Page 92 of Nuts

Eddie was Smokey’s 17-year-old daughter. She was petite, curvy, had beautiful brown hair, and talked 1,000 miles-an-hour. She was energetic and fun. I hoped, over time, that we could become close friends.

“Sounds fun.” I raised the clothes. “Let me try these on.”

I’d already set aside a pair of jeans and two tops. Excited to see what a peplum looked like, I carried the clothes to the dressing room and tried them on.

The floral-pattern top was sleeveless, fitted at the top, and flared at the bottom. In my eyes, it was perfect. It accentuated my boobs and flared at the bottom, giving me more of an hourglass appearance than I already had.

I turned to one side, and then the other.

The dressing room door rattled from someone beating on it.

“We’re waiting,” Eddie said. “Come on.”

I opened the door and stepped out.

“That’s sexy,” Sandy said.

Eddie looked me up and down, and then grinned. “I like it.”

I looked in the full-length mirror at the end of the corridor. “I think I like it, too. These pants are comfortable.”

“Tell me you’ve never worn leggings,” Sandy said, her tone sarcastic, but playful.

“I haven’t.”

“Oh, my God,” she said. “That’s crazy. Leggings are the best. I couldn’t live without them.”

I slid my hand up my thigh and glanced in the mirror. “They’re really tight.”

“They’re leggings,” Eddie said.

“No. I mean they’re tight and comfortable.”

“That top makes your boobs look…” She pressed her hands to her hip and raised her brows. “Huge.”

“They don’t need any help,” I said with a laugh. “They’re ridiculous.”

“They’re real, right?” Sandy asked.

“Real? Yeah. Why would anyone do this to themselves?”

She pressed her biceps into the sides of her boobs and twisted her mouth to the side. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“They aren’t?”

“Really?” she laughed. “You thought they were real?”

It never crossed my mind that Sandy’s boobs were fake. I wasn’t a complete idiot, and I did realize people got implants, but I didn’t know anyone in real life that had. At least I didn’t think so.

“Uhhm. Yeah.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh huh.”

“Awwe. Thank you. But no. They’re fake.”

She was wearing a sleeveless top with cleavage that would rival my work uniform. I glanced at her boobs, but tried not to stare. “They look great.”