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Ugh.
“Stephie, I’m in crisis, and I have no idea what to do!”
Stephie snorted, and Cilla could swear she heard the woman roll her eyes. “I have an idea—get out of bed, lazy bones! You promised me chocolate, but I’m making you pay me with a favor instead.”
Suddenly wide awake, Cilla did not like the mischief in Stephie’s voice. Sitting up, Cilla pushed her hair out of her face and blinked down at the bedsheets, which were twisted around her legs, legs that had been wrapped around dream-Patriot’s waist. It really was a good dream.
“And what favor would that be?” Cilla asked warily, forcing images of Patriot pounding into her on the office desk from her mind. They weren’t real, and she’d have to get over it…as soon as heart heart stopped hurting and her body stopped craving his touch, his lips, his scent, his weight pressing down on her. The wetness between her thighs was a testament to the fact that just thinking of him still made her want him.
“You’re going to be my plus one at a party,” Stephie replied with much too much cheer.
Closing her eyes and feigning a patience that was in very short supply, Cilla inquired, “And where is this party?”
Please don’t say Unchained clubhouse, please don’t say Unchained clubhouse….
“Nope. Not gonna tell you until you promise you’ll come with me. I promise, you will have the fucking time of your life.”
Dammit!
Cilla, knowing Stephie wouldn’t let this rest until she wore Cilla down to the nub, groaned, threw herself back onto her pillows, and grumbled, “Fine. I’ll go. But this better be the bestest of all best times of my life—and I mean it.”
Stephie giggled into the phone, which made the hair on Cilla’s neck stand on end.
Oh hell, what did she just agree to?
Her answer came the next night when Stephie showed up at her door, shopping bags dangling from her arms, a bottle of vodka peeking from her purse, and a wicked smile on her face.
That smile should have been the first red flag. The second should have been the Barbie clothes Stephie pulled from the shopping bags.
“Nuh-uh. Nope.” Cilla crossed her arms, plopped down on her bed, and shook her head. “There is no way you are squeezing my fat ass into those jeans, and there’s no way that top can contain my nipples, let alone my boobs—you are out of your mind, why are you just smiling at me? What’s with that look? Why aren’t you putting those pre-shrunk toddler clothes back in the bags?”
Stephie planted her hands on her hips, huffed, then glared down at Cilla.
“You promised you’d go with me to this party, and this party has a strict dress code. So that means no muumuus, sweatpants, sweatshirts, or basically anything you’ve ever worn in your life.”
Cilla gasped in outrage. “What’s wrong with what I wear? It’s comfortable?—”
“We aren’t going for comfortable, honey, we’re going for fuckable. And that means you have to get off your sweet ass, put these clothes on, and get in the bathroom so I can glam up that face and hair of yours.”
Cilla shook her head once again, but Stephie was already there, pulling her up to her feet. Damn, she was strong for a skinny bitch!
“Come on, you promised, and you can’t go back on a promise,” Stephie remarked, pouting.
Rolling her eyes at her friends antics, Cilla heaved a sigh. Taking that as her acquiescence, Stephie squealed and clapped.
“Alright! Let’s get you out of your mopey clothes and put on your party clothes!”
Cilla grumbled, “I wasn’t moping.” Lying liar!
Stephie clicked her tongue and gripped Cilla’s chin, making Cilla look Stephie in the eye.
“You are moping, and I can understand why—Patriot fucked up big time. But that’s over and done with. Now it’s time to take back your confidence, pour some steel down your back, and have some fun getting a little revenge.”
That made Cilla tense, confusion and then wariness filling her. How did Stephie know about Patriot? Had he said something? Did everyone in the club know about how he used her, and then dropped her like a beat in an EDM song?
“Revenge? What the hell are you talking about, Stephie? Revenge against who, for what?” Cilla could feel the tension snaking up her body to her neck, ready to strangle her. “How do you know about Patriot? Does everyone know?”
God, if everyone knew, did that mean they were all laughing at her behind her back?
