Page 48 of Heartsick & Lipsticks
SKYE
“This isn’t a date,”I insisted as Ri patted my face with a beauty blender. “I’m working. I don’t need makeup.”
“You are going to one of the premier social events of the year. I, as your best friend, soul sister, and fashion guru, in good conscience, cannot have you showing up looking blah.”
“Blah?” I repeated. “So, without makeup, I lookblah?” I wasn’t actually offended. I didn’t care if I looked blah as long as I could pay my bills. Blah was just fine with me.
“You know what I mean.” Ri rolled her eyes before wagging her brows. “This is black tie, babyyyy.”
“I’m sure it is for thegueststhat are attending, but I’m going to be working,” I repeated in vain for at least the dozenth time.
When Ri texted me earlier in the day to see if I was up for a wine and reality show binge Saturday night, I told her about the fundraiser. I could have just said I was working, and she would have been none the wiser. But deep down, I think I’d wanted her to insist on glamming me up.
The truth was, I was nervous to go after seeing the Google images of past years events.Annnd,I had really enjoyed the way that Nick looked at me when he saw me in the kitchen the morning he invited me to this shindig. I may or may not have replayed him telling me that I looked beautiful a thousand or so times in my head.
I totally had.
There was no way I was going to waste money on a new dress. And since I was curvier and about three inches shorter than Ri, none of her gowns would fit me. So, tonight I would be wearing my go-to LBD. It was an off-the-shoulder, form-fitting Ralph Lauren that hit me mid-calf. I’d picked it up for twenty bucks at a thrift shop seven years ago when I was room mom for Callie’s first grade class and they were having a Halloween party. Callie used to love black and white movies, and she wanted me to go dressed as Audrey Hepburn fromBreakfast at Tiffany’s. One pair of long black gloves and a stacked string of pearls later I was Holly Golightly.
I hadn’t worn the LBD since, but it was the only designer dress I owned, and I tried it on last week. Thankfully, it still fit. It was a little tighter than it had been, but as long as I didn’t pop the zipper, I was all good.
“Where’s Callie Cat?”
“She’s spending the night at Jenny’s.”
Jenny was Callie’s Rihanna. The two girls had met in preschool and had been besties ever since. I loved that she had a relationship that mirrored what I had with Ri. I wished everyone did.
“And Lola is out, too?” she asked before demonstrating the shape she wanted my lips in so she could line them.
“Yeah, she went to an escape room with Ron.” I copied her expression, my mouth in the shape of an o.
“Ron? I thought she and Lionel were getting serious.”
Unlike Ri, Mom didn’t go through men at whiplash speed, so I understood the confusion. Usually, Lola’s relationships lasted months, not weeks or days, as was the case with my childhood best friend.
I waited until she finished drawing on my lips before explaining, “She stopped seeing Lionel before you left for India. When you were gone, she was hanging out with Carl. And now it is Ron.”
“Do we like Ron?”
Instead of answering, I just gave her a look that said it all.
“Got it,” she acknowledged.
My mom had always had a type, and it wasn’t great. She was a sucker for a man who had a very high opinion of himself. The only problem was that they never had anything to back up their overinflated egos. They all loved the sound of their own voices and had opinions about everything.
Actually, now that I thought about it, that must have been why Nick rubbed me the wrong way when Callie would play the podcasts. He probably reminded me, on a subconscious level, of all the men I’d had to listen to all my life.
It was so strange to think about just how different he was from the impression I’d had of him. I’d been working for him for a month now. Everything I’d observed about him was the opposite of his cocky, blowhard persona. Thinking the words blow and cock in the same sentence had my mind going to places I needed to avoid at all costs. At least if I wanted to keep my job and sanity.
Had anyone ever gone certifiably insane from repressed sexual desire? If not, I might need to offer myself as a case study. Since meeting Nick, I couldn’t keep a train of thought. I was having spontaneous visions of the X-rated variety. On more than one occasion while I was on shift, I found myself paranoid that he might know how I felt. I’d had more internal conversations where I argued about whether or not the sparks that flew whenever I was in the same room with him were delusion or reality.
As if reading my mind, Ri picked up a clean eyelash wand and began to brush my brow as she asked, “Okay, so what is Nick Locke like in his natural habitat?”
“I don’t really see him that much since I work nights.”
“Do you two…talk?” she emphasized the word.
“Sometimes.” I hadn’t seen much of him since the morning he’d asked me about this fundraiser. I’d been doing my best to avoid him because I didn’t trust myself. Every time we spoke, I revealed something personal about myself. And what was even worse than that was my ever-growing crush on him. The line between professional and personal kept getting fuzzier.
