Chapter 5
T he knock on my door sends my sprinting heart skidding to a stop. I rush to peek through the peephole, hoping it's him. It's not. It’s Francesca.
I can't imagine what she wants from me. She's had me out and about sightseeing all day.
"We can't be here and not check out the city!" She insists.
"Do we have to get started so early? I barely slept."
"Sucks to be you." She pushes past me into the heart of my room, throws open my closet, and rummages through my things.
"What are you doing?" I ask, knowing that trying to stop her is an exercise in futility.
"Looking for something to dress you in."
"I'm capable of dressing myself."
"Where are your sexy clothes? Your come fuck me clothes?"
“Jeez, Francesca. I haven’t had time to go shopping. We just broke up."
"Exactly! But you shouldn't be dressed like you're in mourning. Show Corey and anyone else looking that you’re ready to take on the world."
"Does Sam really understand what he's getting himself into?"
"I hope not," she laughs. "Now get dressed!" She tosses a pair of jeans on the bed and lifts her shirt up.
"What are you doing?" I squeal.
"You need this more than I do. I already snagged my man."
"Yeah, but your shirts are two sizes smaller than mine!"
"Not really. I mean, you wear your stuff big, so it's really like one size."
"I can't wear your shirt."
"Of course you can," she says, pulling a purple blouse out of my closet. "It'll help showcase some of your best assets."
"You mean my boobs?"
"Hell yeah."
I shake my head. "I'll look fat."
"The only thing fat about you is your head. Besides, too big breasts don't exist for guys. Unless maybe the guy is gay. Maybe that's Corey's problem."
I know it's no use arguing with her; she's not going to back down.
After changing my shirt, we head downstairs and meet Sam and the rest of the wedding guests at breakfast. I look around the dining area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man I ran into in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, he’s nowhere to be found.
Sam and Francesca scheduled a day for us all to sightsee together, learning the history of the town. Once we visited all of the "must-see" attractions on their list, we returned for dinner and a nap to recharge our batteries for a group exploration of the Charleston nightlife.
I know that's the purpose of Francesca’s visit. And I know she's not going to care the least bit that I don't want to go. I put off answering the door, but she's having none of it. Francesca raps at the door again.
"I know you're in there. I'm not leaving. You might as well let me in."
The last thing I want is for him to come down the corridor looking for me and get scared off by the sight of my best friend. I yank the door open and pull her inside.
"You don't have to be so loud. Some people are actually asleep."
"No one is asleep. It's only nine-thirty," she says, tossing something black on my bed.
"About that. Would you hate me if I didn’t go? I'm tired and—"
"Don't you dare try to weasel your way out of this! You're coming!"
"It's not like you'll miss me. You have Kiara and some of your other friends."
"But you're my best friend."
I let out a long sigh. She's right. This is supposed to be a celebration, and I'm acting the part of Debbie Downer, only there's nothing depressing about the reason I want to stay behind. I'm just not ready to tell Francesca that I'm potentially waiting around for some guy. Some guy I'll never see after I leave Charleston. A guy whose name I don't even know, on the possibility he might come looking for me.
Pathetic.
"Of course, I'm coming." I feign excitement. "There's no place I'd rather be."
"Awesome!" she says in a light, airy tone. "We're going to a club, so I picked something out for you to wear. You are going to look so fucking hot in this!”
Francesca picks up what she tossed on my bed and holds it up against her body. There isn't much to it. I think it's supposed to be a dress of some sort.
"I don't know. It looks kind of short."
"It is!" Her eyes actually light up with excitement. "Now go put it on."
"I have a dress—"
"Your dress is what a nun in training would wear to church, not what a single woman wears to a club."
“What will Sam think about us going to a club?"
She shrugs. "He's coming with. This is our joint bachelor/ bachelorette party."
I don’t want to go to a club. I rub my hand up and down my arm, trying to buy myself time. Time to come up with an excuse not to go. My stomach is twisted in knots. She's right. I can’t get out of it; I have to go.
"Do it for me. Besides, Walker will be there," she says with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Who's Walker?"
"Don't even. I saw you two last night."
"You did?" I ask, shocked. But now that I know she knows, I want to ask her a million questions. What did she think of him? Did it look like he was interested in me?
"Of course I did. I see everything," she teases, opening her eyes wide. "He's a nice guy. Besides, you never know, maybe you'll be able to turn this fling into something real back home."
She had me at Walker.
That's his name. I'm giddy from the newfound knowledge. I take a deep breath and head to the bathroom, slinky black dress in hand, thinking of Walker, and suddenly, it's hard to breathe.
I pull the dress down inch by inch so that I don't accidentally rip it as I squeeze my body into it. I want to wear it with confidence, but right now, I feel like I'm impersonating an overstuffed pillow ready to burst at the seams.
I return to the main room to face my friend's scrutiny. When I see the stunned look on her face, I know I'm in trouble. I must look like shit. I glance down and see the ladies are practically popping out. The neckline is cut way too low. And there's no way I could wear a bra. I bet I'm showing nipple.
My eyes travel down to the top of my thighs. The hemline is shorter than anything I would normally wear. The side panels run the entire length of the dress and are made of a soft, stretchy lace fabric. A very see-through lace fabric that allows my panties to show.
“Um, Franny, I have a problem."
"Holy shit!" She stares at me open-mouthed. "You don't have a problem. When Walker sees you . . . Any guy that sees you in this is going to have a problem. He'll be sporting wood faster than you could say, 'fuck me.'”
"You're crazy."
"No. I thought you'd look good, really good in my dress, but mother of all that is evil, I didn't think you'd look so fucking hot! I mean, if I weren't marrying Sam, I'd fuck you."
I laugh at my friend. "Are we for real?"
"Seriously." She bends down in front of me and reaches her hands up the dress along the outside of my thighs. I feel myself panic.
She’s just joking. Isn't she?
"Fran? What are you doing? "
"Relax."
She laughs at my reaction as her hands pull my underwear down. I can't speak. I can't breathe. I love Francesca, but not in this way.
"What the hell?"
"Relax, Penelope Prude. I'm just getting rid of these granny panties." She tosses my underwear on the bed.
“They’re not granny panties!”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re going commando."
My face burns. It’s so hot I think I’m going to burst into flames. “I can't do that!"
"You can and you will. What are you worried about?"
"What will people think?"
She laughs at my reaction. “If anyone finds out, they’ll think it's hot. Besides, who cares? And it's not like you're going to run into anyone you know. Live a little!"
She keeps saying this. I think of last night. Of how good it felt to leave my room feeling sexy and scandalous in nothing but my robe. I think of Walker, of finding him at the club, sliding up next to him, and whispering in his ear that I have nothing on under my dress. I'll tease him by spinning around to show him. Can I really do that?
I can. I will. This is my best opportunity to prove Corey wrong. I'm not boring. I didn't stifle him. He held me back. And right this second, I feel sexy as hell.
"Okay, you win."
"Of course I do. Now come with me." Francesca pulls me by the hand and leads me to the bathroom. "I'm doing your makeup.”