extra credit.”
We dance again, slower this time. Her mask glints every time she turns her head, and I wonder what she looks like underneath, what she’s hiding, what she’s running from.
But I don’t ask. Not tonight.
Tonight, she’s Ruby. The girl in the red dress. The one who found me in a corner and made the world tilt.
Marcus finally finds me again. He grins, mouthing something I can’t hear, but I don’t care with Ruby leaning in, whispering, “Same time next Friday?” my barely functioning brain cells decide it's okay to say yes.
She smiles, presses a kiss to my cheek, and disappears into the crowd, gone as suddenly as she arrived.
I stand dazed, heart pounding, the taste of whiskey still on my lips.
Ruby.
Whoever she is, she’s trouble.
And I already know I’ll be back next Friday.
The morning hits like punishment. My head throbs, my mouth tastes like regret and cheap whiskey. I blink against the sunlight slicing through the blinds and realize I’m not in my apartment.
Marcus’s couch. Again.
The blanket tangled around me smells like his cologne and bad decisions. My phone’s dead, my shoes are missing, and my dignity is probably somewhere under the coffee table.
I groan, sitting up. My skull feels like it’s been used as a drum.
From down the hall, I hear noise rhythmic, breathy, unmistakable.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I mutter, dragging myself upright.
I stumble toward the kitchen, hoping for water, but the sounds get louder. I turn the corner and freeze.
Marcus. Naked. With a boy who looks barely twenty, maybe younger, balls deep.
“Jesus, Marcus!” I yell, covering my eyes.
He startles, then glares over his shoulder. “Knock next time!”
“In your own kitchen?”
He laughs, breathless. “It’s my house!”
I groan again, retreating. “You’re disgusting.”
“Love you too, Chi!” he calls after me.
I find a bottle of water in the fridge and chug half of it in one go. My reflection in the microwave door looks like a cautionary tale, mascara smudged, hair a mess, lipstick ghosting the corner of my mouth.
Ruby flashes in my mind, her mask, her lips, her laugh.
I press my fingers to my mouth. It’s still there, the ghost of her.
My phone buzzes on the counter, somehow alive again. The screen lights up with Mom.
Perfect.
I answer, bracing myself. “Hey, Mom.”
“Chicago! Finally. You sound terrible. Are you sick?”
“Just tired.”
“Tired? You sound hungover.”
I sigh. “Maybe a little.”
“Sweetheart, you know alcohol dehydrates your skin. You can’t afford that at twenty-three. You have my genes, you’ll wrinkle early if you’re not careful.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“I’m serious, darling. You need to take better care of yourself. Are you eating properly? Sleeping? You sound like you’re living on caffeine and chaos.”
She’s not wrong.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Fine isn’t good enough. You work too much. You should come home for the weekend. I’ll make that quinoa salad you like.”
“Tempting, but I have work.”
“Work, work, work. You’re your father’s daughter.”
I smile despite myself. “Speaking of, how’s Dad?”
“Busy, as always. He’s in court today. Some big case. You know how he gets, all righteous and dramatic. I swear, he missed his calling as an actor.”
“Or a politician.”
“Don’t even joke.”
I laugh softly. “You two still the power couple of the suburbs?”
“Please. I’m retired.”
“Mom, you were a model, not a CEO.”
“Modeling is a business, sweetheart. And I was very good at it.”
“I know. You remind me every time I forget to moisturize.”
She laughs, light and melodic. “Your father still tells people we met in a library. Can you believe that?”
“I thought it was a club.”
“It was a club. Called Chicago. Fitting, isn’t it?”
I roll my eyes. “You conceived me in a public bathroom, Mom.”
“Oh, don’t be crass. It was romantic.”
“Romantic?”
“There were candles.”
“In a club bathroom?”
“Well, tea lights. But still.”
I groan. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re my masterpiece.”
Her voice softens, and for a moment, I feel that familiar tug, the warmth, the worry, the love that smothers and saves in equal measure.
“Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” she says. “Eat something green. Sleep before midnight. And maybe meet someone nice.”
I think of Ruby again, the mask, the mystery, the way she said free.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Maybe.”
“Good girl. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you more.”
The call ends.
I stare at my reflection again, the faintest smile tugging at my lips.
Marcus emerges from the hallway, shirtless, smug, and glowing. “You’re still here?”
“Unfortunately.”
He grins. “Rough night?”
“Something like that.”
“Tell me everything.”
“Later.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That good, huh?”
I shrug, finishing my water. “Let’s just say… I met someone.”
Marcus whistles. “Finally. What’s her name?”
“Ruby.”
“Ruby what?”
I pause. “Just Ruby.”
He smirks. “Mysterious. I like it.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, glancing toward the window, where the city hums awake. “Me too.”
Outside, the world looks ordinary, sunlight, traffic, people rushing to work, I work at home on Saturdays perks of being a hotshot.
Either way, Friday night doesn’t feel so far away.
