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She giggles again. “No, dummy. Drake.”
I try to play it cool. “Oh, Drake? Yeah, he’s pretty good looking too, I guess.”
She puts her hands on her hips and adopts a mock serious tone. “Michelle Jane Gosset, don’t you lie to me.”
My cheeks flame, and I say, “Okay, fine. He’s hot.”
She nods, “That’s what I thought. That’s why I want you to wear this.”
She opens my luggage and digs through the clothes until she pulls out a slinky black cocktail dress. I buy the dress as part of a Halloween costume where I go as the Bride of Frankenstein. It’s short with a very low-cut bust and a slit up the left side. It’s designed to look very sexy, and I buy it as a joke because I go full-on horror with the costume, and I think the irony is funny.
I won’t be in costume tonight. The only thing I’ll have on my body is a nearly sheer covering of black fabric that looks like it was designed for a woman half my size.
“Courtney, come on,” I whine. “I can’t wear that.”
“You can, and you will, or I’ll have Drake come on and dress you himself. I suspect he’ll undress you instead, and then Cooper and I will have to have dinner ourselves since you two will be too busy eating each other.”
“Stop!” I say, giggling. “Courtney, look at him. There’s no way he’ll go for a girl who…”
Her hands are on her hips again, but she’s not smiling this time. “If you put yourself down again, Shelly, I swear to God?—”
“You’re right,” I say, lifting my hands to placate her before she launches into her favorite rant again. “I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”
“Don’t be,” she says. “He wants you. I can already tell.”
I don’t agree with her, but I decide to let the subject drop. Ten minutes later, I’m dressed, and Courtney and I are walking to the living room. As we’re walking, I overhear Drake say, “Thanks for the invite, Cooper. Courtney’s friend is hot as hell.”
I think I might die of happiness!
Chapter Two
Nobody calls me hot.
Courtney… Well, she’s incredibly hot. She’s slender with curves in all the right places. She has perfect boobs that are absolutely proportional to her body. She’s got an incredible heart-shaped ass that could make her millions if she decided to be a swimsuit model.
I’m not incredibly hot.
All right, don’t get me wrong. I’m comfortable with my body. It’s not the body of a supermodel, but it isn’t repulsive. I’m too tall and my frame is too large for someone to call me hot. It’s unlikely anyone would call me ugly, though.
I’m the friend.
What I mean is that if Courtney and I went to a bar, I’d be the friend of the girl guys want, not the girl. I’d still probably end up with one of the guys if I wanted to, but I wouldn’t be their first choice, if that makes any sense.
I’m not being down on myself. I’m happy with my body. I just know that it isn’t what people call hot. At least, until now. The idea that Drake calls me that is almost overwhelming. Plus, hecalled me that to Cooper. He didn’t know I could hear him, so it wasn’t just because he was horny, and I was available.
You know, I’m not going to tell you that I’m not a sexual being at all, but I will tell you that I’m more of a flirt than anything else. I enjoy flirting and it’s fun. I don’t really get all that riled up, though, in the horniness department. The reason that’s relevant to the situation at hand is that when we get home, I lie and say I’m tired from the road and need to take a shower and hit the hay.
What I really need to do is deal with the overpowering arousal I feel.
See, that never happens to me. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I masturbate sometimes. It’s never because I’m horny. It’s usually to blow off steam. A few times it’s because I’m angry and there’s nothing quite like an orgasm to get me past being pissed off before I do something stupid.
Anyway, I hurry to the shower, stopping by my room to grab my new bathrobe on the way. As I walk into the bathroom, I see my face.
Freaking crap! I’m deep red. I mean, I know there are times I blushed during dinner, and I know I was horny as heck the whole drive home after hearing him call me I’m hot but… Well, this is crazy. I look like I have a tomato for my head. What the heck is up with that? Of course, thinking about how Drake probably noticed the coloring on my cheeks just makes me more embarrassed. I stare at myself for only a second or two more before I strip as quickly as I can and step into the shower.
And then I scream.
I mean, I scream bloody blue murder.
