“Totally ridiculous.” But I smile anyway. “Love you, Sum.”
“Love you too. Have fun, be safe, relax. And tell Jackal I said hi and that I’m planning to come out there for Thanksgiving.”
“I love that you have a crush on a man.”
Summer scoffs. “You have a man do all the things Jackal did in bed and you’d have a crush too. I may be a lesbian every other time I’m looking to get laid, but Jackal is an exception. When it comes to him, I’m totally bi.”
I laugh so hard I snort, then hang up and take a deep breath. Talking to Summer kept me semi-calm but I won’t be able to get ready with her on the phone because I get too distracted, so now it’s just me and my racing thoughts. Thoughts I have to ignore or else I’m going to puke.
I walk to my dresser and dig around, find my one and only thong that I’ve worn maybe twice and for a similar reason as today; the black lace is super sexy and pretty comfortable. Summer made me buy it when I went with her to a black-tie fundraiser for her work, and come to think of it, that may actually be the only time I’ve worn a thong.
Whatever.
I step into it, look at myself in the full body mirror and smile just a little because it actually helps give me a figure. My butt looks more than non-existent, and my hips look a little flared. Maybe I should invest in more thongs. Apparently, they’re magic for girls like me.
With the dress in hand, I wade through the sea of clothing on the floor, head into my bathroom, and start a more genuine attempt at making myself look like the girlfriend of a sexy member of a MC.
My hair is pin straight so it won’t hold a curl, but it’s pretty thick and that means I can usually pull off a beach wave with the right amount of hairspray. Which is why I get to work curling the ass length mop on my head, shake and spray the spirals in a way that actually looks like I spent hours on a boat in the sun and waves.
I grimace when I look at my smashed glasses, my last good pair noticeably beyond fixing even while they’re blurry as hell on the counter. Since the only other glasses I have are my backup backups and definitely not wedding appropriate, it looks like I’m going to have to wear my contacts in order to see well enough to do my makeup let alone anything else.
I open the drawer and pull them out, fight with the contacts for a solid twenty minutes before my eyes stop watering and then I get to work on my face.
Primer.
Foundation.
Concealer.
A little highlight and light bronzer.
I opt for a low maintenance eye, just the primer with a hint of gradient matte nudes and smudgy black liner on my upper and lower lash lines, some along my water line and finish with my favorite mascara that actually makes me look like I have thick dark lashes. I don’t worry about my brows because it looks weird if I pencil over the light blonde hair, plus my bangs cover them so it’s not anything to worry about.
Summer told me to wear a dramatic lip, something that will offset my more natural looking makeup and I argued at first then gave in and promised I would.
Which is why I grab my pinup red lipstick and matching liner, trace my lips then fill them in before I add a coat of gloss, also mandated by my best friend.
I look a little like Hooker Barbie but whatever. I’m running out of time and considering I haven’t tried on my dress since I spontaneously bought it before I moved to Sabine Woods, I need to make sure I have ample freak out time.
“Crap,” I mutter at my reflection as I slide the skintight material up my body. I don’t even have my arms through the sleeves yet and I can tell my permanently hard nipples—I’m always cold and it definitely shows—will be like fucking headlights without a bra. I don’t ever wear one because my solid B-cups don’t exactly bounce all around the way Summer’s do, but my usual outfit of tank tops layered under sweaters typically hides my attention-seeking nips.
This dress, however, does not, and it actually makes them more noticeable.
Great.
I zip the dress to my waist, let the top half hang around my hips as I walk back into the bedroom and start emptying my drawers in search of a bra.
Fifteen minutes and another panic attack later, I pull out the strapless push-up bra Summer bought me—a shocker I know—and pray it still fits because I haven’t worn this in years.
Thankfully it does, and it also gives me the illusion of cleavage, so I head back to the bathroom and finish putting the dress on.
It’s soft and slinky, pretty comfortable while still maintaining a little sex appeal.
The dress is long sleeved, but they stop about halfway up my bicep and cut straight across my chest just above my boobies. There’s no material at all above that line and because of that, the back shows just a little bit of my one and only tattoo.
From the base of my neck all the way down my spine to just above my ass crack are a series of circles no bigger than quarters and each one contains a natural element. The sun, the moon, stars, and planets. The tree of life, a mountain range, waves crashing into the shore, wildflowers, a rainbow, and forest animals. They’re all woven together with sharp geometric lines and smaller filled in circles, and I absolutely love it.
Very few people know I have it though because it really is just for me. Summer went with me to get it; she basically forced me into the tattoo shop since I was so nervous I almost chickened out. Tony saw it but he thought it was silly, said I was too old to do something as rebellious as getting a tattoo, and other than that the only people to see it were the artist who did it and my doctor. Probably won’t change today either. I’m wearing my hair down, so it’ll cover my back.
