She laughs, and I pinch her lips together since she clearly doesn't understand the meaning of “shush”.
Callie pulls my hand away from her face, loops her arm with mine and nudges me into walking again. “Turn left here, then start talking. I won’t tell a soul. Promise.”
“It’s more like a plan, really. But it’s a secret too. Oh.Oooh. It’s asecret plan!”
She’s doing something funny with her lips, twisting them together. I can’t quite figure it out; she’s a bit blurry in the dark. But I bet she’s amazed.I’mamazed.
It’s. A. Secret. Plan.Wow.
“Hm-hum. Go on,” she prompts.
I look around to make sure no curious pedestrians can overhear, then I lean harder onto her. Oh, good. I’m not the only one tripping. New York pavement could use some work.
I whisper into her hair. “In the next few months, I’m going to turn into…” I pause and stumble in front of her for added effect, then accidentally scream the next words, nose to nose: “A SEX GODDESS.” What are my arms doing in the air?
The world around us stops. Or the people do. I’m not a hundred percent sure. My throat feels too dry, and suddenly I’m gagging, the passion fruit from that Pornstar Martini trying to make a comeback.
“Okay, babes,” Callie says, dismissing my mega reveal. I’d be taking more offense if I wasn’t too busy keeping my booze down. “Can you make another 400 ft, or do you need a pit stop?”
“What? I’mfine.” I wave a hand in the air and strut—hopefully—in the direction of the bar we were heading. Callie hurries to follow and links her arm through mine again. I silently celebrate being right, but mostly, the steadiness her arm gives me.
We arrive at a rooftop bar, and the breathtaking view of the Empire State Building sobers me up. That and the slice of bread soaked in olive oil she force-feeds me. Next, the sexy as hell bartender sets a jug of iced water in front of meas per Callie’s orders, and I sip it slowly while I welcome my sanity finding its way back into my body.
The lumberjack-looking server proceeds to flirt with Callie, and I’m beyond grateful for the distraction from my embarrassment. Boy, I hope it’s enough for her to never mention my drunk confession again.
What the hell was I thinking?
Not that it’s embarrassing… Except it is. It’s mortifying. Some things should remain private, and I’m taking this one to the grave.
Needing a distraction, I watch as the bartender ignores all other patrons and hangs on to every word Callie says. God, they make it look so easy. The small talk, the hooded glances, the little stolen touches.
Callie is my new hero. While April is the typical girl-next-door, Callie is a big girl too. But she’s not awkward-big like me. She could easily be a doctor by day and a plus-size supermodel by night. Men have been falling at her feet all night. Callie’s the full package—a siren. It’s impossible not to be drawn to her. The humor. The brains. The heat. Off the fucking charts.
The girl who self-proclaimed herself as my new bestie on our first toast three bars ago has generous, hourglass curves that would send even an F1 driver spinning.
Callie is hot and proud. I’m wearing two layers of shaping underwear and trying to fade into the background.
I straighten without meaning to, squaring my shoulders to match hers. Trying on a braver version of myself. It doesn’t quite fit, but it feels nice. If she’s willing to teach me her ways, I’ll add that to my plan too.
When a customer almost breaks his tumbler on thecounter trying to get the bartender's attention, the lumberjack gets Callie’s phone, calls himself and tells her he’ll be calling tomorrow.
A testament to her working memory, Cal picks up our conversation exactly where we dropped off. She turns on her stool toward me and asks, “And how exactly does one become asex goddessin just a matter of months? Gotta say, I love the ambition. I dedicatedyearsof my life to that,” she says, throwing her head back and laughing. “Lots of swiping right? Or the old-fashion way? Hey, I’m ready to be your wingwoman. We can start right now.”
She scans the crowd. “How about that one?” She raises her chin in the direction of a young man. Slim, tall, nice dark hair, in a business suit. He’s probably attractive, but the package is doing nothing for me. The guy stares back at us—well, probably at Callie—while we inspect him like a piece of meat, and my cheeks go up in flames. I turn my back to him at the speed of light, while Callie is already describing and casually pointing to a man on my left. I lower her hand and stop her menu selection.
“Callie, don’t.”
“Mia,” she scolds. “If you’re aiming for a performance levelthat high, you got to put yourself out there. And you need to startASAP. Kegel exercises as we speak, and a hot date on your first night out.”
“That’snotwhat I have in mind,” I grunt.
“Oh, right, you have a plan. Do share.”
“Not here,” I stall.Or anywhere. Ever.“I was too tipsy before. I’m sorry. It’s a silly idea I had, one I’m not ready to tell anyone. It’s very personal.”
“Babes. You can tell meanything. I’ll help you achieve your dream. You have a New York bestie now, remember?”
The smile sticks. Because she means it.
