Chapter 21 After a few weeks of living in Loft 3B, I've found a new normal, and I like it. The weather has turned chilly and damp, and the evenings are getting darker, but I'm content. I miss my family-especially my mom-but I enjoy my job, I love my roommates, and best of all, Noah's finally acting like my existence in his life isn't some burden for him to carry. Almost the opposite, in fact. I've also switched out punishing runs on the treadmill for punishing dance practices at the studio after everyone else leaves for the night. Dancing again is cathartic, and this time I'm doing it solely for myself. Channeling everything I feel into choreography and movement that makes me feel like myself again, even if it is behind closed doors where nobody is watching instead of onstage like I used to dream of. And the best part is that after I've totally exhausted myself every night, I get to come home afterwards to snuggle up on the couch and binge Matchmaker Mansion with the boys, Harry curled up and purring in between me and Noah. I'm so engrossed in pouring every ounce of myself into working on my dance routine that Halloween sneaks up on me. I come home after four back-to-back classes one afternoon to find three mobsters sitting at the kitchen table...with what looks like an entire special effects make-up department of a movie spread on the table in front of them. When he hears me come in, Fisher whips his head around so fast the fedora on his head almost flies off. "Ally, you're home, finally! We need help." "I can see that," I reply with a sputter-because the man is wearing a fake mustache that's half stuck on and hanging over his lips. For what reason, I have no idea. "Can I ask what's going on?" Noah looks up at me with those brown eyes, and my heart picks up speed. While Fisher looks almost cartoonish in his costume, Noah actually looks good in his ridiculous pinstripe suit, the black shirt underneath complementing his dark eyes and hair. "Archibald had the bright idea of accessorizing with makeup." Fisher folds his arms defensively. "The internet said that stage makeup could accentuate the look." I bite my bottom lip to hide my smirk. "And do you have any idea how to apply stage makeup?" "No," he admits. At that moment, Penn lifts his gaze from where he's been looking in a compact mirror, and I almost collapse in laughter. He has a fake cigar hanging out of his mouth and a blunt red streak on his cheek that looks like a terrible attempt at a fake scar. "Help us, Ally," he moans glumly. "Okay, worry not, boys, the professional is here," I tell them when I've recovered from laughing. First, I give them all makeup remover wipes to clean themselves up. Then, I line the boys up at the table and proceed to help Fisher stick his mustache on properly before slicking back his hair with a ton of gel. I then use a lipliner pencil to give Penn a much more realistic looking scar on his cheek before advising him to wear dark sunglasses and leave his mob suit jacket behind so he can roll up the sleeves on his shirt to show off his tattoos to complete his look. Finally, I get to Noah. He's taken off his pinstripe suit jacket, and underneath he's wearing suspenders that make his shoulders look impossibly broad, like if he flexed, he could snap the straps in half. With the other boys, I jumped right in, but even the thought of touching Noah's face or hair makes me feel a little flustered. "What are you going to do to me?" He asks in a low voice, quirking half a smile, and the suggestiveness of his sentence makes my stomach bottom out. I swallow. "Um, maybe we could comb your hair back like this," I say as I show him a picture on my phone. He nods, and I get to work, squirting a glob of hair gel into my hand and then running my fingers through his thick, dark hair. As I tousle and tease the strands, I notice he seems to enjoy having his hair played with. His shoulders relax, and his breathing becomes softer, shallower. He's practically purring. And I feel like I really shouldn't be as aware of this as I am. "There," I say when I'm done, reaching out to pull one strand of hair out of the slicked-back gelled style to rest on his forehead. As I do so, my fingers brush his face, and I feel him shiver at the contact, resulting in my own shaky breath. I feel like a moon in his planet's orbit, a gravitational pull keeping me close-but not too close. "You don't need any makeup," I say hurriedly, yanking my fingers away. "Your eyes are so dark already." He turns those dark eyes on me, and we hold eye contact for a beat before Fisher cuts in. "Okay, Ally, go get showered and dressed so we can get this party started!" He's standing by the fridge, pulling out an assortment of alcohol-free beers and what looks like canned mocktails, and once again, I am touched by the thoughtfulness of these boys and their willingness to alter their night to accommodate me coming with them. "You know, if you guys wanted to go out and party, let loose a little, I'd be totally fine with hanging out here tonight," I offer as guilt tugs at my stomach. I'm sure these guys want to actually enjoy their Halloween instead of babysitting me. But in response to my offer, all three mob bosses in front of me cross their arms menacingly. "Get outta here!" Fisher exclaims in a ridiculous gangster voice, giving me a finger gun. "You're coming, and that's final. You're the mob wife!" I look from him to the others. "It wouldn't be a roommates' night out without you," Penn says simply as he scoops up Harry Styles in his arms and starts stroking his head like he's Dr. Evil or something. "Go get dressed, Ally," Noah says, his tone telling me there's no arguing with him. This whole conversation makes my heart feel achy, but in a good way. After all of my college friends of almost three years turned their backs on me when the rumors started, these guys accepting me as part of their little family means everything. "Thanks, guys," I say a little thickly as I head off to get ready. I take a quick shower then dart into my room and open my closet so I can examine the nightmarish mob suit Fisher ordered for me. I step into the costume and eye myself in my floor-length mirror, screwing up my face at my reflection. While the suits accentuate the boys' buff masculine frames, I look like an absolute idiot in mine. Even though it's technically a girl's version of the same costume, it's way too big, hanging off my shoulders and about six inches too long in the legs. "Why do I even care what I look like tonight?" I mutter to myself. But deep down, I already know the answer to that question. I'm happy to be seen as one of the boys, or a loveable kid sister, when it comes to Fisher and Penn...but the more time that goes by, the more I realize that I really don't want Noah to see me like that. Not one bit. I know there's going to be a million girls at this party dressed up to look gorgeous and glamorous, and, well...I also know that it's going to be hard for me to watch Noah checking them out. Looking at them in a way that I want him to look at me. It's not that I want to put on a stereotypically "sexy" costume and be ogled. Nothing like that. I just want to feel comfortable in my own skin again. I always used to feel comfortable with my body. I liked that I was strong. Agile. Graceful. And I was proud of the hard work I'd put in to get to that point. But for the last few months, that pride has been replaced with shame, and all I've wanted to do is hide away, be invisible to the male gaze. And then I met Noah, who's making me feel things that I thought I might never feel again...and making me feel safe at the same time. So much so that tonight, I want him to look at me the same way he looked at me during his hockey game a few days ago, right after he scored his second goal. With a scalding heat in his eyes that set me alight inside, even in a frozen arena. But instead, he'll probably laugh when he sees me in this stupid suit. With a sigh, I remove the ugly costume from my body and hang it back up in my closet. I cannot leave the house in that thing, but I'm also not going to be the killjoy who ruins the evening, so I rummage through my clothes for ideas, and as I do, I catch a flash of gold sequins glinting at the back of the closet. A dress I'd completely forgotten about. I reach for the flapper dress. It was part of a costume I wore for a Gatsby-inspired group performance of the Charleston in my freshman-year dance showcase, and frankly, I have no idea how it even ended up among the stuff I packed when I moved out here. It's short, covered in golden sequins, with a V-neck and a black fringed hem that reaches the knee. The dress also comes with elbow-length black gloves and a double stringed pearl necklace. It's fun and playful and feminine...and would make a perfect female accompaniment to the boys' 1920s gangster get-up. With a grin, I grab my curling iron and get to work. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!