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I snorted and pocketed my phone, not responding to that. She had something up her sleeve. It was way more fun to find out in person than through text.
Strolling downstairs, I noticed I was in the best mood I’d ever been in since moving in. I was glad Steph had leached onto me.
“Hey!” I welcomed her inside, explored her outfit and took the rope she’d knotted at her waist in my hands, pretending to unravel it. “Nice. The boys will love an escort service like this.”
She wasn’t wearing a trench coat but a red cover up that barely hid the bikini underneath. It fitted perfectly with the colored streaks in her hair. She had a bag slung up her shoulder, a towel peeking out. She looked as if she’d planned for a day on the beach.
“Nope.” She threw her arms around my neck, surprising me with a tight hug before releasing me again. “But I am escorting you to your room to change.” She pushed a small plastic bag into my hands. Before I could look, she took my hand, led me upstairs and gestured for me to point the way.
Once in my room, she took a seat on my bed and tapped the sheets while she looked around. “I’ve never been up here. Never planned on it either.”
“Why? Not a fan of the Volt boys either?”
“As long as they let me use the hot tub, I’m okay with them.” She grinned and waggled her eyebrows when she conjured a bottle of wine out of her backpack.
“Hot tub?” I gulped, remembering the last time I saw someone use it.
“Yep. It’s relaxing.”
“And perfect to receive BJ’s,” I muttered under my breath.
Steph’s brows pinched together. “What?”
“Nothing,” I squeaked, holding the bag a little tighter.
“Anyway, go put it on. I want to see it on you,” she ordered, clapping excitedly.
“What is it?” I zipped it open to find black pieces of fabric.
“A swimsuit. Now, chop, chop. Dazzle me with my design.”
I unfolded the top and held it in front of me. Small diamonds sparkled at the edge of the…stars? It looked a tad too small for my breast size. Nerves grated my insides. “Wow, Steph! You made this?”
“I did! Got my fashion genes from my dads.” Steph continued, screwing the cap off and taking a pull of the bottle.
“Dads. As in…plural?”
“As in, my adoptive parents are so gay they didn’t even install a back door to our house.”
“Really?”
“No, Dita.” Steph fell down onto the mattress and cackled. “That was a joke.”
“Right.” Feeling dense, I hid my silly expression behind the closet door and wiggled out of my jeans skirt.
“Huh, even that didn’t weird you out?”
I peeked my head out. “Why would it?” I asked, and sensed her apprehension drift to the surface when her face morphed into an insecure expression.
She shrugged, swallowing another gulp of wine before elaborating. “Kids are cruel, Dita.”
“Pfft,” I scoffed, “Even grown-ups can be. Oh, wait, does Ares pass as a grown-up?”
Steph giggled and handed me the bottle without looking up. I took a couple of sips before I gave it back to her.
I untangled the top and fixed the triangles of fabric over my breasts, pulling the strings on my back tight. My size was a pain in the ass sometimes. I hated I needed to buy shirts a size up so they wouldn’t stretch over my chest. What made me happy, though, was that the nickname Ares gifted me with was as stupid as it was wrong.
My Cuban body was all curves and juice. My belly was overall flat, and my thighs were generous but fit. But I needed to keep dancing to stay that way, or I’d end up like my grandmother and her ample hips.
