"Oh. My. God." In front of me, Livia's eyes widened as she stared across the small, crowded nightclub.
She was facing the main entrance.I wasn't.
When I turned to look, she lunged for my arm. "Cami, don't!"
At the sound of my name, I stopped in mid-motion. "Don't what?"
"Don't look," she said. "I think he's coming over."
"He?" I turned back to Livia. "He who?"
Her voice grew dreamy. "A total freaking hottie."
"Let me guess," I laughed. "Tall, dark, and handsome? Like thelastthree guys you mentioned?"
"Forgetthem," she said. "They're chopped liver compared tothisguy."
Now, Ireallywanted to look – not because I was here to meet someone, but rather because theotherguys had been nothing to sneeze at. This meant the latest "hottie" must be something truly spectacular.
Livia was still gripping my arm. With a little squeeze, she said, "Quick. Laugh like I just said something funny."
At this, I actually did laugh, not because she'd commanded me to, but rather because the request was so ridiculous, I couldn’t help but laugh. "Seriously?"
"Louder," she urged. "Andbetter. Like this." And then, right on cue, she threw back her head and laughed with such wild abandon that several people turned to look.
Then again, people always looked at Livia. She was undeniably gorgeous, with long dark hair and a figure to die for.
And me? Well, I wasn'tquitechopped liver, but I was no Livia, that's for sure.
I stood several inches shorter, with long auburn hair that was nearly impossible to tame, especially during humid weather – or when I'd been dancing for too long in a crowded nightclub.
But Livia? She still looked picture-perfect. She and I were probably the same dress size, but with her impossibly long legs, she looked three sizes smaller and ten times more fashionable in her little red dress with matching heels.
She was holding her fifth mojito – not because she'd consumed the other four, but rather because a long parade of guys had been vying for her attentionandbuying her drinks whenever she expressed the least bit of thirst.
As I watched, she placed the latest mojito onto the bar beside us and smiled winningly over my shoulder. Under her breath, she urged, "Hurry up."
"Sorry, what?"
"Laugh, like I said."
Oh, God. I didn't want to.But the truth was, I owed Livia a favor, and I couldn’t afford to tick her off.
Just yesterday, she'd gotten me a job interview with her dad's jewelry store, and if there was one thing I needed now, it was gainful employment.
So, feeling like a total idiot, I threw back my head and laughed like Livia had done just a few moments ago. Or at least, Ithoughtit was the same – except the reactions were totally different.
Where people had stared atherwith obvious interest, they stared at me like I'd like just farted at the dinner table.
Livia frowned. "That sounded totally fake."
Heat flooded my face. In a near-whisper, I said, "Yeah. Because it was."
I wasn't good at faking things, especially orgasms. Ask my last boyfriend.He'lltell you.
Livia was still frowning. "You'll never get any better if you don't practice."
"Practice what?"
