“Iz, get your skinny ass ready now. We’re going to drive down to the mall, get a new hot-as-fuck outfit for both of us, go see Sway at the salon, and have some serious pampering before Greg comes over to take us to dinner tonight. You aren’t going to sit at home alone. I know that’s your plan. Not again, Iz. Not this year.”
Her eyebrows are puckering and she looks like she will drag me out of here naked if I don’t agree. Jesus. There really is no sense in arguing with her when she gets this worked up. I’ll just come up with some excuse later and ditch her and Greg for a night at home with Jack.
Now, that’s a plan with some promise.
CHAPTER 2
We’ve been shopping for hours. Or at least it feels like hours to a person who does not enjoy shopping. Dee started dragging me around the second we walked through the doors. She is a woman on a mission.
We were in our second store—second store after the three different lingerie stores. I had more freaking panties than I would need in a lifetime. Apparently, step one of Dee’s master plan was making sure I had new everything. I put my foot down the second I noticed her intent. No freaking way.
After a small fight, she finally agreed—one outfit, one complete outfit, and that’s all.
And that brings us to now.
I have tried on what feels like the whole entire dress department. There is always something she finds wrong with each one. Finally, she thrust a bright candy-apple red scarf at me. I say scarf because there is no way there is enough material to call this a dress.
“Uh, Dee . . . where is the rest of it?” I question.
“That’s it, Iz. I just know it. That is the dress!” She’s bouncing—literally bouncing—up and down in place. Her curly hair is jumping right along with her. If I weren’t so annoyed, I would think she is pretty damn cute right now.
“There is no way I am wearing that, Dee. Is there even a back on that thing? And . . . and my vagina is seriously going to be playing peekaboo all night. There is no way, no way at all.”
I’m practically panting with anxiety. I’ve spent the last two years hiding my body. I lost all the weight I gained during my marriage, but I still see the fat girl I once was when I look in the mirror. Dee is constantly on my ass to stop wearing my ‘ratty-ass jeans and man shirts,’ which is what she affectionately calls my lack of style. I like my style. Jeans and tees—it’s easy and perfect.
Shit.
Sighing, I look down at the scrap of beautiful red material, thinking to myself, it’s just one night. One night of wearing a scarf to keep that smile on Dee’s face. After everything she has done, parading around with my vagina smiling at the world is a small price to pay.
“All right, you pushy little shit. I’ll see what it looks like on, but don’t blame me if it doesn’t work,” I tell her with fake exasperation.
Turning from her smiling face, I step into the dressing room and remove my street clothes once again. Once I pull the miniscule piece of fashion over my hips, I bring the tiny strings that will hold this ‘dress’ on my body over my arms and set them in place on my shoulders. Reaching behind me for the zipper, I meet bare skin. Called it, I thought to myself. Placing my palm against my back, I confirm that there is, in fact, no back. I slowly turn around and face the mirror, sealing my fate. Unable to stop the small gasp that escapes my lips, I look myself up and down.
Is that me?
The dress fits perfectly, but then again, with Dee, I knew it would. The front of the dress fits snug across my chest, making my average-sized chest look a cup larger than my small C’s. The straight neckline starts just under my collarbone, essentially covering everything. The small straps going over my shoulders make my frame look sleek and petite.
Not too bad.
Taking a deep breath, I turn around to check out the damage. Another small gasp escapes before I bite my lip and take in everything the back lacks. I can see the straps holding the dress up, hugging my shoulders as if they fear at any second they could snap. I follow the exposed line of my spine all the way down to the two dimples above my ass and the small piece of red fabric hugging my cheeks—barely.
How am I supposed to wear underwear with this dress?
Dee chooses this moment to start tapping on the dressing room door impatiently.
“Izzzzzy,” she sings. “Izzy, I know what you’re doing in there. Stop freaking your freak and let me see!”
I crack the door, giving her another one of Greg’s mean looks. “I’m going to kill you for this.”
She laughs as she pushes herself into the dressing room with me, taking me in from top to bottom and then back up again. The smile that comes over her face creeps me the hell out. I don’t think I have ever seen that look before. She looks so . . . Shit . . . she is practically oozing joy.