More than Fashion

2

The boat began moving away from the dock thanks to their magic, and in a few minutes, we were out on the cool water under the endless night sky, leaving the volcano behind. I glanced behind us at the glowing summit and spotted a large dragon flying over it, his blood-red wings flapping once as he descended to the Temple. Sark.

This time I was certain he was looking for me. For us.

And soon we’d be ready to face him.

“Yep, definitely him.”

“He’s hot.” She yawned and set her empty drink on the bar. “And I’m heading to bed.”

“Already?” I pouted, although I wasn’t too sad. Being on my own tonight would give me a better chance at picking up a guy. Ideally Mr. Gorgeous Hair over there.

She stood up and grabbed her purse. “You found your guy, and I need my beauty sleep.”

“Oh, please. You’d make everyone in here look like trolls even if you stayed up all night and didn’t shower for a week.”

Carla laughed and gave me a warm hug. “Not true, but I love you for saying that.”

It was true, though. Carla was ridiculously, impossibly beautiful, no exaggeration. She towered over me, with boobs I would kill for, rich dark skin you couldn’t help but want to touch, and a head full of bouncing, natural curls. Without even trying, she put every other girl in the room to shame. And even though her pouty lips and mysterious eyes could be seen on billboards, ads, and runways across the world, it never went to her head. She was the sweetest, most loyal friend a girl could have. She’d even come to New York to go on Behind The Seams with me.

Normally designers didn’t have any say over which model they worked with on the show, but she’d pulled some strings so we could be together. I suspected her famous supermodel mother had something to do with it, but Carla told me not to stress over it. It meant a lot to me that she was taking time out of her summer break to come with me. Sure, if we won, she’d get a sweet prize herself—$10,000 plus the photo shoot in Charmed magazine—but she didn’t need it. She’d been in Paris last week doing a photo shoot and had cancelled others to go on the show. She was here for me, and I loved her for it.

She kissed me on the cheek and said goodnight. From across the counter, the guy’s intense gaze lingered on me. He took a sip of his drink, and I spotted a tattoo of a rose on the back of his right hand. I gave him another flirty smile, leaning forward on the bar to show off my cleavage in my low-cut red dress. The hint of a grin touched his full lips.

He was hooked. Time to reel him in.

Another guy plopped next to me in Carla’s vacant seat, ruining my seduction moment. He looked ridiculously all-American with a wide chest, strong jaw, and short blond hair, like he should be playing college football or working as an Abercrombie model. Not really my type, but not bad looking either.

He grinned at me, flashing bright white teeth. “Hey, Hello Kitty. Can I get you a drink?”

Did he just…? I blinked at him. Tilted my head. Waited a beat to make sure I’d heard him correctly. “I’m sorry?”

“Drink?” he repeated, then made a drinking movement with his hand, like he thought I might not understand English.

“No, what was the other thing you said? What did you call me?”

“Hello Kitty. It was a joke.” He grinned even wider, like I was supposed to laugh at this.

“How is that funny?”

His grin faltered a little, but then rallied. “Um…just ‘cause, you know, you’re…um…”

I clenched my fists at my sides, resisting the urge to punch his stupid face in. “What, because I’m Asian?”

He tugged on the collar of his shirt and glanced away. “Yeah.”

“Okay, for one thing, I’m Korean, not Japanese. Second, I don’t look anything like Hello Kitty, who is a f*****g cat. I’m not even wearing a bow on my head. So unless you were trying to make some sort of ‘p***y’ pun, which is just gross, that joke doesn’t even make sense.”

He held up his hands. “Whoa, chill. You don’t need to get upset. It was a joke. Calm down.”

“Oh, I got that it was a joke. A racist, sexist, stupid joke.” I grabbed my martini and turned my back to him, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

He didn’t budge.

I waved my hand dismissively. “You can go now.”

“So…you don’t want a drink?” He sounded confused.

“Nope. Got one.”

He leaned in closer, his breath hot on my cheek. “C’mon, let me get you something. One drink.”

“I told you no.” This guy could not take a hint. Or a flat-out rejection. Time to listen to Carla’s advice and head to bed. I finished my martini in one long chug, ready to get the hell out of this bar, even if it meant not getting laid tonight.

But before I could get up, the guy put a large, rough hand on my back, pressing hard against my skin, physically preventing me from leaving. “How about we go up to my room, then?”

Oh, hell to the no. “How about you get lost?”

He didn’t listen, just moved even closer, completely invading my personal space. “It’ll be fun. You and me, my bed, and a lot less clothes.”

I was about to go off on him, to yell at him to take his hand off me before I karate-chopped it off—not that I knew karate, but his type always assumed every Asian person was a martial arts master—when the tattooed guy from across the bar showed up at my side.