First Kiss by Kylie Adams

outsider of this group. If choosing the sister of the groom isn't a decision arrived at by gunpoint, then tell me what is. That being said, allow me to be the voice of radical honesty. I consider myself to be somewhat of a professional bridesmaid. I'm in FIVE weddings this summer alone. Agony! And the idea of yet another ghastly bridesmaid dress is more than I can endure. The mere thought has driven me to put two pharmacists on speed dial (a girl needs options, and why limit yourself to one antianxiety medication?). Anyway, how about a pact? We must agree NOT to march down the aisle looking like Barbara, Louise, and Ir-lene Mandrell from the tragic 80s. Fab dresses only!
    PS Vivien, this will be a challenge because you're so tall. But think of all the drag queens who manage to find dresses that make them look fantastic. No worries.
     
    All My Best, Kiki
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Chapter Seven

     
    The cabdriver eyeballed a strange look into the rear-view mirror.
    "It's a treatment mask," Kiki explained, not shy about showing her annoyance. "Deeply cleansing. Now please just get to the hospital as fast as you can. This is an emergency."
    She sank back against the seat, worried sick about Danni and biting nervously at a nail as the taxi raced toward Seventy-seventh Street on the Upper East Side. First, Kiki had no idea why the girl was at Lenox Hill. And second, Danni had a phobia about hospitals. Her Achilles' heel. A million years ago, she had been engaged to a dreamy surgeon who called off the wedding after she showed up at the church. Ever since, Danni had suffered mild panic attacks anytime she walked inside a hospital, a doctor's office, or even a living room while someone was watching ER .
    Once more, Kiki tried Danni's cellular, praying the call wouldn't ring into voice mail again. But it did. She hurled the phone back into her purse, then fished it out again to dial Suzi-Suzi. More voice mail. "God!" Kiki screeched. "Does anybody answer their phone anymore?"
    Her face was cracking under the dried Fango mud. It hurt to speak, and her lips felt as parched as the Mohave Desert. Actually, she was supposed to sponge off the mask before it began to dry. But Kiki, in an effort to keep stress-induced breakouts to a minimum, sometimes allowed the product to set like concrete. Besides, tonight the mask was pulling double duty as a slam-dunk disguise. No creepy photographer would ever recognize her in this goop.
    Kiki zipped down the window, grateful for the whipping summer wind. "Fab Tomba, Fab Tomba, Fab Tomba," she muttered against the hot breeze, his name tripping off her lips with all the sweetness and effortlessness of powdered sugar. The total recall of that first kiss ran like instant replay in her mind. Oh, God, it had been fantastic. Correction. Beyond fantastic. As first kisses go, the only way to describe it was well, off the charts.
    Kiki's body still hummed from the sensual memory. When her mouth had been crushed against his, there hadn't been a muscle, a nerve, a cell, not so much as a nanosecond of a buried impulse, that didn't sing with blissful harmony for the here-and-now and the what-would-be. If a simple kiss carried that kind of impact, then the sixty-thousand-dollar question was this: What would making love to him yield?
    She smiled to herself as the image of him leaving the suite with a slight smear of Fango mud on his face tattooed her brain. Part of Kiki had felt obliged to tell him. But the more devious part of her won out in the end. Maybe it was the secret knowledge of him unknowingly walking around with war paint from that cosmic kiss. The idea made her glow with happiness.
    Finally, the cab jerked to a stop in front of Lenox Hill Hospital. Kiki paid the fare and dashed inside through the emergency room entrance, ignoring the odd looks as she arrowed directly toward a tired-looking nurse behind the main reception desk. "I'm looking for Danni Summer."
    The nurse checked records and pointed in a vague direction.
    Kiki