12. Siena
Siena
G od damn, this girl knows how to drink.
Olivia is plying us with yet another shot of tequila, as we lounge on plush couches in her gigantic luxe apartment.
From the moment I walked in, I’ve been in awe. The place screams wealth—a chef’s kitchen gleaming under soft recessed lighting, oversized sofas draped in designer throws, and views that seem to stretch to the edge of the Earth.
And the building she lives in is even more incredible.
It has massive concrete doors, an expansive lobby buzzing with at least 50 employees bustling around rearranging furniture, and ceilings so high they could house a small airplane hangar.
At 22, Olivia’s already living in a way I never dreamed of, and I’m ten years older than she is.
Amelia leans back, her arms draped along the back of the couch, sighing dreamily. “How the fuck does a 22-year-old afford a place like this, girl?” she asks, echoing my thoughts.
“It’s payoff for a lifetime of torture and debasement,” she says dryly, sloshing tequila into the glasses and handing one to Blake.
Blake waves her off dramatically. “No. Mm-mm. No way. Unless you want to see this queen get sloppy before we even hit the club, I cannot—I SHALL not—do another shot.”
He crosses his arms back and forth in front of him in an exaggerated X like he’s warding off spirits. He’s clearly already as buzzed as I am, and I grin, but my amusement is short-lived as his words register.
“Wait, I didn’t agree to a club. What club? Are we going to a club?” I ask, almost panicked.
Amelia snickers as Olivia exchanges a knowing glance with her.
“The pop-up club I told you about earlier,” says Olivia, smirking. “I’ve spent over a week putting it together. And it’s right here in the lobby of this building, so you have no excuse not to go.”
“Oh, wow, you really made that happen? You’re amazing, Olivia. Very impressive.” I say sincerely, smiling when she blushes. She’s texted me a few times about it, but I guess I missed that she was actually doing it and not just talking about it.
“Girl, you need to pay better attention,” Blake says with a raised eyebrow. “And pick you out an outfit.”
“Sure, let me just reach into my imaginary wardrobe,” I snort.
“Oooh, I’ve got you!” Olivia chirps, her voice rising with excitement.
I give her a skeptical once-over, noting her long, willowy frame. “Seriously? You’re six feet of legs with zero curves—no judgment. I’m 5’3” with…” I grab handfuls of my tits through my sweater and raise an eyebrow at her. “There’s no way you ha ve anything that fits these.”
She appraises me carefully, tapping a finger on her jaw. Her eyes light up. “I have just the thing! It’s a graffiti dress, and it’s stretchy and it’s super cute. It’s perfect for you and for tonight!” She bolts toward her bedroom before I can protest.
Amelia picks up her shot glass and sips it gingerly, her face contorting. “What’s a graffiti dress?”
Olivia struts back into the living room with the look of a tigress, holding up something metallic. “This,” she announces, her voice dripping with triumph.
The dress glitters in her hands like a sequined disco ball, covered in bold splashes of graffiti-style colors. It’s short—very short—with wide shoulder straps and a plunging neckline.
“And I’m a C cup, thank you very much.” She winks as she holds the dress out for us all to view.
“Well, I’m a G cup,” I say flatly, shaking my head. “And that’s not happening. There’s no way I’m squeezing into that.”
“It’s stretchy!” she insists, tugging at the fabric to demonstrate. “It’s going to fit you like a glove and hug alllll the curves.”
“Yeah, like a sausage casing,” I mutter, downing another shot.
“Awww, come on,” she cajoles. “It’s on theme, it’s sparkly. I want you to stand out like the fucking star that you are!”
“Yassssss!” Blake claps and bounces up and down in his seat.
“Try it on! Try it on!” Amelia chants, loudly laughing.
Before I can argue anymore, Olivia grabs my arm and thrusts the dress into my hands, shoving me toward her bedroom. “No arguments. Go!”
With a resigned sigh, I strip down in her enormous bedroom and tug the dress on. To my surprise, it stretches over my curves like a second skin. The sequins catch the light, and the bold graffiti pattern practically screams for attention. I turn toward the full-length mirror.
“Fuck, I look good,” I murmur, running my hands over the sequined fabric and turning to see the side view. My cleavage looks amazing, and so does my ass, though the hem barely skims past it.
Olivia comes in, peeking her head around the door. “Okay, good. You’re trying it on! And it looks fan-tab-ulous!”
She rummages through a jewelry box on her dresser and pulls out bright neon earrings that pick up the accents of the dress.
“These will be perfect. There are bowls of jelly bracelets downstairs, so we’ll stack those on you, too.
” She pulls my chain with the St. Michael the Archangel pendant out of the dress, the one I’ve been wearing since I got home, gives me a small smile and a wink, and tucks it back in.
“We’ll just keep this right here for good luck. Ready?”
I sigh. What the hell, why not? I can’t remember the last time I got dressed up. Or went out. And this is exactly the kind of dress that will get me the attention of assholes that I can have fun ripping to shreds with Olivia, Blake, and Amelia.
Fueled by just enough alcohol and residual rage at Matti, I stride back into the living room to a chorus of hoots and hollers.
Holding my hands out like a model, I turn in a slow circle then collapse on the couch, laughing and yanking on the hem.
“This thing’s dangerous. One wrong move, and I’ll flash half the room. ”
“Oh, you’re definitely wearing it,” Olivia laughs. She disappears into her room and comes back minutes later with a makeup kit. “And I’m doing your face! Smoky eye, eyeliner, neon accents, the works! ”
“What shoes are you going to wear?” Amelia asks, reaching for the tequila bottle.
“I could wear the ones I wore to work,” I say, pointing at my bag.
Blake rolls his eyes. “You are the only woman I know who wears heels into work and then changes into sneakers for the rest of the day.”
“It makes sense. Heels for confidence, sneakers for survival,” I explain as Olivia dabs at my face with a makeup brush.
“But you can’t run in heels,” Olivia points out. “Hold still.”
I oblige. “No, but I can stab someone with the heel.”
She snorts. “Good point.”
Amelia bursts out laughing. “Is that why you do it? I’ve always wondered.”
I nod, and Olivia grabs my face and gives me a warning look. I still myself. “Yep, haven’t had to do it yet. But I’m ready for it.”
“God, if you keep moving…” Olivia grumbles.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” I laugh, trying not to move my mouth as she paints lipstick across it.
“Go like this,” she says, and smacks her lips together. I follow suit. She pulls out liquid eyeliner and starts to draw.
“Oooh, girl!” Blake croons. “Blowjob lips!”
I crumple into laughter as Olivia jerks the eyeliner away. “Oh my God, Siena!”
“Sorry, sorry,” I laugh and sit up straight. “I don’t want to ruin your party.”
“If Matti couldn’t ruin it, there’s no way that you can,” she quips, then pinches her lips together, looking at me with wide eyes.
The smile freezes on my face as my eyes dart to hers. “What does that mean?”
Moments of silence pass, and Blake leans forward slowly. “What did I miss? Who’s Matti?”
“He’s no one,” I growl. “Matti’s not going to be there, is he, Olivia?”
She shakes her head emphatically. “No. No way. He’s not a club kind of guy. It’s just that I talked to him about having stations set up where people could spray paint their own graffiti, and he tried to shut it down. That’s all I meant.”
“Graffiti painting stations? That’s a fucking great idea!” Amelia shouts. “Do you have a DJ spinning old school hip hop?”
“Of course,” Olivia says, giving me a tentative smile.
Fuck, just the mention of that man and my good mood disappears.
Olivia notices and shakes her head, lowering her voice. “Don’t worry about it, Siena. He’s not coming. I promise. I don’t even think he realizes it’s tonight. He’s had his head up his ass for weeks now, totally distracted like all the time.”
He’s distracted because he’s fucking someone else. Kissing someone else.
My stomach churns at the thought, and I bite in a deep breath, resolving to let it go. Fuck it. Olivia wouldn’t set me up like that. She knows how he threw me out after I was attacked, and she’s very aware that I haven’t spoken to Matti since.
Well, except for the parking garage. I didn’t tell her about that.
Olivia adds a few finishing touches and leans back, assessing her work. “Perfect,” she murmurs.
With a flourish, she presents me to Blake and Amelia .
“Love it!” Amelia yells, filling our shot glasses.
“ Definitely getting dick tonight!” Blake shouts, and I blush.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” I say, with a self-conscious laugh, trying hard to shove the image of Matti out of my mind.
Olivia gives me a conspiratorial wink, handing me a mirror. “Maybe,” she grins, and I wonder if she can read my mind. “Maybe not.”
The lipstick is perfect for the dress and matches the little neon pink eyeliner accents around my eyes.
I don’t recognize myself, and that feels like a good thing.
Safe. Like a shield that I can hide the real Siena behind, and all her problems along with her, while fun Siena goes out and enjoys herself for fucking once.
It’s time.
Olivia is watching me proudly. “I have the perfect shoes to match, too. Silver and sequins to match the dress.”
I toss the mirror onto the couch. “Hell yeah, let’s fucking gooooo!” I stand up and yank the hem down, wiggling my ass and throwing my hands in the air like I’m ready to dance all night.
Olivia laughs. “Yes! But first, SHOTS!”