These aren’t my old insecurities talking, either. It’s just basic math, science…and fashion.
Hand clutching her chest, she laughs. “I’m flattered, sugar, but I never turn down cobbler or fried chicken, so I’m a five.” She motions for me to stand. “No worries. The dress is spandex.”
Ugh. That’s the worst material for someone who doesn’t have a flat stomach.
“Spandex doesn’t mean it will fit.”
With a huff, she pops a hand on her hip. “Yes, it will. Hell, with a good pair of Spanx, it will fit Storm.”
“Not liking where this conversation is going,” Storm gripes. “Take the dress, Lennon.”
“I—”
“Oh my god,” Skylar cries out. “Trust me. I have a knack for these things. You’re gonna look hot as fuck.”
I shake my head at my sweet, delusional new bestie. “Only if you think hot as fuck is ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.”
Literally. Given our size difference.
Skylar peers up. “Tell her she’s a hot, sexy bitch, Storm.”
“You’re a hot, sexy bitch, Lennon,” he says dryly. “Now wear the damn dress so I don’t have to hear you two yakking about it all night.”
“Fine.” I snatch the dress from Skylar. “But only because it’s cute and ruched.”
“Hallelujah. I was about to strip you down myself.” Ecstatic, she tugs my hand. “Come on. I turned the back lounge into a dressing room so we can get ready. I’m even heating up wax for our kitties.”
“Adios,” Storm mutters as we walk away. “Wait. Not so fast.” He sits up. “By kitties you mean…”
Skylar blinks. “Our vaginas.”
Duh.
Grinning, Storm waves us back in. “Then, by all means, ladies. Stay.”
I turn to Skylar. “You know what really sucks? Menstrual clots.”
“Ugh,” Skylar agrees with a devious smile. “They’re the worst. Especially when you have to sneeze—”
Storm points to the door. “Out.”
The dress Skylar gave me is so short it virtually flashes my freshly waxed kitty to whoever’s in the near vicinity every time I move.
George—who’s sitting next to me at the VIP table Skylar reserved—leans over. “Do you want a drink?”
I eye the three empty glasses in front of him. For someone who doesn’t drink, homeboy is racking them up tonight.
Then again, it is his birthday.
“Can’t,” I say above the music. “Sober companion, remember?”
Instinctively, I glance across the table at Phoenix. I’m pleased—and relieved—to see he isn’t drinking either.
That relief is short lived, though, when Storm returns from the bathroom…with four gorgeous girls.
Our half-moon table in the corner takes up a decent portion of the VIP section, but it’s not big enough to squeeze in so many people.
Skylar—who looks extra stunning in a short white backless dress with a plunging neckline—looks up from her phone. “We need to take a group photo for PR.”
The guys groan, but the girls Storm brought perk up like flowers in the springtime.
Taking charge, Skylar makes everyone stand and then proceeds to position the guys for the photo.
Next, she turns to the girls. She instructs two of them to sit on opposite sides of Storm and the other two to sit next to Phoenix.
I can’t help but notice how she didn’t give Memphis a girl. Not that it matters. His eyes have been glued to her all night.
“Come here, Lennon.” Without warning, she takes hold of my hand and escorts me over to George. “Since it’s such a tight squeeze, you’ll need to sit on his lap.”
I’m about to decline, but George grabs my hips and places me on his knee.
Skylar snaps a few photos and the moment she’s done, Storm takes off with two of the girls, freeing up the table.
I’m about to get up, but George’s hold on me constricts. “Stay.” He gives me a dopey grin. “After all, you’re my birthday present.”
I stay put because…it’s his birthday.
“You have no idea how much I like you.” Sweeping my hair to one side—hair that took Skylar a full hour to create beach waves in given the length—his fingers skim the span of my arm. “We’re so good together.”
Movement at the other end of the table snags my attention. When I glance up, I see Phoenix rubbing his jaw, looking highly amused.