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“Christening? Right now, I’m trying to think of a valid reason not to go to the baby shower.”
“Men are excused from that, right?”
“Good point. How long does gender reassignment surgery take?”
Hawk wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “No surgery. I like you exactly as you are.” He paused to study me. “Mostly. You’re wearing too many clothes.”
“I hope that’s a situation you plan to rectify soon.”
Before I could blink, his hand snaked under my dress, and my panties disappeared.
“Hey!”
If I’d expected an apology, I wasn’t going to get one. No, he treated me to a filthy grin instead.
“Relax, I’ll buy you a new pair.”
“And shred those too?”
“Yeah, probably. And, babe, you’re gonna let me.”
Yes. Yes, I was.
10
AGATHA
If I hadn’t grown up with Marjorie, Ashley, and Kimberlee, I’d have been looking around for a way to unplug them. Like Clarice, the three of them had gone full-on Stepford Wife. Perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect make-up, even as they lazed around in robes and slippers. I’d thought Hawk had drawn the short straw with Stu and Buckley’s fishing trip, but the spa session was even more painful than I’d imagined. And I didn’t just mean the eyebrow plucking.
“Janie Pettigrew must have bribed the judging panel,” Marjorie whined. “It’s the only explanation. Elsie should have been Miss Pre-Teen Lewiston. She’s been practising her talent routine for months, and her pageant coaches said she was perfect.”
“Did you get any feedback?” Clarice asked.
“Melody’s mom said the judges didn’t like the cut-outs in Elsie’s evening gown, but the girl who got the crown sang ‘Over the Rainbow’ off-key.”
“That’s shocking,” Odette said without a hint of sarcasm.
“Isn’t it? Elsie’s been in tears since the weekend. There’s only one year left before she moves up to Junior Miss, and the pressure…” Marjorie clutched at her hair and then shrieked. “I smudged my manicure! Can you fix it?” she asked the beautician. “You have to fix it.”
Just over two years ago, Mack had gone to a secluded spa with Emmy and some of the other Blackwood girls for her bachelorette party. Rumour said they’d ended up burying a body in the middle of the night, and that actually sounded like more fun than being trapped among bamboo decor and mood music with my sisters and their friends.
“If pageants make Elsie cry, why not let her try a different hobby?” I suggested.
Marjorie turned to me, incredulous. “What?”
“They seem to make you stressed as well.”
“Have you ever been a pageant girl?” She looked me up and down. “Well, clearly not. So you don’t understand just how many doors they open—it’s not all about the sash and the trophy, you know. When I won Miss Maine Coed, I got a cruise, a spa weekend, a two-year car lease, a clothing allowance, a photoshoot, jewellery, gift cards, a cookware set, and the chance to emcee at the next year’s pageant.”
“But that’s mostly just stuff.”
All five of the other women sucked in a collective breath.
“Stuff is what sets us aside from the peons,” Marjorie told me haughtily.
Peons? Oh, she was going down.
“And it’s about more than stuff, anyway,” Odette said. “Marjorie met Chandler at a pageant.”
