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“Sort of. I pieced it together.” Pinstripe pants from an old costume of Cam’s, black shirt, white suspenders and white tie, stupid gangster hat.

“Can I ask why?” Her eyes dance with excitement.

“You can, but while I answer, we need to dig your costumes out of the closet.”

She claps her hands together and turns for her bedroom. “Which one? We’re supposed to match, right?”

“What about that green fringy thing with all the beads?” I say, following her. I still remember the Halloween party freshman year and Ruby’s body in that costume.

“The flapper dress. I still have it.” She hauls a gigantic black trash bag from under her bed. “Now tell me what we’re doing.”

“Murder mystery dinner train.”

Ruby shrieks. “Oh, Lorenzo, seriously?” She throws her arms around me and pounds my back like we’re old friends. I wonder when we’ll stop defaulting to best-friend mode and start acting like a couple. “I’ve always wanted to do that!”

“No shit. You tell me every time we drive past the train station.” I try to play it off like this is no big deal, but I’m pumped I totally nailed this plan. “Now find that costume.”

Ruby is buzzingwith excitement on the ride over. Her vibe fills the entire car. “So this little plan wouldn’t have anything to do with my state of mind this morning, would it? Trying to cheer me up?”

“Cheer you up with murder? You’re sick.”

She laughs. I know what she’ll do next: the arm squeeze. That’s Ruby’s go-to move when she’s grateful but doesn’t want to get cheesy. Her fingers find my bicep and squeeze, but then she leans over the center console and her lips brush my cheek. “This is why you’ve never been broken up with, isn’t it?” She kisses my cheek once. Twice. Three times.

That’s all it takes for my dick to spring to life under my cheap polyester pants. Even her gentle touch can pull me under. My mind stretches out the implication of what she’s saying. Is this a relationship? Does she want it to be? “I’m glad I can make you happy,” I say. Such a weak response, but she looks pleased as she settles back into her seat.

“This is going to be the best night.”

When we get to the train station, I look around the platform. People turn and stare at us, which embarrasses me but seems to ramp up Ruby’s excitement even more. We definitely leaned intothe 1920s theme harder than anyone else here, but at least there are a couple of other guys in suits.

“We are supposed to be in costumes, right?” Ruby asks. “Not that I care either way,” she adds quickly. “I fucking love dressing up.”

I check the time. The train should have arrived already. “The website says dressing for the theme is optional but encouraged.”

A train whistle sounds in the distance. I sigh, relieved, as the people waiting slowly start to cluster near the edge of the platform. Ruby and I get a few more strange looks as we move closer to the group. I take her hand and ignore them.

That’s when I notice the men in suits aren’t dressed in costumes, just ordinary day-at-the-office suits. And I don’t see a single woman in costume. A bad feeling wells up inside me.

The tracks rumble and a train screeches painfully to a stop, but it’s not pulled by the sleek blackMidnight Expressengine I saw on the ticket website. This looks like an ordinary commuter train painted a sad shade of green.

I hold Ruby back as the other riders move for the doors. “Excuse me,” I say when the conductor hops off the train. “Is this the murder mystery train?”

The man looks me up and down, a smile spreading across his face like he just noticed my ridiculous costume. “Murder mystery train?” His tone of voice implies that I’m a total loser. “Nope.”

“Do you know when that one’s supposed to arrive?”

“I don’t know anything about that. But good luck.” He tips his cap, grinning, and hops back onto the train.

The back of my neck is warm with embarrassment. But when I turn to Ruby, her hands are on her hips and she’s staring defiantly after the conductor. “So the train’s late,” she says, her eyes softening on me. “I’m cool with waiting.” She does alittle shoulder shimmy, making the fringe on her dress swing enthusiastically.

I look around. Other than a young woman who’s definitely not dressed like it’s 1923, the platform is empty. “Let’s go talk to someone at the desk.”

The station building is tiny, with a few benches and a single wooden ticket counter. As Ruby and I enter, we get stares from everyone except the agent behind the counter, who gazes dully into her computer screen.

“Excuse me.” I clear my throat and lay my palms flat on the counter. An impending sense of humiliation is making me impatient.

She makes a low sound of acknowledgment in her throat, but her gaze doesn’t move from the screen.

“We have tickets for the murder mystery train.” God, every time I say that phrase, I feel like more of a douchebag. “Any idea when it’s arriving?”