Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“I can’t wear that!” Laurel said, staring at the red dress her friend was holding up.
“Why not?” Britt asked. “You wouldn’t wear it to Hannah’s, so now’s your chance.”
“Hannah’s is a meat market,” Laurel countered, as if that explained everything.
“So?”
“So, this…” she touched the delicate silk fabric, “is high-class cocktail hour. Cocktail hour and meat markets don’t mix.”
“Well, since you’re not going to Hannah’s, that means you can wear it tonight,” Britt rationalized.
“Why do you keep pushing this dress on me? Is it hexed or something? I wear it and suddenly sign over my paychecks to you?”
“Yes. That’s exactly it. Hurry up and put it on before my car payment is due,” Britt deadpanned. “Because Jake’ll shit grits when he sees you wearing it, that’s why.”
“I don’t want Jake to do anything with grits.”
“Sugar, don’t say that until you’ve tried it.” Britt waggled her eyebrows.
“Eww. That’s it. I’m never eating grits at your house again.”
Britt snickered.
Laurel had asked Britt to come over to help her pick out something to wear for her date, but now she was regretting it. Thankfully, Skye had a late client and couldn’t be here, otherwise, they’d both be ganging up on her.
“Jake will never see me in it,” Laurel vowed.
“I’m sure he’d rather see you out of— oh, shit!”
“What?” Laurel vaulted off the bed in a panic. Spinning around, she expected to find a huge bug or snake or something horrible enough to elicit a shriek like from Britt. “What?”
Britt leveled a what-is-wrong-with-you look on her before declaring, “We should’ve done number nine.”
Laurel pressed a hand to her chest where her heart was pounding against it. “Number nine?” Nine, nine, nine…? “Wait, on the list?”
Britt nodded.
“You gave me a heart attack over Skye’s stupid list?” Ignoring her friend’s grin, Laurel squinted in concentration. “What’s number nine again?”
Britt made a circular motion in front of her crotch with her hand.
Oh, my heck!
“Waxing my hoo-ha?” Laurel squeaked. She sliced Britt with a sharp glare. “Are you kidding me right now? You screamed bloody murder over waxing my hoo-ha? I thought there was a zombie apocalypse or something!”
Britt rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“ I’m being dramatic?” Laurel sputtered.
“We should’ve done it for your date tonight.”
Britt was the one who’d added number nine to the list in the first place. “Men love a blank canvas,” she’d claimed.
Laurel had no clue if that was true or not, but regardless of what guys liked, it didn’t warrant torture. Besides, she hadn’t “painted” in a long time, and didn’t plan on picking up any brushes soon.
“Total missed opportunity,” Britt lamented.
“Aside from major ow, why would I do…” Laurel made the same circular motion in front of herself. “… that before my date?” She sat on the bed and crossed her legs protectively. “I probably wouldn’t even be able to walk.”
“Who said anything about walking?” Britt popped a brow.
Laurel’s eyes practically bugged out of her head when the proverbial lightbulb went on. “No way in bells! I’m not going to sleep with him!”
“You should! I bet that man knows how to butter a woman’s bread, and like Saint Paula says…” She crossed herself. “‘When in doubt, add more butter.’”
“Britt!”
“Fine.” The blonde dismissed her with a flick of her wrist, before flashing an impish grin. “Now, back to the red dress.”
“Nice try.” Laurel defiantly folded her arms over her chest. “But I’m not wearing that dress.”
Britt stuck out her bottom lip and batted her lashes.
“Save it,” Laurel ordered. “That only works on men. Besides, we’re going to Peckamoo, so the dress is too fancy anyway.”
Peckamoo was a local restaurant that served amazing chicken and burgers. Jake actually couldn’t have picked a more perfect place to take her. It was casual and nonthreatening. If he’d picked someplace fancy, she would’ve been even more nervous than she already was. Thank goodness Officer Bennett and his girlfriend were coming, or she’d probably back out.
Maybe I should back out.
“Then wear your leggings and that cute blue sweater if it’ll make you feel more comfortable. And these.” Britt pulled some brown, ankle-high boots with four-inch heels out of her bag. Even though Britt was five inches taller, they wore the same size shoes.
“I can’t wear those! You know I can’t walk in heels.” Despite being height-challenged, Laurel had never mastered the art of balancing on her toes while moving at the same time.
Britt looked at the boots. “The heels are an inch wide,” she said, like that solved everything.
“So?”
“So, they’re easy to walk in.”
“Says the person who can strut across a stage in five-inch stilettos.” Laurel had seen videos of the Miss Louisiana competition Britt had won three years back. How she’d managed to stand in those things, let alone walk on polished hardwood and turn without falling and breaking her neck, was unfathomable.
“That’s why I brought the low ones,” Britt rationalized.
“Those aren’t low.”
“Stop arguing. You know I’m going to win,” Britt said with a smug smile. Problem was, she was right. She wouldn’t stop hounding Laurel until she caved. “Besides, this’ll make it easier for him to give you a goodnight kiss.”
“I—” Laurel cleared her throat. She didn’t need to be thinking about Jake kissing her. She was nervous enough as it was. “I don’t kiss on the first date,” she said, desperately trying to stave off images of his lips on hers. “You know that.”
“You don’t first kiss on a first date,” Britt corrected, “but this’ll be your third kiss.”
Oh my gosh! It will be our third k ? —
Laurel mentally skidded to a halt.
There’s no guarantee he’s going to kiss me, so stop it!
“Either way, you’re not backing out,” Britt informed her, “and blue is your color.”
Laurel narrowed her eyes. “I’m not matching my sweater to my hair!”
She really should try dying the blue streak back to brown herself, since Skye was refusing to do it. Of course, goodness knows what color it would actually end up if she attempted to do it on her own. Her track record with hair dye was oh-and-one.
She’d attempted to cover up the blue streak with brown mascara earlier in the week, but it hadn’t matched her natural color and looked weird. Plus, she should’ve used waterproof mascara. Then maybe she wouldn’t have learned the hard way that mascara and sweat didn’t play nice. Amy had pointed out the brown trail creeping down the side of her throat at school. That hadn’t been humiliating at all.
“I’ll wear the black?—”
“Green one.” Britt’s tone left no room for argument. “Black is boring and green brings out the peridot flecks in your eyes.”
Leave it to Britt to know the fancy shades of green. Dark green, light green… plain ol’ green. Those were good enough for Laurel.
“Plus, it hugs your girls.”
Laurel cringed. “My breasts are not ‘girls’.” She hated that term.
“Fine. Gender neutral. Whatever ruffles your truffles.”
Laurel choked on a laugh.
“Your breasts look amazing in it.”
“I’m not sure I want Jake looking at my breasts,” Laurel confessed, feeling slightly heated at the thought.
“Shut your mouth! You want Jake looking at your everything! ” She planted her hands on her hips. “It’s the green sweater or the red dress. Those are your options.” Britt had the toned, lean frame of a dancer, but when she took that stance and stared you down, she was pretty darn intimidating.
“Green sweater,” Laurel conceded. Anything was better than the clingy dress. “And I’m wearing jeans, not leggings.” She’d feel less exposed in jeans.
“But leggings make your ass?—”
“That’s the only option,” Laurel said, throwing Britt’s statement back at her.
“Fine, but you’re wearing the boots. And I get to do your makeup.”
Twenty minutes later, Laurel was sitting in her silver, four-door hybrid in the Peckamoo parking lot, debating whether to turn off the ignition and go in or back out and hightail it home. She’d parked on the back side of the building where there was less chance of being seen if she decided to chicken out and leave. She hadn’t made up her mind, but at the moment, it was fifty-fifty.
She pulled down the visor and studied herself in the mirror with a grimace. Britt had done her makeup, and although it was flawless, the smoky eyes that looked incredible on her friend made Laurel feel like a hooker. She never wore this much makeup. It didn’t matter that Britt had tempered the dramatic eye shadow with a nude shade of lipstick—you can either have bold eyes, or bold lips, but not both, she’d said—it still seemed like a lot.
How could the same makeup look so different on each of them? Laurel may as well have been standing on a street corner, whereas Britt looked put together and beautiful.
“I can’t do this,” she told her reflection.
Her phone chimed suddenly, making her jump. Slapping the car visor flush with the roof, she dug the phone out of her purse and read the text.
Britt
Don’t you dare bail. stern face emoji
Laurel wrinkled her nose before typing out her response.
Laurel
Who said I’m bailing?
Britt
You’ve been sitting in your car for ten minutes. clock emoji
Are you kidding me?
Laurel spun in her seat and scanned the surrounding area until she spotted Britt’s white convertible across the street in the grocery store parking lot.
Laurel
You followed me?
Britt
You thought I wouldn’t? Get your fanny inside before I come over there and whoop it. flexed bicep emoji
She’d do it, too. Underneath that sweet persona beat the heart of a UFC fighter. Southern belles could be scary.
Jaw set in determination, Laurel sent her next text.
Laurel
gif of a woman sliding an index finger across her throat You’re dead to me.
Britt
smiling devil emoji
Laurel tossed the phone back into her purse with a groan.
She had two choices: go inside and hope Jake liked hooker makeup, or go home and suffer the wrath of a pissed off blonde beauty pageant banshee.
No contest.
Blowing out a deep breath, she grabbed her purse, said a little prayer, and opened the car door.