Skylar slings her arm around me and hugs me tight. “He’s an idiot, Will. He’s one of those stupid, pencil-dicked wannabes all woman handle at one stage in their lives. It’s like we can’t enter womanhood until we’re taken down our share of chauvinist pigs.”
Her reply warms my heart, but it can’t hide the facts. “He’s right, though. I am curvy.”
There’s no denying who I am. This is me. I’m curvaceous, loud, and sometimes a little wacky, but that’s okay, because I am happy with who I am, so isn’t that all that should matter?
“I just wish while he was judging me, he picked up some of my other great qualities, like that I’m healthy and work out regularly. That I run faster than the wind and fill a bra like no other.”
Skylar laughs. “Unless they get help.” She wiggles her double Ds, shifting the mood from tense to playful. “And don’t forget dancing, Will,” she points out. “Elvis was right; when you dance, the entire world fades into the background. I cry every single time I watch you perform.”
Her confession fills my eyes with moisture. It also reminds me of all the things Elvis yelled while charging for the reporter. He defended me during a live broadcast on one of the most important days of his career. He risked everything important to him for me—for me.
Now I need to make the same sacrifice.
“Where are your supplies?”
When Skylar stares at me with a stupid look on her face, I’m tempted to return her slap upside the head, but with things still touchy between us, I hold the urge back—just.
“Your 69er body paint? Is it here or in Picky McFlicky’s room?”
I’m in her closet digging through a mountain of orange and navy pompoms before all my questions are answered.
“Here, let me.” Skylar’s hip barge sends me sprawling onto my ass, but it also spreads the most mammoth smile across my face. I’m not appreciating the zap zinging through my wrist from my bad landing; I’m loving the super-sized bottle of body paint Skylar is grasping.
Just before she hands it to me, she yanks it back. “You’re not planning to streak, are you?”
Waggling my brows, I snatch the paint out of her hand. “I considered it for a minute, but when I realized you’dneverspeak to me again if I got us permanently banned from the stadium, I gave it a second thought. It didn’t sound as good the second time around.”
“Lucky, as there’s no coming back from a lifetime ban.” After wiping her brow like she does any time she’s fretting about an exam, she asks, “So whatisthe plan?”
I nudge my head to the waste bin. “Grab our tickets first, then I’ll fill you in on all the details.”
She gags when she sees how overflowing the bin is. “Seriously, Will! Would it kill you to take out the trash? You’re disgusting!”
Although she is joking, her rile makes the perfect idea pop into my head.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Willow
“Pull over here; we’ll walk the rest of the way.”
Even with the game in full swing, traffic is backed up for miles. The army of navy and orange unable to secure tickets is lining the street. I’m glad to see the 69ers haven’t lost any fans from their recent poor performances.
When the cab driver does as requested, I hand him the last of the bills in my purse. It’s above the fare cited on the meter, but he deserves a generous tip for getting us to the stadium as quickly as he did. I’m also filled with energetic beans. It’s lucky I’m not as wealthy as Oprah, or I’d be handing out cars like they’re lollipops.
You win a car! And you win a car! Everyone in the tri-state area wins a car!
Oprah’s voice fades from my ears when the ticket attendant’s third attempt to scan our tickets fails. “The barcode is damaged.” I act innocent when she asks, “Is that pizza grease?” She drags her cheesy fingers down her pants before lifting her eyes to mine. “Do you have an online version I can scan?”
“A what?”
“An online version,” Skylar explains. “When Elvis gifted you the tickets, was it via email?”
She curses when I shake my head.
The ticket attendant gives me a sympathetic look before handing me back our tickets. “I’m sorry. If I can’t scan the ticket, I can’t grant you access to the stadium.”
“It’s alright, I understand.”
