“Disgusting.” Katie wrinkled her nose.
“Pass one over.” Fern winked at Katie. “Let me show you how it’s done. These are the good ones.”
Dave raised his beer bottle, “A toast! To all my friends. Shine on you crazy, perverted, alcohol lovin’ weirdos. Y’all are my people forever!”
Cheers and yelling as everybody took a drink. Ed cleared his throat. “Thanks to my peeps for being here this weekend.” He held his beer in the air. “Here’s to Hell. That our stay there will be as fun as our way there!”
Andrew waved his hand in the air, “Two more! To staying positive and testing negative! And to those who wish us well, all the rest can go to Hell!”
Everybody chugged a drink while my eyes rested on Fern. There was something about a woman sucking on a cigar while laughing and holding a Miller Lite that just felt right.
I’d been told to bring a dress for a fancy dinner, never ever imagining I’d be sliding into it, knowing that a man I’d met just days ago would likely be sliding me out of it later.
I carefully curled my hair and actually applied every cosmetic in my suitcase. Foundation along with the soft rose blush and shiny light pink lip-gloss that made me happy. The new eye shadow smell tickled my nostrils as I swiped it on, but not before pulling up the perfect cat eye tutorial on my phone.
After three failed attempts, Smitha Deepak’s one-step cat eye had me looking smoky. I attempted the false lashes I’d picked up at Walgreens, but after nearly blinding myself with the glue, they found a new home in bottom of the trash can.
As a nurse, my daily beautifying routine consisted of the choice of a high bun or low pony tail and scrubs which are basically professional jammies. I was enjoying the crap out of being a girly-girl for a change.
The final step was my dress. I ordered one from Amazon, but after it looked like it may not arrive in time, I quickly ordered three more and paid for overnight delivery, as the thought of a fancy dinner in my scrubs caused my panicked fingertips to dance across my keyboard, hitting buy, buy, and buy.
Of course, they all arrived in time which meant I had three dresses I’ll never return because I just don’t do the shit I’m supposed to. Maybe I’ll start vacuuming or going to Target looking fab, pretending I have a life. OR since I have an upcoming visit with the hottest hockey player that’s ever walked the face of the earth, I can wear a different dress every day we’d be together, and every night he could tear it off me with his teeth. Sigh.
I forced myself not to choose a “little black dress” knowing it would likely be the go-to color of the other girls this weekend. Instead, I opted for a deep burgundy dress that went just below the knee, and it perfectly concealed most of my car hitting the tree debacle perfectly. It fit like a glove, had a mid-thigh slit, skinny spaghetti straps, and sucked me in in all the right places.
I’d never really found myself to be pretty. Sure, I clean up nicely, had decent genes when it came to my eyes and skin, but something about this dress, or maybe wearing it in the very room that Gabe had me feeling things I never knew were humanly possible, made me feel beautiful beyond measure.
I picked up my black handbag, also from my Amazon cart, and stepped into the black heels with a little strap around my ankle that had two benefits. Uno, the strap looked super sexy, and dos, my shoes won’t fly off if I had wine. (Of course, it’s happened before.)
When it comes to dressing up, I tend to have shoe-pidity: the act of wearing ridiculously uncomfortable shoes just because they look so damn good. Now I don’t go beyond a two-inch heel because if I do, I walk like I have a stick wedged up my butt. And to prepare, I’d clickidy-clacked up and down the stairs in my apartment building to break them in last week.
My door rattled with a knock. “Hey Fern.” Tawnee’s voice sang out. “We’re all heading downstairs for a glass of wine before we go.”
Clearly, the ankle strap was really going to pay off. “Great, I’ll be right down.” I quickly shot myself good with Coco Chanel Mademoiselle before stepping back and admiring the reflection looking back at me.
I started down the stairs to see everyone already below in the living room laughing while Liv was passing around glasses of wine. Sure enough, Pam and Katie wore black cocktails dresses, and Tawnee, as the bride, wore a white off the shoulder number. All hair and makeup in the room was on point.
My brother, Ed, Dan, and Andrew looked sharp in slacks and sports jackets; even the hockey hair was tamed. I was half way down the stairs when Gabe entered from the kitchen, carrying a bottle of wine. I will never, in my entire life, forget the way all the oxygen was sucked from my lungs at the sight of him. His thick hair was pushed back in a GQ kind of way, and he wore black slacks, a steel blue sports jacket, and a pinstriped dress shirt. Is it bad that I wanted his handprints on my bottom? My only thought was wow, let me take your pants off. Yes, he was definitely on my to-do list for later.
He was behind everyone, and as he saw me, he stopped walking. A slow grin slid across his lips. His eyes traveled down my body awaking butterflies in my tummy. He had the bottle in one hand while he placed the other over his heart.
Quick recap: the sexiest man alive, wearing a suit that does nothing but favors for those pecks and biceps, is gazing at me like I’m a vision. At the same time, his hand is over the vital organ that’s keeping him alive. OMG, how is this even happening to Fern Ethel Novotny? #mindblown.
Chapter 9
Comparison
She stood on the stairs, and everything else went black. I’d grown accustomed to the natural beauty of Fern that outshined that of any other woman I’d ever laid eyes on. But there, on the stairs, was a stunning woman in a smoking hot dress that hugged every curve to perfection. Something tugged as my stare glided over her perfect breasts, to the dark, silky hair that I already knew smelled like coconuts with loose curls cascading over her shoulders. I wanted to take her away from here, to my apartment in the city, and not stop until her legs were shaking and the neighbors knew my name.
She wore a small smile, having no idea she controlled me. One single look could bring me to my knees. She glided down the stairs before Liv met her with a glass of wine.
Thirty minutes later, the car dropped us off at The Soiree Supper Club, and we were seated at a table just off the dance floor. I’d been there once. The place oozed sophistication with the mahogany floors and marble crawling up the walls. The club had an old Hollywood vibe about it with dim lighting, crisp white table clothes, and warm candle light. There was a dance floor, but no bangin’ tunes tonight. It was smooth old-school jazz.
Tawnee clapped her hands. “I’m in love with this place.”
While making a serious dent in the bacon-wrapped fillets, our gang was chatting and laughing, but my eyes were dangerously glued to the woman in the silky merlot dress. (Yes, I even know the fancy colors.)
She noticed my stare and shot me a warning with her eyes as Dave was seated to her left.
