"Don't be ridiculous. It's private property." I lick my lips. "You could send everybody home and fuck me in every single floor, every single room of that building, and not a law in the land could touch you."
He raises his eyebrows slightly. "And once again, having too much money just robs me of all the usual thrills in life." Moving lightning-fast, he snatches a grape out of my hand and pops it in his mouth. "What's the fun of having sex at work if you can't get in trouble for it?"
I'm giggling. "Uh, there's still a lot of fun. But okay. Fair enough."
"I should spank whoever came up with this fucking '80s prom theme," he grumbles.
My eyes snap to his. "Don't you dare."
He smiles, grabbing a piece of pineapple. "I like it when you get jealous, you know."
"Now, suddenly, you want the fruit?" I push the bowl back across the table. "Ugh. Just take it."
"Only because you wanted it," he says. "I hear there's a thrift shop down the street. Might still have something, if we hit it early."
"We're not seriously going, are we?" I'm already preemptively bored and irritated at the thought. "I mean, come on. '80s Prom?"
Adrian shrugs. "Everyone else is going to be there. All the cool kids. Come on - it'll be fun. I'll help you find something really hideous, lots of ruffles."
"They won't have anything in my size."
He rolls his eyes. "You can't possibly know that, until you try it on."
***
I'm flipping through the racks at the thrift shop, which is crawling with conference attendees who didn't prepare for the party either. Pickings are slim. Adrian finds a powder blue tuxedo in about six point three seconds, and of course it fits perfectly, and I don't want to admit how good it actually looks on him.
"Great," I tell him, when he models it for me. "You look exactly like Marky Mark in Boogie Nights."
"Well, I don't fill it out quite as well," he says, glancing in the mirror. "But thanks anyway."
I shrug. "Anyone can do that with a prosthetic. You're all natural. Be proud."
Finding something for me is a little more difficult, as I imagined. Adrian's hanging by, just close enough to snark, but not close enough to actually help me look.
"So do you only like big girls? Or what?" I don't know why I'm asking this question. I don't know why I want to find out, except that maybe if it's some weird fetish thing, I'd rather not be involved. But it's clearly too late for that.
He licks his thumb and pages through the massive booklet we were given in our welcome bags. "Not only," he says. "Just mostly. Why do you care? It's not like it's unusual. Surely you're aware of that."
"It's unusual for people to be this secure about it," I tell him. "And this unapologetic."
"Why should I apologize?" He lets his eyes wander over my body. "Although, I will say it's difficult at first. When I was a teenager, I thought there was something wrong with me. Eventually I just realized it's the rest of the world that goes through these bizarre phases of obsession with different body types on women - society's the crazy one, not me."
"Wow, that's an inspiring story." I pull something hideous and lavender-colored off the rack. "You should get Macklemore to write a song about it."
Adrian snickers. "That's it. You found it. It's perfect."
"Really?" Glancing at it, I can tell it's roughly the right size. I hold it up next to his tuxedo. "We're going to look like a pastel nightmare."
"It's like I said." He smiles. "Perfect."
***
Despite Adrian's repeated insistence, I do not feather my hair. However, I do pull it into a sideways ponytail before we walk into the party.
I don't want to be here. I want to be with him, in his room, where I have in fact "moved my stuff" because I've given up on pretending. I want us to spend our last few hours together at this conference in each other's arms, because I have a a feeling when we get home, everything is going to change.
It's not exactly a question I can ask. If this was supposed to just be an out-of-town fling, I'm not going to be the dork who acts like I've been planning our wedding. But now that we've gone this far, I can't imagine backtracking. How can I just return to our usual thing, when I've spent the last week memorizing every inch of his skin?
"This mix seems very Prince-heavy," Adrian comments, as we wait for the bartender. Right on cue, "When Doves Cry" thuds to a stop.
I shrug. "It makes sense, thematically. Every Prince song is about sex."
"Every song is about sex."
"That's ridiculous." I pick up my beer. "You're ridiculous. What about this one?" I glance up at the ceiling, indicating the ballad that's currently taking over the speakers.
He snorts. "Are you kidding? 'Take My Breath Away?' It might as well be called 'Make Me Come.'"
"I'm pretty sure I still breathe when I'm having an orgasm."
Adrian raises an eyebrow. "I've had my doubts." He reaches for my beer, and I almost successfully dodge him, but I don't want to spill it. Setting both of our drink down on the table, he takes my hand.
"Come on. It's not a prom if we don't dance."
My heartbeat quickens, even though I'm pretty sure he just wants to outdo that cover model. Most people here are dancing solo, or sock-hope-style with their friends. But Adrian, of course, knows how to dance.
With his hand on my waist, he leads me around the room, and I don't know what kind of dance this is but I clearly don't need to.
"You're good at this," I murmur, because clearly what he needs is another ego stroke.
"I know." He's very close to me, and he smells like thrift shop, and that's got to be the first time that's ever been true of Adrian Risinger. But I lean in closer, anyway. "I've had lessons."
"Really? I just figured you were naturally a genius at everything."
"Yeah, I've got everybody fooled. I'm going to dip you. Just hold on."
Before I have a chance to protest, he does. The head rush if spectacular, and as he pulls me back upright, I hear a few people tittering and clapping quietly.
"To impress the kind of people I need to impress, you've got to leave the impression that you popped out of the womb sounding like Alec Baldwin in Glengarry Glen Ross," he says, with a grin. "We all know it's not true, that it can't be true, but it's a shared delusion we all participate in. Learning how to do something isn't sexy. Knowing how to do it is."