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I study her for a moment. The deep berry color will probably look fantastic on her tanned skin. It’ll be a nice contrast to my paler complexion. “Thanks. I’d like to expand and use different models occasionally.”
“Anytime.” She pauses and sweeps her gaze over me. “You’re the brand, though. People follow to see you wear the stuff.”
“I know. A little variety once in a while would be great.” I pass her a lip liner that should match the gloss.
“Totally.” She bumps me out of the way and leans into my mirror to line her lips. I need a bigger mirror. One day.
When she’s finished, she poses and blows a few fake kisses my way. I flick on two of my ring lights and adjust them to a flattering angle, then pull out my cell phone. “Can you give me a natural smile?”
“What? You don’t like my dick-sucking-lips pose?” She acts out the scenario.
“Well, my audience is women, not dirty old men, so no.”
She giggles and I grab a few nice shots. “Perfect,” I praise, checking the photos.
“I bet you have more creepy male lurkers than you realize,” she says, peering over my shoulder at the photos.
“If they really enjoy watching a stranger compare shades of lipstick, more power to ’em, I guess.” I shrug. Whatever helps my burgeoning makeup influencer empire grow.
“Seriously. Didn’t you hear about that country singer who got abducted by one of her Instagram stalkers or something? It was scary.”
“Maybe. I haven’t had time to pay attention to a lot of news lately.”
“Girl, what am I gonna do with you?”
I expertly dodge the question by asking, “Ready to go?”
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Amanda curls her lip in disgust as she sweeps her gaze over my outfit. “To a clubhouse party? No one’s gonna let you ride the D dressed like that.”
That’s the whole point.
I may have changed my mind about attending the party, but I’ll be damned if I’m digging out my club-whoring clothes or stupid too-high heels that are impossible to walk in at the clubhouse’s rustic property. Nope. I no longer pick my outfits according to what will please the male gaze. I wear what makes me happy. And tonight, that’s my favorite skinny jeans, a long, cozy, cable-knit sweater with a cowl neck and little pockets in the front, and a pair of knee-high boots. No freeze-my-ass-off short skirts to show off my legs or invite people to touch me. No belly-button-baring tops. No cleavage on display.
I choose to wear makeup, though. I’m not a savage.
When it’s obvious I’m not changing into something more revealing, Amanda sighs. “Well, the olive-green color is pretty on you. It makes your eyes sparkle.”
“Thanks.” I grab my coat with the hole in the elbow and toss it over my arm. “Ready?”
“Yessss.” She heaves a dramatic sigh. “I’m so ready. I need to let loose. And since you’re apparently still boycotting dick, I’m happy to take your share.”
I chuckle. “Well, you’re headed to the right place.”
“Are you sure you want to drive?” she asks as she carefully clomps down the stairs.
Another reason to avoid heels—navigating stairs is so much easier without them.
“I don’t mind.” Plus, that way I won’t be stranded if she wants to spend the night. I’m not staying over or sleeping in anyone else’s bed. Period.
The temperature must’ve dropped fifteen degrees since I got home from work. I shrug into my coat and we hurry to my little Mazda hatchback, throwing ourselves inside and slamming the doors shut.
Please let the heater work tonight.
The engine turns over. After a few tense, questioning moments, actual warm air flows from the vents.
“Phew. I was worried it might be a chilly ride.”
Amanda chuckles. “My sunroof is stuck. If we get another big snow storm, I’m screwed.”
We have to pass Empire Med on our way to the clubhouse. My darkened clinic sits next door to the massive, sprawling brick hospital. Amanda stares at the medical complex as we pass. “How’s work going? Do you still like your job?”
“I really do,” I answer without hesitation. “It’s hard and some of my patients are difficult, but I love helping them make progress and heal.”
“So, it was worth finishing school? You don’t regret all that time you wasted on studying?” A mixture of disbelief and disgust creeps into her tone.
“Not for a second. It wasn’t a waste.” I pause, considering how to express my thoughts without hurting her feelings. Amanda dropped out of college in her first semester. She bounces around from one low-paying job to another, living off boyfriends and sometimes her parents. “I wish I’d gotten serious about school sooner and finished on time. I could’ve been a lot farther along now.”
“Farther along in what?”
I glance over at her. “In life? My job? Maybe drive a nicer car. Live in a decent neighborhood. Own a house instead of renting.” I take a breath and try to focus on the positive. “But I’m getting there. I’m untangling all my bills and student loan debt and slowly paying everything down.” Turns out creditors really don’t like it when you stop paying your bills and move around a bunch so they have to track you down. And I discovered the hard way that student loans will haunt you to the ever-loving grave.
