Pull You In (Rivers Brothers Book 3), стр. 38
"Okay, first, we covered this. You're pretty. Secondly, even if you weren't, beauty is subjective. Everyone has a different type. Or they don't care at all about the outside, and they like a good brain or sense of humor. Did you ever notice that the uber-hot Hollywood guys tend to have rather girl-next-door wives? They could have any superficially gorgeous woman in the world but there is something else that they love most about those other women."
"What kind of women have you seen Rush with?" I asked, a part of me needing the confirmation bias, needing to validate my insecurities, no matter how messed up that was.
"Honestly, he hasn't dated-dated much over the years. I mean there was one girl years back. I barely remember her. She was small and with like in-between colored hair. All I can seem to remember about her is that she hated mashed potatoes."
"How can you hate mashed potatoes?"
"I know, right? I think she was a sociopath. Potatoes are practically my love language. But yeah... he has always been kind of casual with women. I mean with his work schedule, it's no wonder. At our work and then helping out with King. No woman wants to be second fiddle to some guy's jobs. And, you know, the whole phone sex thing too. People get jealous. He always said he would hang up his phone when he found someone he was serious about. But yeah. He doesn't really have a type, I guess, because he's never been all that serious about anyone. I see what you're doing, by the way."
"I'm just trying to get you to see that Rush—who can have just about anyone in the world—isn't going to pick me. That's not me being insecure. It's just realistic. What?" I asked when she let out a long-suffering sigh.
"I'm coming over," she declared, and I could already hear her throwing some things together.
"What? Why?"
"Because we are going to have a girls night. And we are going to have a teen movie makeover complete with wardrobe montage. Then you will see how pretty you are. Put coffee on, okay byeeee," she said, hanging up before I could even think to object.
Adrenaline surged through my system as I hopped off my couch, looking down at my oversize, drag gray bathrobe, slipper sock-clad feet, reaching up to feel the messy bun my hair was twisted into.
"Oh, God," I grumbled, rushing across my apartment to throw on something a little more presentable than my sweats and giant sweater.
I ripped my hair out of the bun as I went back to the kitchen, making coffee, wiping down my counter, relocating the massive stack of angsty romances I'd been binge-buying online for the past week or so.
Just as I was setting out the milk in a dainty pink ceramic creamer I'd bought years before but never had a chance to use, there was a slamming sound on my door. Someone kicking.
I opened the door to find Fiona standing there with both arms draped in outfits, bags hanging off her wrists, a giant rolling suitcase at her side.
"Did you leave anything at home?" I asked, wide-eyeing the items as she burst into my apartment, spreading the clothes across the back of the couch, then choosing the kitchen table to spread out an assortment of makeup.
"Oh, please. No one would even notice I'd taken anything with me," she said, smiling. "For our anniversary years back, my man built me a massive closet to organize all my stuff. It has a Ferris-Heel."
"I'm sorry... a what?"
"A ferris wheel, but it is actually a slowly turning shelf for my favorite heels. And it is everything shoe-lovers dreams are made of."
"I, ah, I don't wear heels."
"Well, if you fit into mine, you will be tonight," Fee declared, giving me a wicked smile. "Oh, good. Fuel," she said, going over to the coffee machine, helping herself. "What are your opinions on Chinese food?"
"Um, wait, what?"
I asked, having a hard time keeping up with her.
"You know. Lo Mein, fried rice, spring rolls..."
"I, ah, I like it?" I half declared, half asked.
"I'm starving," she declared. "Hunter wasn't home to feed me. I didn't feel like taking my chances in the kitchen. Besides, eating alone isn't as fun as eating with a friend while you Sandy-fy her."
"Sandy-fy," I repeated, smiling.
"Minus the cigarette because, ew. The leather though... you could pull off some leather. I didn't bring any, though, I don't... oh wait."
"Oh God," I whimpered as she went back to her stack of clothes. "Ah, is that a bra?" I asked.
"It's a corset. Well, sort of. It's a fashion corset. So it doesn't have the boning. Which you don't need anyway."
"I really don't think I can pull off leather."
"Listen, Sandy, we don't know what you can pull off until we try. Now let me go all Frenchie on you," she declared, grabbing my shoulder, pushing me down into a chair.
I'm sure, at some point in my childhood, I'd had playdates with other girls my age. Maybe I even enjoyed it. But the older I got, the less I seemed capable of forming bonds with anyone, trusting that I could let anyone get close to me because of all the bullying, so I missed the whole 'fun with makeup and clothes' part of my adolescence and early adulthood. This was nice. Nicer than I could have ever expected.
"I always thought the girls' nights in movies and on TV were made up," Fiona said, seeming to read my thoughts. "I mean, I grew up in the woods with a zealot for a father. We didn't even have TV or friends. So when I got out of that world, and learned about the outside world, I had no experience with it myself, so I figured the girlfriend thing was just made up. Like how people in movies make this massive breakfast spread and then only take an