simple pendant earrings. Whitney applied my makeup - a bit heavier than I usually did it with a sleek cateye - and styled my hair in a topknot that left the nape of my neck exposed.
Finally settling on a skintight blue dress for herself (after half a dozen wardrobe changes and two dramatic declarations of I have nothing to wear ) Whitney curled her hair into long, slinky waves and finished her makeup with a bold red lip.
Standing side by side when all was said and done, we studied our reflections in the bathroom mirror.
“We look badass,” Whitney decided.
“You were right,” I conceded as I twisted around and studied my outfit from the back. “This shirt does look awesome. But I feel weird not wearing a bra. Do you think anyone will notice?”
“Yes, because the first thought going through a guy’s mind when he sees you is going to be ‘why isn’t she wearing a bra?’” Whitney rolled her eyes. “Get real, Mo. If I had tits like yours, I would never wear a bra. Now repeat after me: I am sexy.”
I started to bite my lip, remembered the three layers of lip gloss Whitney had spent ten minutes painstakingly applying, and abruptly stopped. “I don’t know-”
Stepping behind me, Whitney grabbed my shoulders and gave me a tiny shake. “I know you don’t know. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met when it comes to books, Mo, but this” - she pulled on the hem of my shirt - “is my territory. Say it or I’m getting the silver dress out again.”
“That was a dress ?”
“Mo…”
“Fine.” With a sigh, I met my gaze in the mirror. “I am sexy.”
“Louder. And say it like you believe it. This is a confidence building exercise.” Her hair rippled as she shook her head. “Although why someone who looks like you needs confidence is beyond me.”
I frowned at my reflection. “I…am sexy. ”
“Was that a question or a statement?”
“I am sexy.”
“Louder!”
“I AM SEXY!” I shouted.
“There you go.” Grinning ear to ear, Whitney pinned her hands to her hips and rocked back on her sky high stilettos. “Now don’t you feel better?”
Staring at myself and yelling I am sexy made me feel like an idiot, but I wasn’t about to tell Whitney that. Not after she’d spent the better part of two hours playing the part of personal stylist. “Yes, I do.”
“Great. Then we’re ready to go.”
I followed Whitney out into the hall and down the stairs, automatically turning off lights as I went. “Where exactly are we going?” I asked when we stopped at the front door to put on our coats. Anticipating the temperature outside to be well below the sixty-five-degrees we were keeping the house heated at, I picked out a heavy gray peacoat and a black cashmere scarf.
Pausing halfway through buttoning up her own coat - a far less sensible albeit much more fashionable leather bomber jacket - Whitney rolled her eyes at me. “The Pier, obv.”
“The…The Pier?” I repeated weakly. Of all the bars in Camden, why did Whitney have to pick that one? What if Daniel was there? What would I say to him? What would he say to me ? After the way I’d embarrassed myself this morning, I wasn’t ready to face him yet. In fact, I was fairly confident I would never be ready to face him. Ever. “We can’t go to The Pier.”
A gust of crisp autumn air blew into the house as Whitney opened the front door. “Why not? I heard they might have a live band tonight and their drinks are cheap. Well, actually they’re free.” The porch light turned on, illuminating her grin. “At least for me.”
I balked in the doorway. “You can get free drinks anywhere.”
One dark eyebrow shot up. “I like The Pier. Is there a specific reason you don’t want to go there?”
I loved Whitney, but there were times when she could be a real pain in the ass. This was definitely one of them. “You know why.”
Her grin softened into a sly smile. “Your hot man friend probably won’t even be there, but if
Finally settling on a skintight blue dress for herself (after half a dozen wardrobe changes and two dramatic declarations of I have nothing to wear ) Whitney curled her hair into long, slinky waves and finished her makeup with a bold red lip.
Standing side by side when all was said and done, we studied our reflections in the bathroom mirror.
“We look badass,” Whitney decided.
“You were right,” I conceded as I twisted around and studied my outfit from the back. “This shirt does look awesome. But I feel weird not wearing a bra. Do you think anyone will notice?”
“Yes, because the first thought going through a guy’s mind when he sees you is going to be ‘why isn’t she wearing a bra?’” Whitney rolled her eyes. “Get real, Mo. If I had tits like yours, I would never wear a bra. Now repeat after me: I am sexy.”
I started to bite my lip, remembered the three layers of lip gloss Whitney had spent ten minutes painstakingly applying, and abruptly stopped. “I don’t know-”
Stepping behind me, Whitney grabbed my shoulders and gave me a tiny shake. “I know you don’t know. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met when it comes to books, Mo, but this” - she pulled on the hem of my shirt - “is my territory. Say it or I’m getting the silver dress out again.”
“That was a dress ?”
“Mo…”
“Fine.” With a sigh, I met my gaze in the mirror. “I am sexy.”
“Louder. And say it like you believe it. This is a confidence building exercise.” Her hair rippled as she shook her head. “Although why someone who looks like you needs confidence is beyond me.”
I frowned at my reflection. “I…am sexy. ”
“Was that a question or a statement?”
“I am sexy.”
“Louder!”
“I AM SEXY!” I shouted.
“There you go.” Grinning ear to ear, Whitney pinned her hands to her hips and rocked back on her sky high stilettos. “Now don’t you feel better?”
Staring at myself and yelling I am sexy made me feel like an idiot, but I wasn’t about to tell Whitney that. Not after she’d spent the better part of two hours playing the part of personal stylist. “Yes, I do.”
“Great. Then we’re ready to go.”
I followed Whitney out into the hall and down the stairs, automatically turning off lights as I went. “Where exactly are we going?” I asked when we stopped at the front door to put on our coats. Anticipating the temperature outside to be well below the sixty-five-degrees we were keeping the house heated at, I picked out a heavy gray peacoat and a black cashmere scarf.
Pausing halfway through buttoning up her own coat - a far less sensible albeit much more fashionable leather bomber jacket - Whitney rolled her eyes at me. “The Pier, obv.”
“The…The Pier?” I repeated weakly. Of all the bars in Camden, why did Whitney have to pick that one? What if Daniel was there? What would I say to him? What would he say to me ? After the way I’d embarrassed myself this morning, I wasn’t ready to face him yet. In fact, I was fairly confident I would never be ready to face him. Ever. “We can’t go to The Pier.”
A gust of crisp autumn air blew into the house as Whitney opened the front door. “Why not? I heard they might have a live band tonight and their drinks are cheap. Well, actually they’re free.” The porch light turned on, illuminating her grin. “At least for me.”
I balked in the doorway. “You can get free drinks anywhere.”
One dark eyebrow shot up. “I like The Pier. Is there a specific reason you don’t want to go there?”
I loved Whitney, but there were times when she could be a real pain in the ass. This was definitely one of them. “You know why.”
Her grin softened into a sly smile. “Your hot man friend probably won’t even be there, but if
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