Chapter 10 Walking Wardrobe Malfunction
WALKING WARDROBE MALFUNCTION
Addie
She spent the better part of her morning going up and down, and not only because of Bounce House—Maxi, Bailey, and Addie’s current exercise destination for low-impact endorphin release.
While performing aerial leaps thanks to the sturdy shock cord attached to the ceiling, she contemplated the intelligence of a fauxmance with Phoenix Cross.
And replayed the mental image of their Cupid Cam kiss.
What had seemed like a good idea at the time, quickly turned, the wickedly grinning drummer sweeping her legs out from beneath her, not to mention stealing her breath. If she hadn’t been holding on to him, her buckling knees would’ve sent her into a swoon.
Adalyn Whitlock didn’t swoon.
And that was the cause of the matted knot of nerves growing at an exponential rate in the pit of her stomach.
Thinking about their lip-lock paved the way for imagining the locking of other parts, embedding itself so deep in her psyche that she’d experienced her first-ever sex dream the night before.
In surround sound.
She’d woken that morning sweaty, horny, and unfocused, weaving right in bungee class and nearly colliding with Bailey when she should’ve dodged left. It was only a matter of time and opportunity before Bailey and Max pinned her in a corner and demanded answers.
“Okay, spill it.” Maxi barely waited for the fitness instructor to announce the end of class. “You’ve been glaringly groodier than normal, and I want to know why.”
“Groodier?” Addie shimmied out of her harness and led the way toward their water bottles.
“It’s a mashup of grumpy and broody—which you’ve been since we got here.” Max watched her with all the knowingness that came from a lifetime together. “Start talking.”
Addie glanced to Bailey for support and received a shrug in response. “Don’t look at me. She wanted to give you the chance to fess up on your own. I said we should withhold coffee and wait it out until you break.”
Addie really needed new friends. “It’s this agreement with Phoenix.”
“You said your talk with Aunt Eunice went well,” Max reminded her.
“It did. She had a lot of good suggestions. It’s not actually the Muse thing I’m worried about.” Addie dropped to the floor by her bag. “It’s this fauxmance thing.”
“You mean what if it doesn’t work and everything you’ve built through the years comes crumbling down around you like an old Greek temple?” Bailey asked.
“Or,” Maxi added, “it works too well, and despite reminding yourself on the daily that it’s not real, you somehow trick yourself into thinking it is and end up with a broken heart?”
Bailey grimaced. “Ooh. Yeah. That would suck, too. And after that kiss, I can see why that would be a concern.”
“Kiss? What kiss?” Maxi’s head snapped toward their cousin.
Addie groaned. “It was for the camera!”
Bailey’s brows lifted. “But was it really?”
Yanking their phone from their bag—because of course they’d already seen and downloaded it—Bails tilted the screen toward Maxi. “It may have started for the camera, but—”
“Whoa.” Maxi’s eyes widened.
“Right? And watch this upcoming back and forth…”
“The hand placement!”
“That’s not the only thing about to be placed.” Bailey pointed to something in the top right corner and Maxi gasped. “Yep.”
Addie glared at them both. “Are you done?”
Maxi, her gaze still focused on the phone, held up a finger in a wait a second gesture. “And this was the first date? Okay, yeah. I take back what I said. This fauxmance is totally working. If this is his level of commitment during date one, can you imagine what the next one will be like?”
“That’s it. I’m breaking the FAMA with Phoenix,” Addie stated with a heavy sigh. “He’ll just have to find another Muse to take to that award ceremony and I’ll live the rest of my life as a hermit on my couch.”
“Award ceremony?” Bailey asked, attention shifted. “What awards?”
“Some music award thing in a few weeks.” Addie shrugged. “The Stone Talons are nominated in a few categories and they’re also performing during the show.”
“He’s taking you to the fucking Indie Rock Awards?”
“Is that a music award thing that’s being held in a few weeks?”
“Yes!”
“Then that’s probably it.”
Bailey’s mouth opened and closed. “Why the hell do I hang out with someone who doesn’t know the—never mind. What are you wearing?”
“I haven’t really thought about it. Maybe that black pencil skirt suit that I wore to the—”
“Absolutely not.” Bailey was already shaking their head. “You cannot wear one of your work outfits to the Indie Awards, and definitely not when you’ll be walking the blue carpet with a member of the Stone Talons! For the love of the gods, Addie!”
“Then what do you suggest I wear? Because all I own are jeans, yoga pants, and work outfits.”
“We’ll swing around to how sad that is later. Right now, we’re shifting into emergency mode.” Bailey sprang to their feet and grabbed their bag, then Addie’s, then Max’s. “Chop-chop, you two. I’m good, but our time constraint pushes even my limits. Let’s go.”
“It’s weeks away.” Addie let herself be yanked to her feet with a groan. “Can’t we run home and showe—”
“Absolutely not. Spritz some good-smelling shit on your pits and bits and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Bailey in go-mode never boded well for the person being hustled, bustled, and tussled. Three and a half hours, four boutiques, and zero bathroom breaks later, Addie’s feet sported Grand Canyon blisters and her bladder prepared for rupture.
“I have a good feeling about this place.” Bailey tugged open the door of boutique number five, not looking the least bit winded from their shopping marathon.
“The only thing I can feel right about now is my bladder about to explode.” Addie earned a sympathetic smile from her sister.
“Less whining, more trying things on.” Bailey approached the first dress rack and immediately riffled through it, pausing on a flashy sequin gown before eventually shoving it aside.
“Are you sure you can’t ring your rock star to see what he’s wearing to this thing?
Knowing the color palette would help narrow things down. ”
“Absolutely not,” Addie said emphatically. “This isn’t prom, Bails. We don’t need to color match.”
Bailey shot her a stern look. “You won’t be saying that if you end up in a red gown and he’s in a green suit.”
“As far as I know, Phoenix doesn’t even own a suit.”
Bailey grumbled but continued shopping as Addie slinked through the boutique.
Their collection consisted of simplistic everyday wear to chic cocktail dresses and lavish, stunning gowns. Noting a few she wouldn’t mind looking at a little closer, she skirted the room and kept out of Bailey’s way.
A slinky black dress caught her eye and she stepped over to give it a closer look when a familiar voice anchored her to the spot.
“I don’t know why this is so difficult for you to understand.” High-pitched and getting higher, the customer repeated herself. “Any boutique worth anything offers this service, but you’re telling me that you can’t.”
“Like I said, we do alterations, but with our regular seamster out on paternity leave, we’re outsourcing, and there’s no way we’d be able to do the amount of alterations you need within your timeline.
” Red-faced and flustered, the boutique hostess faced off with a tall, lithe blond whose back was turned toward Addie.
“We could look for some pieces that wouldn’t require as many alterations, and if you don’t find something here, we have a sister store on the other side of the city. ”
“I am not trekking downtown for something that you can do here. Call Julien. Tell him that the alteration is for me. I’m sure he’d happily take a break from his diaper-changing vacation.”
The snide tone. The entitled expectations. That way-too-familiar and overwhelming scent of privilege and overpriced perfume. Addie recognized Karleigh Kinkaid-Fink’s voice before the influencer even turned the corner.
Karleigh’s eyes narrowed into accusing slits when she spied Addie. “You.”
“Me.” Addie straightened her posture as much as her sore back would allow. “And you’re you.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’d imagine the same thing that brought you here.” Addie slid a supportive look to the hostess. “Although our methods of execution are obviously different.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that sometimes you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. This lovely stylist is trying to help you, but you’re not quite hearing her suggestions.”
“Because none of them are acceptable,” Karleigh snapped.
“Then maybe you should change what you consider acceptable. People can only adapt to what’s within their power, and like … Gen … said, their current seamster is on paternity leave.”
Addie’s former client crossed her arms over her chest before bouncing her glare between Addie and Gen. “Then I suppose I’ll be forced to take my business—and my substantial budget—elsewhere.” She turned toward Gen. “And you won’t be seeing me again.”
Karleigh shot a menacing grin Addie’s way.
“But you’ll definitely be hearing from both me and my followers.
For a moment, I contemplated forgiving you for the debacle that you made of my wedding, but running into you has now firmed my resolve to bury you—and your sad excuse of a business—under six feet of bad press and monetary debt. ”
“There you go threatening me with a good time,” Addie quipped dryly. “Didn’t you say you were leaving?”
With a huffed growl, Karleigh stormed out of the boutique.
Addie turned to apologize to Gen, but instead, got hugged.
“Thank you so much.” Gen squeezed her tighter before embarrassment flooded her cheeks and she let go. “I hate when she comes into the shop. Usually, I try to hide in the back storeroom when I see her walk in, but it’s just me here this afternoon and—”