Текст книги "Outside the Lines"
Автор книги: Emily Goodwin
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Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About the Author
Outside the Lines
Book One in The Rebel Hearts Series
Copyright © 2015 by Emily Goodwin
Edited by Kristina Cercelli of Red Rose Editing
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or places is purely coincidental.
To Madelyn, my littlest princess
CHAPTER ONE
Should I be ashamed I’m walking into a sex toy store with a wallet full of cash my grandmother sent me for my twenty-fifth birthday? And that I plan to spend said cash on a new vibrator since mine shorted out in the tub? I adjust my purse and pull my dark-blonde hair over my face, surreptitiously concealing my identity in case of major crisis number one happening: seeing someone I know.
I inhale, swallow down any lingering ounce of prude I have in me, and step into the shop. Normally I’d one click this sucker from Amazon, but after two weeks of no B.O.B.—and a year of no-real life boyfriend—I’m desperate. And why pay for next-day shipping when the sex toy shop was on my way home from work?
Someone moans and I freeze. What the fuck? Are people actually trying out the toys? No, that makes no sense. It’s porn. It has to be porn. The same moan fills the store again. And again. It’s rhythmic, like it’s stuck on repeat.
“Come on in, honey, and she’ll stop,” someone calls from the counter, hidden behind a display of glow-in-the-dark condoms. Oh, and a few flavored ones too.
She’ll stop? I blink, my legs still frozen, and then it hits me that instead of a motion-censored bell ringing, a lady in the throes of ecstasy moans. Fitting. Very fitting.
I step inside and look around. I’ve never been inside a sex shop before, though it’s not because I have anything against them. With the lack of real peen in my life, I’ve come to rely on this sort of thing. But I always order online. What’s the anonymity of the internet for, anyway?
“Can I help you find anything?” the woman at the counter asks. Her name tag lets me know she goes by “Vixen.” That has to be a fake sex store worker name, right? She’s short and plump with shoulder-length hair that’s dyed in various shades of red. I stare at it a little too long before diverting my eyes. I like it. But my boss would have a bitch fit if I showed up to work with colorful hair.
“I’m just looking,” I say and remind myself not to feel embarrassed. The woman works at the Adult Toybox, after all. She’s seen it all and then some. Still, there’s something about a single woman walking alone into one of these places that makes you feel like society is pointing their finger at you.
Well, fuck you and your social norms, society.
I walk forward and turn to the left, going down an aisle of games for lovers. Games that require two people. Or three … or four or more, as the front of that box says. I peruse down the aisle, curiosity replacing embarrassment, and whimsically think of a day when I can come in here with a boyfriend and buy something kinky for the night.
Edible undies?
Nah, too predictable and probably too sticky.
Butt plugs?
My cheeks clench at the thought. Nope. Definite no.
Handcuff, blindfolds, and a flogger?
Still predicable, but something I’m willing to try.
I pass through a display of lingerie, stifling a laugh at a male thong with an elephant truck to hold the shaft, and find what I am looking for. I actually smile when I see the shelves full of dildos and vibrators. I pick them up, looking at the boxes for … I really don’t know. Details? I just need something waterproof.
“That’s a good one,” Vixen says, startling me. The woman is like a cat. I didn’t hear her coming. “I have it and love it.”
“Oh, that’s good to know,” I mumble.
“My husband likes to use it on me too. You can charge it on the wall and it’s super quiet, so the kids won’t hear even if they’re in the next room.”
I know my eyes are as big as saucers right now. I can’t turn and look at her just yet. I blink, having to say something to break the tension.
“Is it waterproof?” I blurt.
“You betcha. And it has multiple settings. Want me to show you how it works?”
She takes the demo off the shelf and for one horrified second I think she’s going to hike her skirt and literally show me. My heart settles back into my chest when she holds it out and pushes a button, then turns up a dial.
“Hear that? Barely anything.”
“That is nice,” I say. “I’ll take it.”
She smiles. “I’ll put it by the register so you can keep looking.”
“Nah, I’m good with just that today.”
“All right.” She turns and we walk to the counter together in awkward silence. She slips behind the register and I dig my hand into my purse, feeling for my wallet. I have a moment of panic when I realize I didn’t look at the price tag of the Silent Knight vibrator and hope I have enough cash to cover it. I could use the cash I had then put the rest on my card, but I’m close to maxing out that card—as well as my other one—and need to minimize expenses until payday at the end of the week.
“This,” Vixen says and grabs a small white bottle covered in red Xs and Os. “This stuff is great. Just put a little on your clit before the action and it’ll enhance the pleasure.”
I will myself not to blush. Hearing someone talk so openly was refreshing, but a little unexpected.
“After three kids,” she goes on and scans the vibrator. I watch with wide eyes as the total pops up on the little screen. Thank God. I have enough cash to pay for it and pick up food on the way home. “I need a little pick-me-up before the hubs and I get down and dirty, ya know?”
“Yeah,” I say and unzip my wallet. I considered myself an open book, but hearing Vixen talk about every detail of her sex life makes me feel like I had a lot more opening up to do. I pay and take my bag.
“Have fun tonight!” Vixen says as I turn to go.
“I will, thanks,” I say automatically before I realize she’s referring to me having some solo time with this neon-pink new best friend. Whatever. I smile and shake my head. “Have a good rest of your day.”
“I get off in an hour,” she says. “I can manage.”
I hike my purse back up on my shoulder, not exactly sure what’s accumulated in it make it so heavy, and push open the door, signaling a moan from the censor. I get one foot through the threshold when two women come up, stopping and stepping to the side to let me through.
“Felicity?” one of them asks.
On its own accord, my head turns to the source of my name. Then my brain kicks in a millisecond too late, reminding me that getting noticed was major crisis number one. But as soon as I see the angelic face of Mindy fucking Abraham, I’m in major crisis number two, which is seeing Mindy fucking Abraham anytime, anywhere, let alone here, several towns over from where we grew up.
It’s amazing how just one glance at a person can make you feel so much.
And right now I’m feeling like we’re back in high school and she’s sitting at the popular table after being the new girl for two days while I’ve been trying for two years to get those kids to even know my name. I’m feeling like I just saw her making out with Todd Overman, my crush since seventh grade who I was sure would eventually fall for my nerd-girl charm and make lots of babies with me. Just looking at her flawless skin and perfect hair reminds me of everything I wasn’t back then, of everything I’m still not now, and how unfair it is that people like Mindy fucking Abraham get ahead in life just by being pretty.
From the day we met nearly ten years ago, that woman has made it her personal mission to one up me in any and everything. Except, not really. She’s just naturally better than me, and her lack of trying only made me hate her even more when we were teens.
Just once glance at her and the self-esteem I’ve spent years building comes crashing down and I’m shaken to my core. It took me until I became an adult to finally accept myself—to an extent. I still have a ways to go, I know—and embrace my flaws and fly my freak flag high with pride. And yet standing here, feeling like a sixteen-year-old girl hugging my X-Men notebook to my chest as I blink back tears and feel the burn of embarrassment in my cheeks, questioning everything.
Fuck.
After a mishap at MIT, I ended up graduating from our local college, and low and behold, a few classes with Mindy fucking Abraham. She never said anything to me, never acted like she had once mocked me to the point of tears over my Harry Potter obsession.
“Nope,” I say and reach into my purse, fingers catching on the straps as I madly wrestle the contents for my sunglasses. I stab myself in the face in my haste to put them on. “You must have gotten me confused with someone else.”
“Oh, sorry,” Mindy says and walks past. “You have a familiar face.”
“I get that a lot,” I say with a nod and keep walking.
“I swear that’s her,” Mindy whispers to the woman next to her. I keep walking, not stopping until I’m next to my Malibu. I press the button on the door handle and plop into the driver’s seat, exhaling. I’m a bit ashamed for letting myself come undone so easily. I shake my head, put my parcels in the seat next to me, and start the car. I’m calmed when Taylor Swift comes on, reminding me to shake all this off.
I grab Taco Bell on the way, thinking more and more about trying out the new vibrator the closer I get to home. I pull into the narrow, one-car garage attached to my town house, sliding sideways out of the car to avoid hitting my bike.
“Hey, Ser Pounce,” I say to a fat orange and white cat that slinks around my ankles when I walk into the house. I kick off my black kitten heels and pad through the laundry room into the kitchen, sitting at the small island counter. I dig into my food as I unpackage the vibrator, more excited than I should be to discover it’s fully charged. I toss it on my bed for later, do a bit of much-needed housework, and then log onto my computer.
I’m tempted to look up Mindy on Facebook, but eventually resist. Nothing good comes from online stalking, and I don’t want to deal with the ill feelings I know I’ll get when I see how perfect her life it.
But hey, it’s not like my life is bad. I’m new to this town, having moved here six months ago for work. I hadn’t made any good friends yet, besides my boss and his boyfriend. I wasn’t particularly worried. I knew I’d made friends eventually. I still talked to my best friend, Erin, pretty much daily online or via text message, and I had a large group of online gamer friends. I couldn’t complain about being lonely, that was for sure.
I text Erin, telling her about my awkward sex shop experience (her hatred of all things Mindy is almost as deep as mine), then settle in at my computer to play League of Legends for just an hour or so. Ser Pounce curls up in my lap, not bothered by my talking and angry muttering during the game.
At two AM I realize I need to get my ass in bed or I’m going to be dragging in the morning. Figuring if I skip the new workout routine I’m trying to stick to—it’s not like I do much anyway—I can sleep in another forty-five minutes and be okay. I change into my PJs and collapse into bed, finding the neon-pink vibrator tangled in the sheets. I pick it up, wrapping my fingers around its rubber tip, and bite my lip.
Well, I do sleep better after a good orgasm, after all.
CHAPTER TWO
“What are your plans for the weekend?” Mariah asks me the next day at work. I yawn and down my second cup of coffee. One good orgasm wasn’t enough, and I ended up staying up way past my already late bedtime seeing if I could outdo the last until I eventually passed out. Not my proudest moment. And now my wrist hurt. Cue all the shame.
“I’m going home for my brother’s bridal shower. Well, not his, I guess, but his fiancé’s. My future sister-in-law,” I added, raising my eyebrows.
Mariah laughed, her strawberry-blonde hair moving around her face. “I take it you don’t like her?”
I turn away from my computer, swiveling the chair around with a creak. “I don’t really know her, that’s all. It’s weird to think my little brother is spending the rest of his life—give or take a divorce or two—with this girl that I’ve only met a few times. And she’s going to be part of my family and I’ll have to spend Christmas and Easter and Thanksgiving and … and other holidays that I can’t think of right now with her. Forever.”
Mariah, who’s been married for over ten years with two kids, laughs again. “I hate my brother’s wife,” she says softly. “She’s a total gold-digging bitch. Joke’s on her because my brother squanders all his money and can’t put anything away to save his life. We’re all waiting on that divorce to happen. Hopefully before he knocks her up.”
“What about you?” I ask. “Any fun plans?”
Mariah puts her hands back on her keyboard, quickly typing as she talks. “We’re taking the kids to the beach and then the children’s museum. It should be fun and they will be exhausted by the time we come home. That’s horrible, isn’t it? I look forward to my kids being worn out and quiet.”
I smile. “The boys are eight now?”
“Nine. And so hyper.” Her steel-blue eyes widen. “They never stop.”
I press enter and wait for the page on the website I’m building to save.
“I should feel bad that I look forward to bedtime, right?” Mariah says. “I love those kids.”
“Nah, I get exhausted cleaning the litter box and cleaning cat dishes. You’re fine.”
Mariah gives me another smile then goes back to work. I look at the clock, see I still have two hours until lunch, and get back to work. I’m building a custom website from scratch for a gardening company, and they’ve given me pretty loose reins to run with the project. Setting up sites is a cakewalk for me and gets boring day after day. But this job has minimal stress, it pays well, and I don’t have to deal with people face to face, which is the biggest win of all.
I design a few graphics just because I can, email them to the art director for approval, then spend the rest of the morning customizing HTML for the client. I take my lunch into the break room, sitting at a large wooden table that’s under an air-conditioning vent, and shiver. The room is by far the best break room I’ve had at a job, with a snack bar, fridge full of free drinks, and donuts and bagels every morning. It’s clean and well decorated, like the break room of a big company should be.
I dig into my food while texting Erin about designing our costumes for Wizard World in Chicago later this summer. She wants to go a Sailor Jupiter—again.
I text her: Let’s do Batman and Superman instead. You get first pick.
She replies with: You mean Catwoman and Wonder Woman, right?
I shake my head as I bite into my turkey sandwich. No, femme versions of the guys.
She takes a minute to reply, and I know she’s considering it. Finally she agrees, and we plan to come up with costume ideas while I’m in town for the weekend.
“Hey, Felicity,” Cameron says.
I turn and smile. “Hey,” I say once I finish chewing. “What’s up, boss man?”
Cameron waves his hand in the air. “Nothing, nothing. How are you? Your hair looks super cute today.”
I raise an eyebrow and set my sandwich down. My hair is in a messy French braid. “What do you want?”
He never compliments my hair. Just yesterday he was bitching about my split ends and lack of volume. Cameron walks through the break room and sits on the edge of the table across from me. He’s dressed like he walked off a Ralph Lauren photoshoot for business casual wear, and smells like one of those fold-over cologne pages from a magazine. He’s always so put together.
“Well, as you know, Marissa is due soon.”
“Doesn’t she have like a month left?”
“Three weeks,” he says and puts a hand on the table leaning in toward me. “But she had an appointment today and it’s looking like she’s going to have to go on bedrest until she pops out that baby. Blood pressure issues or whatever. So, she’s done at the end of the week until she comes back from maternity leave. Which leads me to asking … can you do me a favor?”
I hike an eyebrow. “Does it require a substantial amount of time or energy?”
“Not at all.”
“Then maybe. Tell me what it is before I agree to anything.”
“She’s has a customer service appointment scheduled for next week. Can you go instead? The office is just across town. I’ll even buy you lunch that day.”
I purse my lips together. Customer service? Face to face? Helping people with computer problems common sense could figure out. Yuck. “Aren’t I a little overqualified for this?” I ask. Hell, I’m overqualified for my job of designing sites, but this job pays well and offers twice the benefits as my old one.
Cameron narrows his eyes. “Do you want those free passes and day off for Comic Con?”
“You’re evil.”
“Not quite as evil as pairing that shirt with those pants.”
“Hey!” I say and look down at the blue dress pants I’m wearing. My shirt is blue too. “It matches.”
“No, it doesn’t. At all.” He laughs and shakes his head, going back to boss mode. “Seriously though, Lissy. It would save me so much trouble if you could do this. I know you’re ahead on the garden site and don’t have another client lined up until the middle of next week. I have a temp coming in for her, but not until next Monday. Please do this for me.” He put his hands together. “Please, Lissy!”
“Fine. But just the one?”
“It should be just the one.”
“Why don’t I like the sound of that?”
“Because I can’t be sure there won’t be calls that need coverage until the temp gets in.”
I huff and take a bite of my food. “It’s fine. I can handle it. But you know how I feel about having to talk to people. And lunch better be good.”
Cameron laughs, the smile pulling up his full lips. He’s a good-looking man and he knows it. “You’re so easy to bribe when it comes to food.”
I shrug. “Yeah, I do like to eat.”
He raises an eyebrow. “It’s not fair you eat like shit and never gain weight. I take one bite of a muffin and it’s on my hips the next day.” He smacks his own ass.
I run my eyes over him. “You look pretty damn good yourself.”
“Only because I work my ass off in the gym. You wouldn’t be saying that three years ago before I met Adam. He’s whipped my butt into shape in more ways than one.”
I let out a snort of laugher. “Maybe I’ll have him be my personal trainer. Someday.”
Cameron crosses his arms. “Let’s be honest. You don’t work out. Remember how running club went for you?”
I make a face and sigh. The only running I did was run late for club. Everyone was gone by the time I got there, which worked out fine since the donut store across the street opened only a half hour later. I wanted to get in shape in case of an apocalypse, but let’s be real: no one really likes jogging. It’s a lie they tell themselves and other people.
“Just enjoy that fast metabolism while you can, honey.”
“I plan to. My mom says the same thing. She had hers until she had kids, so I’m good for, oh, the rest of my life.”
“Lissy,” Cameron says, seeing past my joke. “You are not going to be alone forever.”
“I know,” I say, and honestly believe it. I’ll find someone eventually. I’m only twenty-five, after all. I have five more years until my biological clock turns into a ticking time bomb and I sob uncontrollably at my thirtieth birthday as I sit alone in my living room over not finding a husband. I’m not there yet, thank God. I keep busy. I’m happy. It took fucking years, but I like myself, my life.
Call me a nerd, geek, loser … whatever, I didn’t care—though I do prefer intellectual badass over all those—I’ve accepted myself and don’t feel ashamed and the need to hide my love over, well, anything.
“Are we still shopping after work?” Cameron asks.
“Yeah, I don’t have a dress for the shower this weekend.”
“Great, because Adam’s got a late session today and canceled dinner plans. Shopping then drinks?”
“Sounds good to me.”
*
“Damn, girl,” Cameron says when I step out of the dressing room. “Where the hell have you been hiding those?” His eyes widen as he takes in the large amount of cleavage the dress shows off.
“Under work-appropriate attire,” I say, feeling a bit self-conscious in the dress. It’s a halter top, white with blue polka dots and belted around the waist. It’s cute, I can’t deny that, but I’m unsure of how it looks on me. I’m of average build, but I’m far from in shape. “Does it look okay?” I ask, wrinkling my nose at my reflection.
“Yes. Way okay. And it’s on sale. You’re getting it and wearing it.”
I nod. At least this was painless. “Fine.” I step closer to the three-way mirror, making a mental note to spend some time outside and get a tan before the wedding. “You don’t think it’s too short?”
Cameron shakes his head. “No, it’s perfect for a bridal shower. Why are you worried? I’ve seen some of the costumes you’ve worn to Comic Con.”
I shrug. “I’m playing a character, it’s different.” It’s hard to explain to some people. Taking on a role lets you channel whoever you’re dressed as. I’ll be going to this shower as me, as the older sister of Jake Hills not as Ahri, the nine-tailed fox.
“Do you have Spanx at home?” he asks.
I raise an eyebrow. I did, but they are horribly uncomfortable so I tossed them in the trash the same day I threw away the expensive anti-wrinkle cream I’d recently bought. My body jiggles in certain places. I am going to age and get wrinkle eventually. Why agonize over it?
“Not wearing them.” I look at myself again, eyes instantly going to my hips. Maybe I should get more. Double up on the Spanx, actually. It’ll take a few inches off my middle.
Fuck. No. I’m not doing that. I am who I am, and I don’t look that bad considering I eat like crap and don’t work out. I never wear Spanx or other body-slimming witchery at Comic Con, and I feel like a fucking rockstar when I’m dressed up as one of my favorite characters.
I want to feel like that when I’m just me.
Why is it so hard?
“Get changed,” Cameron says. “And then we’ll talk shoes.”
We leave the mall a half hour later. Cameron convinced me not to wear my Tardis shoes with the dress despite the fact the color was perfect. I got a pair of lower white heels instead, something practical yet stylish that I could easily move around in while decorating the venue for the shower. We grab dinner and drinks and it’s late by the time I get home.
Like usually, I stay up too late watching TV, sleep in, and have to rush around like a mad woman to get all my shit done before packing an overnight back and driving the hour and a half to my mom and dad’s. I sing along with Rachel Platten on the way, and time passes quickly. A little guilt rises inside of me when I stop by the bakery Erin runs with her sisters before stopping home to see my mom, but I know if I go home first I’ll never get out. Mom’s a talker.
There’s a parking spot right in front of the pink storefront, which stands out next to the red brick fronts that surround it. Located on the main street and right in the middle of this town, Sweet Treats sticks out and is always busy. I grab my purse and get out, locking the Malibu as I hurry out of the misting rain and into the store. A little bell dings above me and I snicker as I remember the moaning lady at the sex shop.
I’m so mature sometimes.
“Hey!” I call over the small crowd gathered in front of a display of colorful cupcakes. Erin’s sister, Andrea, smiles and waves.
“She’s in the back,” she tells me and boxes up a cupcake for a little girl. I pass by and duck behind the counter. Erin is frosting a cake when I step through double doors into the back room. She looks up and beams.
“About time! I was wondering if I was going to have to call out a search party.”
I laugh and shake my head. We’ve been friends since middle school, and though we’ve gone a while without seeing each other since I took this job, nothing is ever awkward around this girl. “I run on my own time.”
“I’ve noticed. How was the drive?”
“Not bad, actually. Traffic flowed, which means I’ll get stuck when I go home for sure.”
“I’m almost done,” she says. “I’m just doing the first layer now.”
“Have anything to taste test?” I ask.
“Actually yes,” she replies and carefully spins the cake. “Not really to test, but there’s a batch of cupcakes that didn’t turn out the right shade of green. Over there.” She uses a spatula to point. I shuffle over and grab one. The green is kind of a puke color, but the cupcake tastes delicious.
Erin is washing pink frosting off her hands by the time I’m done eating. We go into the tiny break room to catch up for a few.
“I like the blonde,” Erin says, eyeing my hair.
“Thanks. I figured I’ll leave it for a while before going back to my original color. It’s kind of a pain to keep up with.”
A natural blonde herself, Erin laughs. “Yeah, but aren’t dark roots showing trendy now? Or was that last season? Er, maybe last year?”
“You’re guess is as good as mine.”
We chat about work, our Comic Con costumes again, and how annoying Erin’s husband David is. Really, he’s a good guy and is good to Erin. She married him rather young while they were still both in college and I couldn’t think of anyone better for my best friend.
“What kind of wedding duties do you have to do tonight?” she asks as we walk to the front of the store.
“I’m not really sure. I think just dinner at my parents, house then get to the country club a few hours before the shower to decorate.” I roll my eyes. “Is it really going to take that long to decorate for a shower? I get going all out for a wedding, but for a shower … come on.”
Erin laughs. “I’ll be there like half an hour before with the cake. And your new sister-in-law is going all out. The cake she ordered cost as much as a wedding cake. You don’t even want to know what the actual cake for the wedding looks like. It’s gorgeous and big, and I’m excited to make it, but damn, her parents must have some money.”
“They do,” I say and feel bad that I don’t know what they do. I should know this girl better, right? I pull my sweater closed, the mist had turned into rain, and give Erin a one-armed hug. “See you tomorrow.”
“See ya. Have fun tonight.”
I force a smile. “I’m sure it will be loads.”
*
I tip the glass of wine, getting the last bit of red moscato. Waste not, right? I set the empty glass down on the coffee table next to me and listen to my brother tell what I assume is a funny story about work. Everyone is laughing, but I’ve zoned out a bit, thinking of who I could take as a date to the wedding. It was still a while away. I had time to find someone. Maybe even a boyfriend.
And if not, there’s always Cameron. He’d at least be well dressed.
I look at the clock, wondering how much longer it will be before my dad orders pizza. My eyes wander around the living room. I know Mom’s nervous about what Danielle and her parents think of the house.
I’m fond of my childhood home, of course, but it really is nice. Mom and Dad kept it that way, with upgrades every few years, redecorating, and obsessive cleaning. I didn’t realize how much work went into it all until I moved out and had my own house to take care of. Along with the house, they have the cabins by the lake, renting out to vacationers who come to the serene town of Mistwood, Michigan. Between managing the dock and the rental boats, maintaining the Pinterest-worthy cabins, and keeping their own house clean, I don’t know how Mom and Dad do it.
My brother and Danielle are sitting on the love seat, arms linked and looking so in love. Jake is tall like Dad, but has dark-brown hair like Mom and me. We both have green eyes, much unlike our parents, who have brown and hazel eyes. People say they can tell we are siblings, but I’ve never seen it. He’s three years younger than me and has been a pain in the ass his whole life, but he is my baby brother and I love him. I want him to be happy. He’s a good guy and deserves it.
Danielle, on the other hand … well, I don’t know. I hope she’s worthy of my brother. I try not to obviously scrutinize her. She teaches sixth grade history here in Mistwood, so I assume the woman has patience to deal with pre-pubescent teens day in and day out. She is petite and pretty, with auburn hair and freckles dotted across her cheeks. They’ve been dating about a year and a half, and got engaged a few months before I took the job in Grand Rapids, making it hard for me to actually get to know her. She’s polite, excitedly talking wedding plans and details with the moms while the guys talked sports.
“Well,” Jake says and stands, giving Danielle a hand up. “You two better get going so you don’t miss your reservation.” His eyes fall on me.
“Where am I going?” I ask, pushing my hair back.
“Dinner,” Jake says, eyebrows raising, giving me a look that says I’m supposed to know this.
“Why me?” I blurt. He did say the two of us, meaning me and Danielle.
“All the bridesmaids are going,” Danielle says with a smile. “And you’re a bridesmaid.”
“Oh,” I say and shake my head. “Okay. Uh, when are we going?” I glance down at my Star Wars leggings and oversized black shirt. My hair had been up and down in a twisted bun all day and was currently hanging in a tangled mess around my makeup-free face.
“We should leave in no more than ten minutes,” Danielle says, voice edging on annoyance.
“I’ll get changed,” I say and stand, hurrying up to my old room. Great. How was I going to get ready in time? I unzip my bag and throw out all the clothes I brought. I hadn’t packed much, since I anticipated lounging around the house, the bridal shower, then going home.
I trade my leggings for dark jeans and the baggy T-shirt for a white tank top. I pull a gray button-up cardigan on, buttoning it halfway as I rush into the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face, dry it, then apply eyeliner, foundation, and mascara as fast as I can. I speed brush my teeth and comb my fingers through my hair. The natural waves are out in full force thanks to the rain and humidity. There’s no hope, so I rake it to the side and braid it. I’m halfway down the stairs before I remember I don’t have shoes, turn around, trip, and scramble to get them.
