Page 27

“Roxie will figure it out. You’re going to need a cute bathing suit. One of those two-piece ones, do you have one?”

I bit my lip and shook my head. I hadn’t worn one since college. Miss Laverne caught on.

“You’re the same size as your cousin, Emmie; she’ll have one. She’s a little bit wild. I’ll call Emerance, and she’ll call Emmie. After all, that’s her namesake.”

Oh God. I was so screwed.

“I am so pissed at you. You’ve been home for over a month, and this is the first time you’ve come over for a visit.”

“I’ve texted you four times to meet up, and each time you had a date. Each time with a different guy.”

Emmie laughed. “I know, those dating sites are a blast.”

“I can’t believe you’re leading all those men on,” I shook my head as I sat on my cousin’s bed.

“What are you talking about? I set each one of them up with one of my friends—well, except for Earl. He brought an empty Coke bottle to dinner and continually spat out his chew. He was not friend-worthy.”

I shuddered.

“So, what’s up with you not having your own bikinis? You used to rock them?”

I watched as Emmie dug through one of her two dressers.

“I changed. I like one-piece swimsuits now.”

“You’re joking, right?” She asked as she looked over her shoulder. She threw two scraps of silver material at me. The bra hit me in the face.

I stared at the silver bikini with buckles on each hip and one strategically placed between the breasts. My brain had officially short-circuited.

Emmie turned around.

“I don’t know,” Emmie shook her head. “With your coloring, I think you need the one piece.”

“Yes! Yes! A one-piece. Definitely a one-piece.” I lunged off the bed and looked over Emmie’s shoulder, acting like she'd thrown me a life preserver.

She pushed through to the bottom of her drawer and pulled out what could generously be called a red swimsuit with white polka dots. It had more crisscross straps than a medieval corset.

“How the hell is this a one-piece?” I squawked. “It has less material than the bikini!”

“Oh, quit your bellyaching, my little lambchop. You need to try it on; then you'll see you're perfectly covered.” Emmie's grin turned wicked. “The next swimsuit is also a one-piece. But it's a thong. Want me to show you that beauty?”

“Good God, no! I am not wearing a thong-anything to Evie’s pool party.” She spun me around and shoved me toward her bathroom, her laughter floating behind me.

Fifteen minutes later, I was still wrestling with what appeared to be a very attractive string theory experiment. You'd think the problem would be that I was too big for the scrap of fabric, but no… I literally couldn't figure out what crissed and what crossed.

After approximately four hundred attempts, I finally cracked the code. I looked in the mirror and grudgingly admitted Emmie was right. Somehow, the strategic lacing had hoisted the girls up and locked them down. I could probably do backflips without a wardrobe malfunction.

Not that I planned to test that theory.

My absolute first priority was to find the biggest t-shirt in Tennessee to throw over this polka-dotted conspiracy. There was no way in hell I was going to wear this in front of Graham’s workmates, Miss Laverne, and Little Grandma. Of course, Little Grandma would probably just applaud.

My head shot up when I heard the banging on the door.

“I want to see.”

“In a minute,” I yelled.

“You can’t magic more material by taking longer. Get your cute tushie out here so I can see.”