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He stills for a beat, before a smile graces his handsome face. “I like the little star thing,” he indicates my pimple patch. “makes you look cute.” Then he turns and leaves as if what he said didn’t devastate me to my soul.
All my life I’ve been beautiful, sexy, hot, and numerous other words that mean nothing when a man says one thing but treats you like shit. Somehow Mad Dog’s words hit me deep in my chest in a way I never expected. The man looked at me when I’m feeling my least attractive, with shit all over my face, my lame ass pedi socks and cheeto stained pajamas and called me “cute”. He looked past all the shit and saw…me. And now I don’t know what to do with that except try to shake off the feelings he’s stirred up. Maybe I’ll try waxing my vag. Nothing gets your mind off a man more than a little pain.
Nodding at my genius plan to avoid my innermost thoughts and feelings I lock my door, set the alarm, pour myself a cup of tea and head up to attack my bush. I may as well dust off my nail polish too. If I’m off to a gala, I may as well look my best. For myself of course, not for the hot silver fox whose arm I’ll be on. Nope, not for him. For me. Because I’m empowered and stuff. Yup. I hold up my fancy tea cup, looking at my ridiculous reflection in the mirror and give myself a silent toast.
Yahooing and squealing sounds drift through the evening air from next door and before I can peek out the window banging on my back door has me jumping, sloshing red wine down my front.
“Willy Wonka! Open the door!” Mira yells before adding “please” and some other muffled words.
I unset the security alarm, then shuffle in my pedi socks to the back door, throwing it open to a grinning Mira and Joy.
“We’re having a girls night next door to get ready for the gala. Wanna come hang with us?” Joy clasps her hands together and gives me a pleading look.
I look between her and Mira, then at my tea cup, then back to them. I down the contents in one gulp, running my forearm across my lips. “Let’s do this.”
Cheers break out and then some giggling from my bushes when I step out onto the path.
“You head in with the girls, I’ll lock up,” Switch says, stepping into the light.
“Oh I can-”
“The man said he’d take care of it. Come on, we only got a few hours before we need to be tucked up in bed getting our beauty sleep,” Nat says, looping her arm through mine and dragging me in the direction of Joy’s house.
“Well, OK then.”
As soon as we hit the living room all hell breaks loose. There are open bottles of every flavor wine, nail polish everywhere, all sorts of face masks and a pile of dresses.
“Holy crap, what happened in here?” I whisper to myself but Chewy somehow hears every word.
“Apparently this is a ritual. I never went to prom so I wouldn’t know.” She shrugs one shoulder. Her little boy is latched on and suckling away while Chewy nurses him in one arm, her other hand resting on Chomper. Laney May is on the floor and Chewy has her foot resting lightly against the sleeping toddler. Her gaze follows mine before moving to look over my shoulder. “They’re all my babies and it’s important they all feel connected to me in some way. It will cause them less trauma as they grow to be premium humans.”
“Except Chomper,” Ana points out.
“If he dreams to be a premium human, then we should let him chase his dreams,” Chewy says decisively.
“I like your conviction, Chewy,” I say. “It’s an admirable trait.”
“Thank you. It’s probably the autism.”
I shrug. “Or it’s just you.”
Chewy gives me a funny look before sending me a smile. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels huge coming from her.
“Can I give you something?”
“Ah, sure.”
Chewy’s smiles wider and she uses her free feet to kick a baby bag over to me. I give her a puzzled look and she indicates the brown manila folder with chunky handwriting on the front.
“It’s a file with all the main players who will be at the gala tomorrow. Mad Dog did tell you what we’re planning, right?”
I nod, taking out the folder and flicking through the meticulously gathered information. “Yeah. Something about undercover work to figure out how to get rid of that rich asshole Thompson.”
“Bingo,” Lovely says, plopping on the couch.
Jazz takes a seat on the floor at my feet. “Our job is to look pretty so the men can blend in -”
“Which is silly because our men are stupid hot and don’t blend in anywhere,” Vi interrupts.
