“How many pitchers did you have before I got here?” Riley wondered.
“Only one. Come on. Let’s go see the magic I can work.”
Some women collected t-shirts with hilarious sayings. Some collected shoes or bags or recipes on Pinterest that they’d never actually make.
Jasmine collected beauty products.
“Every time I come in here, I feel like I’m walking into an Ulta,” Riley said, peeking into a vanity drawer in the white marble bathroom and finding a few dozen eye shadow palettes.
“First thing first,” Jasmine said, all business now. “What look are we going for?”
Riley thought about it while slurping down margarita. Her best friend liked to theme her makeovers with oddly specific visions. “Bella Goodshine just re-introduced herself to me for the second time in twelve hours because she didn’t recognize me from that time I caught her having sex with my stupid husband and broke his nose with our wedding portrait. And then I found out that my hot, PI boyfriend has been tracking my phone and having me followed.”
Jasmine puckered her lips. “So unforgettable badass bombshell babes out to surgically remove his balls?”
That sounded good.
“Griffin Gentry is a pig, and you keep puckering wrong,” Jasmine insisted, squishing Riley’s cheeks between her fingers so she could dust blush or bronzer or something over her cheeks. Even drunk, her friend’s makeup application was perfection.
“How am I puckering wrong?”
“You’re trying to do a close-mouthed duck lip. You need an open mouth duck lip to show off the hollows of your cheeks.”
“Are all women born knowing this?” Riley asked, closing one eye to see her reflection more clearly and practicing the open and closed mouth duck lips.
“Why do you keep thinking there’s some kind of natural aptitude surrounding hair and cosmetics? It takes damn hard work to look damn good.”
“I would counter that you were blessed with magical beauty genes and therefore don’t have to work hard to look like a cover model,” Riley insisted. “Ha! Counter!” She slapped the marble vanity top. “I’m punny.”
“I forget how weird you get about stupid puns when you’re drunk,” Jasmine complained.
“I have an intoxicating sense of humor.” Riley snorted at her own joke and got margarita up her nose.
Her phone rang on the counter, and she ignored it.
“It’s Nick again,” Jasmine said, reading the screen. “Have you had enough tequila to tell him that he’s a big, sexy idiot and you never want to see him again so he goes out and buys you something expensive?”
“There’s not enough tequila in the world for me to put into words how mad I am at him for hiring my elderly neighbor to dress up like a mime and the cast from Working Girl to follow me.”
Jasmine put down the bronzer brush and picked up her jar of margarita. “You’re right. You should definitely not speak to him for at least six months.”
“I love you, but we both know I can’t take relationship advice from you.”
“This is true,” Jasmine agreed.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he shows up here since he’s also tracking my phone. And here I was trying to respect his privacy by not snooping around in his head. I knew he was still freaked out about that whole fountain thing. But I expected him to talk to me like a regular human being, not have me followed!”
“Well, there’s your first mistake. Men are not regular human beings.”
“Hey!You’rebeautiful,” Riley said, pointing a tube of foundation at her friend. “I bet you’ve had lots of stalkers. How do you handle them?”
“The nice ones I threaten with legal jargon.”
Riley’s phone rang again. She picked it up and held it out. “Threaten Nick with legal jargon!”
Jasmine shook her head and reached for the mascara. “Not yet. He’s only called three times. He deserves to stew through at least thirteen missed calls.”
“You know what’sthe worst?” Riley said.
