“That? You’re wearing that?” Alessandra scrunches her nose at my jeans and dress top.
“What’s wrong with it?” Looking down at my attire, I feel like it’s fine.
Alessandra places her finger on her chin and raises a brow.
“I’ve got an idea.” She rushes out of my bedroom, and I take my top off. I don’t know what to wear, and it’s aggravating me.
“Maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t even want to go anymore,” I complain. “Can’t we just stay in, order some pizza?”
Alessandra steps back into my room, scissors in hand.
Dropping to a crouch, she starts shredding my jeans at the knees and up the thighs.
“What the hell, Alessandra!”
“There, that looks sexier.” She stands up and smiles. “Oh, and wear this.” She grabs a black shirt out of her purse and tosses it at me.
“Why do you have random shirts in your purse?” I eye her awkwardly.
“I figured your wardrobe consisted of uniforms, lounge clothes, and nothing risqué. So I came with a backup, just in case.”
Glancing over my shoulder at my closest, I sigh, because she’s almost right. “I don’t have to dress like a slut to get a guy. Besides, if you dress like that, what kind of guy are you attracting anyway?”
“Just… Just put the damn thing on,” Alessandra huffs.
Pulling it over my head, I turn and look in the mirror. It falls off my right shoulder, leaving it exposed, and hugs my left shoulder loosely. The bottom is snug on my waist, and the back of the top dips down, showing off most of my back.
“Oh, wow,” I whisper, not sure of the top or my jeans. “I don’t know, it doesn’t look like me.”
“You look sexy. Just grab some heels and maybe not look like you’re about to pepper spray someone.” She grabs the ribbon holding my hair into a tight bun and pulls it out, my hair falling down my back instantly.
“I’m about to pepper spray you,” I huff, trying to pry her grabby hands off me.
“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair down.” She plays with my hair, the ends of it curling just above my breast.
“I hate you,” I mutter, looking in the mirror. Hell, I don’t even recognize myself. I’ve dressed up before, but this is a whole other level.
“You’ll thank me later.” She smiles.
“Do you have heels?”
Rolling my eyes, I head to my closest. “Yes, I have heels, I’m not that bad.”
Laughing, she leans over to the mirror, running her fingers under her eyes to pick up the extra eyeliner. “Let’s go before all the booze is gone.” She smacks her lips together and leaves the room.
I step in front of the mirror once more and turn, looking at my exposed back. I can see the dimples there. Yeah, I can’t do this. I grab the bottom of the shirt and yank it over my head. Quickly, I dart in my closet and pull out the cute little flannel button-up shirt I bought just last week. I pull it over my head and slide some red heels on my feet as I stumble out of the room.
I grab the small satchel that holds my ID and reach for my gun. Shit, there’s no way it will fit.
“Come on!” Alessandra yells.
“Is your purse big enough to fit my gun!?”
“Seriously, Jillian!” Her voice is irritated, dripping with the suggestive notion that I’m being ridiculous. Conflicted, I put my gun to the side and hurry out of my room.
“Let’s take a taxi,” Alessandra yells over her shoulder, stepping onto the sidewalk.
“Why? We can take my Jeep,” I offer, locking my door.
“I don’t plan on either of us being sober tonight, Jillian.” I’d argue with her, but a drink sounds kind of nice. I’ve been working so hard to make it into the department I don’t think I know how to breathe anymore.
A taxi pulls up, and Alessandra glances over her shoulder before doing a double-take.
“You took the shirt off?”
I shrug. “It wasn’t me.”
She laughs and gets in the car.
“Fair enough. You look more relaxed in your Farmer Joe shirt anyhow.”
I furrow my brows, tugging on my shirt.
“This is not a farmer shirt. I got it at the mall,” I defend, climbing in the back of the taxi with her.
ZEEK
After some light gambling, I head to the club. I suck at gambling; I must not have gotten the gene from my uncle, that’s for sure. I pass a couple of half-naked girls, who are trying to carry one of their drunk friends to the elevator. They stop and smile big as I pass by. I give them the smirk, nodding at them as I continue to the back of the casino. Entering the club, I stop by the bar and spot Tinker bent over, putting bottles into the ice bin. She has on short little shorts, the globes of her ass cheeks peeking out at me, and some red top, showing off the sides of her small tits.
“You bending over like that, I see it as an open invitation for me to take you from behind,” I suggest, grabbing the rounds of her ass roughly.
She doesn’t respond, which is odd; she’s usually more than willing for a little rough play. Turning, she glances at me with watery eyes.
Her bottom lip is split and bruised, a dark circle sitting on the apple of her cheek.
“Damn, what happened to you?”