Page 92 of Wardrobe Malfunction

His sister’s getting married, and he didn’t tell me. Okay, that’s not such a massive thing because he’s a man, and men don’t think like women.

But Mr. I Don’t Take Women Home doesn’t want to take me with him? Well, okay, he didn’t exactly say that. But he didn’t say he wanted to take me either. He didn’t say anything.

I mean, rationally thinking, he probably hasn’t asked because I pushed to keep us a secret, and if I go to his sister’s wedding, we definitely wouldn’t be a secret…which brings me to the fact that Natasha knows!

How many other people has he told?

And why do I feel so weird and bent out of shape about this?

Why is it bothering me so much that he hasn’t asked me to his sister’s wedding?

I’m being stupid.

I must be due for my period. I’m hormonal. It’s the only reasonable explanation for why I’m acting like a wack job.

Because, honestly, I’m not bothered that he hasn’t asked me.

I’m not bothered at all.

Vaughn

Charly’s acting weird. She’s been weird since last night. It’s like she’s here, but she’s not actually here.

I’ve asked her countless times if she’s okay, and I get the same answer every time.

“I’m fine.”

Like now, we’re in my trailer where she’s stitching up a shirt that got ripped in a fight scene, and I’ve been talking to her, but she’s not actually listening. She’s doing the ums and the ahs in all the right places, but I know she’s not taking in a fucking word I’m saying.

“So, yeah, I was thinking of asking Natasha about the three of us having a threesome. What do you think, babe?”

“Hmm.”

“Or we could have a foursome with her husband. I’ll do Natasha. You do Carter. How does that sound?”

“Mmhmm.”

See what I mean?

I get up from the sofa and walk over to the dining table. Sitting down in front of her, I pull the shirt from her hands.

“Hey! I nearly stuck myself with the needle then!”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” She pulls the shirt back from my hands.

“I just suggested having a threesome with Natasha or maybe a foursome with her hubby, and your responses were all hmm and mmhmm.”

“You want to have a three-way with me and Natasha?” she all but yells at me.

“No, I don’t want to have a three-way, you fucking tool. That’s my way of proving you haven’t been listening to a word I said, and you haven’t since yesterday.”

“Did you just call me a fucking tool?” She frowns.

“What is going on with you? Why are you acting all weird?”

“I’m not,” she says with shifty eyes. Looking down at the shirt, she carries on with sewing it.