“Curse Blair and Yuka,” she muttered, opening the door. She winced when the light shone cheerfully within. “Why does their beer have to be so wonderful?”

Val grabbed the milk bottle and chugged directly from it. The cold fluid helped enough that she stumbled to the coffee machine and turned it on. While it whirred and clicked, Val went to the living room and fell onto the couch.

Her phone pinged. She fished it from her sweatpants pocket and read a text from Isabella.

Did he answer yet??????

Who?

BOOKER!!!!!

“Oh, shit.” Val shot upright. “Did I text Booker last night?”

She fumbled through her apps and saw a glowing notification.

“Shit. Shit,” Val squeaked. She tapped on it.

Booker Johnson: Hey, Val! It’s great to hear from you. A drink would be great! How about we go ice skating first? They’re expecting the temp to drop later this week. Brooklyn Bridge has the best skating in the city if you ask me!

Val buried her face under her couch cushion and groaned until she felt marginally better. Then Isabella texted.

Val! What did he say?

He wants to go ice skating.

Isabella sent a long string of random symbols, letters, and numbers to convey her unspeakable excitement.

Bella! What do I do?

Say yes!!! Ice skating? So romantic. He wants quality time, more than drinks, dinner, and whatever comes next. GREEN. FLAG.

Val squared her shoulders. She’d come this far, hadn’t she? She’d fought an army of vampires and a fae assassin. She could survive ice skating with an attractive man.

So attractive.

She summoned her courage and typed a response to Booker.

Sure. Ice skating sounds great. Saturday night?

It’s a date :)

“It is?” Val muttered. “Oh, crap.”

Her phone hummed with a FaceTime call from Isabella. Val answered.

“Valerie Stonehold, you have to say yes!” Isabella shouted from the screen. “Do you hear me? You. Must. Say. Yes.”

“Ow.” Val covered her ear with her free hand. “Why are you yelling? How are you not hungover?”

“I’m so hungover, it’s not funny. I’m only alive because of three strong coffees and a couple of ibuprofen. Don’t let the makeup fool you. Did you say yes?” Isabella demanded.

“I said yes,” Val assured her.

“What did he say?” Isabella grinned and slurped from a Starbucks cup—her fourth, Val presumed.

“He said, ‘It’s a date.’”

Isabella whooped. “Bet your ass it is! You’re in business, Val!”

“What do I wear?” Val wailed. “I don’t know how to do this!”

“It’s okay. It’s fine.” Isabella inhaled. “You simply have to choose something that makes you look pretty but not too pretty, you know? It should be gently suggestive without seeming vulgar. It shouldn’t knock his socks off, but it should whet his appetite for how beautiful you can be. Oh, and it has to be comfortable and appropriate for the weather and activities.”

“Only that, huh?” Val leaned her head back. “This was a mistake.”

“It was not a mistake. We’ll pick the perfect outfit for you,” Isabella promised. “He’s going to love it, and you’ll have a great time.”

“I don’t know how to skate,” Val moaned.

“Even better. Lots of opportunities to romantically fall into his arms. I'm willing to bet that’s why he picked ice skating.” Isabella beamed. “It’ll be awesome, Val. You’ll see.”

“I don’t have skates,” Val wailed.

Isabella laughed. “Relax. You rent them. Now, go upstairs and open your closet so we can pick an outfit.”

Val groaned.

“Who chose your dress for that gala thing you went to?” Isabella demanded.

“That gala thing” was Val’s knighthood ceremony at the Eternal Palace, but Isabella didn’t need to know that.

“You did,” Val mumbled. “I looked stunning, too.”

“You did. Channel that confidence, girl!” Isabella grinned. “Now, hurry up. I’m two blocks from work, and that’s not a lot of time to pick an outfit.”

Val stumbled upstairs and endured several minutes of Isabella’s dismay about her wardrobe, which mainly consisted of T-shirts, tank tops, jeans, and leather jackets. They finally settled on clothes for Val’s date and hung up.

Date. Ugh. What have I gotten myself into?

Coffee did little to alleviate the pounding headache behind Val’s temples. Sitting at the kitchen table, she drank a cup slowly and realized that it was silent upstairs. She knew she’d gotten Tetra home last night. Maybe the faerie was as hungover as she was.

Mug in hand, Val climbed the stairs to the apartment and knocked as loudly as her splitting head would allow.

“Tetra,” she growled.

The door swung open. “What?” Tetra demanded, still in last night’s clothes.

“Did you sleep in your clothes?” Val asked.