Red Dress Confession

The ballroom was a goddamn ocean of dress blues and sequins, and I was drowning in it.

My friends kept slapping my shoulder, telling me I looked sharp. The black tux with the blue vest, they said. Clean as hell, Ayala. I said thanks. I nodded. I smiled. I did all the things you're supposed to do when people are being nice to you. But my eyes kept scanning the crowd, looking for that flash of red.

Red like a warning light. Red like a stop sign you know you're going to blow through anyway.

I'd been watching the door for twenty minutes. Every time it opened, I turned. Every time, it was someone else. Some other soldier with his date. Some other couple laughing, holding hands, already drunk on the free champagne. I told myself I wasn't looking for her. I told myself I was just people-watching. That's a normal thing to do at a battalion ball. You watch people. You don't scan for one specific person like a goddamn searchlight.

But there I was. Scanning.

My best friends in the company, Rodriguez and Kim, were arguing about something stupid. Which sergeant had the worst breath. Which lieutenant cried during the national anthem last year. I laughed when they laughed, nodded when they nodded, and kept my eyes on that door.

"Bro, you good?" Rodriguez asked. He was already loosening his tie. The ceremony hadn't even started yet.

"Yeah. Fine."

"You look like you're waiting for someone."

I shrugged. "Just seeing who showed up."

Kim snorted. "You mean who *showed up*."

I didn't answer that. I didn't have to. They knew. Everyone in the company knew. They'd been saying it for months now, ever since Sandy and I got put on the same rotation. Ever since we started eating lunch together every day. Ever since they caught us looking at each other during a briefing, neither of us realizing the other was staring until someone coughed.

*You two make a cute couple*, they'd say.

*We're not a couple*, we'd say.

*Yet*, they'd say.

And we'd both get quiet. We'd both look at our boots. We'd both pretend we didn't feel the air between us go thick and hot.

Then the door opened again.

And there she was.

I forgot how to breathe.

She stepped through the entrance like she owned the whole damn building. Red dress. Long slit up the side, showing just enough of her thick thigh to make a man forget his own name. Her hair was curled, falling down the right side of her face in waves that caught the light. Bright red lipstick, shiny, like she'd just put it on and wanted someone to smudge it.

The dress hugged her. Not in a cheap way. In a way that said *I know what I've got and I'm not sorry about it*. Every curve. Every line. Her breasts, full and round, the size of pomelos, pressed against the fabric like they were saying hello.

I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but stand there like an idiot with my mouth half open.

She looked around the room, searching. Her eyes found mine.

And she smiled.

That smile. The one that made her brown-hazel eyes crinkle at the corners. The one that made her whole face light up like she'd just seen the best thing in the world. She started walking toward me. Her hips moved with a rhythm that felt like it was made just for me.

Then the announcement came over the speakers.

*Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The ceremony will begin in five minutes.*

The room shifted. People moved. Chairs scraped against the floor. I lost her in the crowd.

I sat down at my table, heart pounding, and spent the next hour staring at the back of someone's head, hearing nothing. The general spoke. The awards were given. The speeches were made. I clapped when everyone else clapped. I stood when everyone else stood. But my mind was still back at that door, watching her walk in, watching her smile at me like I was the only person in the room.

After the ceremony, the music started. A DJ in the corner, some pop song I didn't recognize. People flooded the dance floor. I stayed at the table, talking to my boys, pretending I wasn't waiting for something.

"You gonna dance?" Kim asked.

"Not yet."

"Not yet? Bro, the night's young. Go find someone."

I shook my head. "I'm good."

He gave me a look. The look that said *I know exactly who you're waiting for*. I ignored it.

Then I felt something brush against my cheek.

Soft. Warm. A curl of red hair.

And a smell. Something floral, something sweet, something that made my chest tighten. Perfume that I'd smelled a hundred times before, every time she leaned in close to show me something on her phone, every time we sat next to each other in the truck, every time she hugged me goodbye.

"Hi."

Her voice. Low and warm, like honey poured over gravel.

I turned.

She was right there. Close enough that I could see the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes. Close enough that I could see where her lipstick had worn off just a little on her bottom lip. Close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her skin.

"Sandy."

I said her name like a prayer. Like I'd been holding it in my lungs all night and finally let it out.

She laughed. That bubbly, goofy laugh that always made me smile. "You look good, Ayala. Real good."

"You look..." I couldn't finish the sentence. There weren't words. There weren't enough words in any language.

She grabbed my hand. Her fingers were warm, her grip firm. "Come with me. Let's go dance."

"Wait, I-"

But she was already pulling me toward the floor. I stumbled after her, letting her lead, letting her guide me through the crowd. People stepped aside. Someone whistled. I didn't care.

She found a spot near the center, turned to face me, and started moving.

The song was fast. Something with a beat that made you want to move your hips. She did. God, she did. Her body rolled like water, like she was made of rhythm and light. The red dress caught the strobes, glittering, shifting. Her hair flew around her face.

I tried to keep up. I'm not a bad dancer. I can hold my own. But watching her move was like watching a fire. You don't try to compete with a fire. You just stand there and let it warm you.

She laughed again, grabbed my hands, pulled me closer. "You're stiff, Ayala. Loosen up."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

She spun under my arm, her hair whipping across my face. I caught her, pulled her back, and for a second we were chest to chest. Her eyes met mine. The smile faded just a little. Something else took its place. Something deeper. Something that made my stomach drop.

Then the song changed.

Slow. A ballad I didn't recognize. Something about love and time and not wanting to let go.

She looked down. Her cheeks went red. "Oh. Um."

She started to pull away.

I grabbed her hand.

"Don't," I said.

She looked up. Her mouth was partly open. Her eyes were wide, surprised, like she hadn't expected me to hold on.

I pulled her closer. My hand found her waist. Her skin was warm through the thin fabric of her dress. I could feel the curve of her hip, the softness of her side. She fit against me like she was made to be there. Her head came to just below my chin. Perfect height. Perfect everything.

We started moving. Slow. Rocking back and forth more than dancing. Her hand rested on my shoulder. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my jacket.

I felt her breath change. Faster. Heavier. Her chest rose and fell against mine. She looked down at my chest, her face hidden, her hair falling forward.

I looked up at the ceiling. At the lights. At anything that wasn't her, because if I kept looking at her I was going to do something stupid.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here."

"Me too."

She pressed closer. Her forehead touched my collarbone. I felt her exhale, long and shaky.

The song kept playing. The world kept spinning. I don't know how long we stood there. A minute. An hour. Time stopped meaning anything.

Then she lifted her head.

Her eyes were wet. Not crying, but close. The gold flecks in them caught the light. Her lips were parted, her breath warm, her face so close I could feel the heat radiating off her skin.

She grabbed my cheek.

Her hand was soft. Her palm pressed against my jaw, her fingers curling behind my ear. She pulled my face down toward hers.

And she kissed me.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was hungry. It was desperate. It was five months of stolen glances and awkward silences and *we're not a couple* exploding out of her mouth and into mine. Her lips were warm, tasted like lipstick and champagne. Her tongue touched my bottom lip. I opened for her, pulled her closer, buried my hand in her hair.

The music stopped.

We broke apart.

She stared at me, chest heaving, eyes wide. Her lipstick was smeared. Her hair was a mess. She looked like she'd just been through a storm.

"Shit," she whispered.

I couldn't speak.

She turned. Walked away. Disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there, alone on the dance floor, while people started clapping for the DJ. My lips were still tingling. My heart was still pounding. My hands were still shaking.

I found my friends. I don't remember walking to them. I don't remember what they said. I just remember sitting down, staring at the table, feeling like the whole world had tilted sideways.

Fifteen minutes passed. Maybe longer. Someone said something about an after party. At Sergeant Morrison's house. Everyone was going. I said I'd come. I needed a drink. I needed to think. I needed to stop feeling her lips on mine.

I changed in the car. Spare clothes. White shirt, black pants, white shoes. Simple. Comfortable. I drove to Morrison's place, parked, and walked inside.

The house was loud. Music blasting. People everywhere. Beer cans on every surface. Someone was doing shots in the kitchen. Someone else was passed out on the couch. Standard army after party. We know how to have fun and we know how to overdo it.

I grabbed a beer. Found a spot near the wall. Talked to a few guys. Laughed at a few jokes. Tried to pretend I wasn't looking for her.

She wasn't there.

I told myself that was good. That gave me time to think. To figure out what I was going to say. To figure out what the hell that kiss meant.

But I knew what it meant. I'd known for months. We both had.

The door opened.

She walked in.

Black sandals. Black pants. A black V-neck T-shirt that showed just enough of her cleavage to make my mouth go dry. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her face was bare, no makeup, and she still looked like the most beautiful woman in the room.

She was staring at the floor. She hadn't seen me yet.

I watched her walk in. Watched her grab a beer from the cooler. Watched her talk to a few people, laugh at something, but her laugh was different. Tighter. Nervous.

Then she looked up.

Our eyes met.

She turned red. Her whole face went from beige to crimson in less than a second. She looked down, looked back up, looked away.

I didn't move.

She walked over. Sat down across from me. Put her beer on the table and stared at it like it held the secrets of the universe.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

Neither of us said anything for a long time. The music played. People laughed. Someone fell over in the corner. Normal army party stuff.

"You look good," I finally said.

She snorted. "I look like I just ran through a car wash."

"You look good."

She looked up. Her eyes were soft. "Thanks."

Another long silence.

"About what happened," she started.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't apologize."

"I wasn't going to apologize."

I looked at her. "Then what were you going to say?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Shook her head. "I don't know."

We talked. For the next hour, we talked about everything except what happened. We talked about work. About the new lieutenant. About that guy in supply who keeps losing stuff. We laughed. We remembered old stories. We fell back into the easy rhythm we always had.

But something was different. Every time our eyes met, we both looked away. Every time she laughed, she touched my arm. Every time I said something stupid, she smiled in a way that made my chest ache.

People kept drinking. The night kept going. I switched to water. I had a feeling I was going to need to drive.

Then she stood up.

She was wobbly. The beers had hit her harder than she thought. She grabbed the table to steady herself, knocked over an empty bottle, didn't seem to notice.

"Everyone," she said. Her voice was loud. Too loud. "I have something to say."

The room went quiet.

She slammed her bottle down on the table. Her eyes were red. Her cheeks were flushed. She looked at me, then at everyone else, then back at me.

"Me and Ayala kissed at the ball," she said. "At the last dance. And honestly?"

She took a breath.

"I wanna be with him."

The room stayed quiet for three full seconds.

Then everyone started laughing.

"We know!" Rodriguez yelled. "We've been saying that for months!"

"Yeah, get on with it already!" Kim shouted.

Sandy didn't laugh. She walked around the table, stepped right up to me, and sat down on my lap.

She was warm. Soft. Her weight settled against my thighs like she belonged there. She rested her head on my chest, her ear over my heart, and let out a long, shaky breath.

I put my hand on her back. Felt her breathing. Felt her relax into me.

"About damn time," someone muttered.

"Wait," I said. "We're not even dating."

The room went quiet again.

"What do you mean you're not dating?" Rodriguez asked.

"We're not. We just... kissed. That's all."

Sandy lifted her head. Looked at me. Her eyes were blurry, half drunk, half something else.

"Well," she said. "What are we gonna do about that?"

Everyone was staring. I felt heat crawl up my neck.

"Maybe we should talk about this later," I said.

"Later," she repeated. She nodded. Then she put her head back on my chest and closed her eyes. "Okay. Later."

The party kept going. People went back to their drinks and their conversations. Someone put on music again. But every few minutes, someone would look over at us and smile.

Sandy fell asleep on my lap. Her breathing evened out. Her body went heavy and limp. I sat there, holding her, feeling her heartbeat against my thigh.

At 2 AM, people started leaving. Rodriguez came over, clapped me on the shoulder, and said, "Take care of her, man."

"I will."

"Good."

I shook Sandy awake. She blinked, confused, looking around like she didn't know where she was.

"Hey," I said. "Time to go."

"Where?"

"Home. You got a hotel, right?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. I got a room. Too far to drive back to base."

"Give me the key."

She fumbled in her purse, handed me a key card. I helped her stand. She was unsteady, leaning on me, her head lolling against my shoulder.

I walked her to my car. Opened the passenger door. Helped her in. Buckled her seatbelt. She was already half asleep again.

I drove.

The hotel was fifteen minutes away. A decent place, nothing fancy, but clean. I parked, got her out, and carried her.

She was light. Strong thighs, curvy hips, but light in my arms. She wrapped her arms around my neck, her head resting on my shoulder, her breath warm against my skin.

I found the room. Opened the door. Carried her inside.

The room was standard. A bed. A TV. A bathroom. I laid her down on the mattress, pulled off her sandals, and covered her with the blanket.

She stirred. Murmured something I couldn't understand. Then settled back into sleep.

I stood there for a minute, watching her. Her face was peaceful. Her lips were slightly parted. Her chest rose and fell.

I needed to pee.

I went to the bathroom. Did my business. Washed my hands. Looked at myself in the mirror.

My eyes were tired. My hair was a mess. But there was something different in my face. Something I hadn't seen in a long time.

Hope.

I dried my hands. Opened the door.

She was standing there.

Right in front of me. Her eyes were open. Wide. Hungry.

I froze.

She stepped forward. Her hands came up, pressed against my chest. Her fingers curled into my shirt.

"What you said at the party," she said. Her voice was low. Clear. Not drunk anymore. "I meant it."

"Sandy-"

"I know you've thought about me. I know I've thought about you. And I'm tired of pretending."

She looked up at me. Her eyes were golden in the dim light. Her lips were parted.

"I'm 34 years old," she said. "I'm not getting any younger. And you're the only person I want to have a kid with."

My heart stopped.

"I'm serious, Ayala. I've been thinking about this for months. Every time I see you, every time you make me laugh, every time you look at me like I'm the only woman in the world. I don't want to wait anymore."

She grabbed my hand. Placed it on her chest. Over her heart.

"Feel that," she said. "That's yours. It's been yours for a while now."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but feel her heartbeat under my palm.

"So what are we gonna do?" she asked. Her voice cracked. "What do you want us to be? Because I already decided."

She stepped closer. Her body pressed against mine. Her breasts pushed against my chest. Her lips were inches from my mouth.

"It's you," she said. "Or no one else."