Page 166 of Hot Mess
My plan to get through this brunch thing was to move slowly and as little as possible to prevent chafing. Since showing up to meet Danica’s familywithoutany pants wasn’t an option, I’d worn soft cotton boxers and yes, sweatpants, because jeans were out of the fucking question.
Technically, the pants were joggers. They’d cost me close to three hundred dollars at some fancy store that Amber, Katie and Maggie had dragged me to around Christmas to try to broaden my fashion horizons—a.k.a. get me out of my sad post-Dylan-and-Amber funk. But let’s be honest. They were sweats.
I could’ve just not come, but Danica had invited me, which felt like a major step coming from a girl who, just over a week ago, wouldn’t even go home with me after I got her off in a bar.
Turning down the invitation might’ve sent the wrong message. If I made up some excuse not to come, she might’ve thought I didn’t actually want to come, and if I told her I was afraid of dick bleed, it would’ve just made her feel bad about the whole dick/zipper thing all over again.
So I came.
In sweatpants, to meet her family.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt like a bigger asshole as I got out of her sister’s car and stood there looking up at the giant white mansion. I opened Danica’s door for her, and while Daniella headed up to the house, I snagged Danica’s hand and held her back.
“I feel like a dick,” I told her, taking off the cap I’d worn—specifically for eating in a restaurant and hopefully not being recognized.
Danica’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“I’m underdressed. You didn’t tell me your family’s loaded.” Not only was I in sweats, but I was wearing a T-shirt that didn’t exactly cover my tats, because that was pretty much the only thing that went with sweats in mid-summer. At least I hadn’t worn a wife-beater. “Not that I own a tux or anything, but I would’ve made a better effort than this. You know, if I could wear real pants right now.”
Her gaze swept down over me, and her whole body softened. “You look great.” She took my hand. “Your clothes probably cost more than mine.”
“I look like I put zero effort into impressing your family.”
“No, you look like a rock star chilling on a Saturday morning.” She smiled. “Don’t worry about it. My dad wears baggy jeans and goofy T-shirts with bad jokes on them, every day of the year. And my family isnotloaded. This is Aunt Margot’s fiancé’s house.He’sloaded. Come on.” She tugged me toward the house.
I sighed and went with her, looking up at the big white columns along the front of the house and rubbing a hand through my hat hair. I wondered if I should’ve buzzed it all off before I came. I wondered if I should’ve taken my tongue piercing out. Or scraped my tattoos off.
Weird.I didn’t usually get so self-conscious about my looks.
Actually, I never got self-conscious about my tattoos or how I dressed at all. I’d pretty much subscribed to the giving-zero-fucks method of caring what people thought about me, ever since I was about sixteen.
But I cared what Danica’s family was gonna think, apparently.
Her sister had disappeared into the house, leaving the front door open, and a woman appeared in the doorway as we approached. She was maybe late-forties, with dark hair in a sleek bob and flawless posture. She wore matching ivory-colored silk pants and blouse with a sash tied at the neck. And pearls.
Yup. I was totally underdressed.
“Aunt Margot,” Danica greeted her, handing her the pretty bouquet of flowers she’d brought, “good morning!”
“Bonjour,” her aunt said.
Margot. Not the one who made the baked goods, then, and not the one who owned the interior design firm. The other one.
Danica had already briefed me that there would be four of them, all sisters—her mom plus the three aunts.
“This is Ashley,” Danica said, just as her aunt’s gaze landed on me. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t exactly not smile, either.
“Bonjour,” she said. “Come in.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She stepped aside to let us in, and Danica steered me into the giant foyer, where we slipped off our shoes. I toed off my Vans, which meant I was now wearing dorky athletic ankle socks with my sweats.
Perfect.
Danica guided me into the posh living room, where a bunch of attractive, well-dressed women were gathered.
“Danica, baby,” one of them greeted her, swooping in to hug her.
