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“After I saw it in the store on Wednesday, I just knew you had to have it.”
“I can’t wear this,” I tell her, scrunching my nose. The dress is lovely, but on my frame, it won’t even go past my nipple. “It’s tiny.”
“It’s your size,” she comments, moving towards me and tugging on the tag to show me. Taking it from my hand, she drapes it across my bed before guiding me to the chair at my vanity and pushing me into the seat. “I’m going to do your hair and make-up because I don’t trust you to do your own in time.”
“Okay,” I grumble, watching as she gets to work laying out all the products. I hadn’t even realised she’d brought them into my room.
Noah comes in an hour later, passing us both a glass of wine on Betty’s request. He’s dressed in a plain black t-shirt and black jeans that fit his tall frame perfectly. His blond hair is smoothed back off his face, and he smiles widely at me while Betty paints my face.
“Are we all excited?” he asks, winking at me when I groan.
“Ecstatic,” I deadpan, closing my mouth quickly when Betty whacks me on the head with the palette in her hand. She does a few more swipes, stepping back to inspect her work with squinted eyes before turning me to the mirror and grabbing my hairdryer out.
My make-up looks lovely, if not a bit much for my usual go-to of mascara and lip gloss. My eyes are shadowed with browns and black, and a heavy winged liner while my lips are painted in a crimson red, the colour similar to fresh blood.
When she finishes my hair, she twists it into a half up and half down with a claw clip while letting the rest fall into big curls down my back.
“You look beautiful, Fallon,” Noah tells me, handing me my dress. I grimace at the material, but stomp into the bathroom and strip my towel off before sliding into underwear and placing the dress over the top.
“I look naked,” I huff when I step out of the room doing a spin so they can both get a look at me. Noah groans, running a hand over his face and muttering something that I can’t make out while Betty squeals before letting out a great wolf whistle at me.
“You look fucking hot.”
“This dress falls all the way to my arse crack,” I comment, turning again to show her the open back that stops just above my black underwear, in case she missed it the first time. She only whistles again. Noah shoves a bottle of wine in my hand before downing the beer in his.
“You’re both going to be the death of me,” he grumbles, moving out of my room while Betty shouts happily after him.
“This is going to be the best night ever.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Sweatclingstomyskin as we make our way through the club. I take a sip from my straw, trying and failing to cool my body with the chilled vodka. Betty and Noah chatter happily behind me, though, I can barely hear them over the sound of the drums and bass that thumps through the room, vibrating the walls and floor.
Adam is here somewhere, though, I can’t say I’m in any rush to find him and get this double-date thing started. My body sways with the music, the alcohol already buzzing through my system when we hit the dance floor.
People dance around us, their bodies moving in time with the music, and I’m more than happy to lose myself in the moment alongside them.
Noah comes beside me, grabbing my arm and spinning me outwards before tugging me back into his body in a showy display. My head falls back as a laugh leaves me.
If we could just do this all night, then I’ll be a happy girl.
But as with all good things, it must come to an end.
Adam finds us, a wide smile on his face as he takes in my friends and I dancing around. He’s dressed in a plain black t-shirt and black jeans, and his hair falls into short curls dropping over his brow.
“Hey,” he shouts over to me, reaching out to pull me to him. I shake him off, spinning around and letting Noah guide me into his body so we can continue dancing. It’s one thing to grind all over your best friend, and a completely other to grind on a guy who gives you the creeps. “I’m going to get a drink; do you want one?”
I shake my head, telling him no thanks, but he tugs at my hand anyway, pulling me with him. I try to shake him off, but his grip is harsh and unrelenting all the way to the bar. When he lets go, I hop up onto a stool, calling the bartender over.
“I’ll get it for you,” Adam tells me when I order a glass of wine and spin on my seat, watching the crowd dancing around.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asks, staring at me curiously. His eyes glance down my top, lingering on the curve of my cleavage, and I want to curse myself and Betty for ever putting this dress on.
“It’s not that, it’s just I’m shit at dates.”
“I get that,” he answers, thankfully not catching on to my lie. I can’t stand the guy. There’s just something so off about him. “Well, maybe I can change your mind tonight.”
