Morgan
One of our bathroom lights flickers while Stacy and I crowd into our single bathroom. Chloe’s on her way but running late from the office. It’s sweet that she’s coming all the way over here to get ready with us.
Stacy grins at me, holding three different shades of lipstick next to my face before clicking her tongue. “You’ve gotten some nice sun this summer. I’m thinking you might want to try out this bright red. I know you prefer pink but it’ll match your complexion so well. Ugh. You’ve got such gorgeous skin, Morgan. You were born to be a model.”
My fingers lift subconsciously, brushing against my jawline. Today had definitely not left me full of confidence. “You don’t think I look swollen or anything?” I ask hesitantly.
After my confrontation with Charlotte, I came home and spent the better part of the afternoon staring intently at myself in the mirror picking apart every flaw in an attempt to pinpoint whether Hanson was right about me gaining weight.
If anything, I looked even more slender than normal, to the point where even I was a little disturbed by the gauntness of my eyes and collarbone.
Stacy frowns at me. “God, no. You’re flawless, you know that. Since when do you doubt yourself? Chloe might be Miss Independent, but you’ve always been Miss Confident.”
Had I? I felt so out of touch with myself lately. There had been a time when I loved what I saw in the mirror and when I felt proud of myself for pursuing my modeling aspirations . . . but I hadn’t had that feeling in a while. Being with my rockstar was the last time I remember feeling like myself—strong and sensual and confident.
When did I let that get stripped from me?
“Right,” I say with forced certainty. “I was just fishing for compliments.”
“That’s my girl,” Stacy teases. “Now, what do you think of my outfit?”
Stacy spins in a circle, showing off a modest lace dress that falls just an inch or two above her knees and doesn’t show off too much cleavage. Her hair is pulled into an elegant bun, her makeup subtle but glowing. Even though she claims that I’m the gorgeous one, it’s clear as day that Stacy is a natural beauty with her creamy white skin, sparkling hazel eyes and thick brunette curls.
She’s short, curvy and cute. Features that are only accentuated by her stubborn sass. Stacy is going to make some lucky guy very happy someday. But someday will never come if she keeps covering up.
“Your date would enjoy your company a bit more if you were willing to show off that body of yours,” I say tugging on the cuff of her full-length sleeve.
“We’re not all supermodels like you,” she says playfully, gesturing at the skimpy couture dress I’m wearing.
The neckline of the red gown plunges between my small breasts which are taped perfectly into place—a little runway trick I’d picked up. I wanted this blind date of mine to drool over me. God knows I could use the attention after all the rejection lately.
So what? I wanted this guy to like what he saw—but I wouldn’t let him have it. Not unless he helped me forget my sexy rockstar . . . then maybe.
I’d just have to hope he had some industrial glue dissolvent to help me free my boobs first.
We migrate to our tiny kitchen once we’re dressed. Stacy starts to clean up our mess from earlier. “Did you get any pizza?” she asks, eyeing the box of leftovers trying to remember how much of it she consumed herself.
I snap the lid closed to distract her from the greasy box. “I’ve got to keep up my figure for my auditions this week. Besides, Chloe will be here soon and we’ve got to save her some.”
Stacy frowns at me. “But I got extra mushrooms and peppers just for you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be craving it tonight after our amazing triple date.”
She laughs, concern fading. “If you say so.”
The door bangs open and we turn in time to see Chloe burst through, slamming it shut with a distressed look on her face.
“Guys,” she pleads with a gesture to her buttoned blouse and office-worthy skirt. While her outfit is adorable for the workday, it isn’t quite suitable for a red-hot date at La Folie. “I need your help!”
“You sure do!” Stacy quips before I can stop shaking my head at Chloe’s ensemble.
“Look at you!” I scold. “You look like you’re headed to the convent, not to a date with your billionaire. Get over here so we can fix you.”
With a giggle, Chloe nods and rushes over, allowing us to take her into our arms as we start pulling at her clothing, replacing her office-chic look with one that will drive Donovan wild.
By the time we’re finished fluffing her hair and doing her makeup, I realize I’ve laughed more in the last forty-five minutes than I have in the last three weeks. It’s hard not to feel a little optimistic about tonight when I’ll be spending it with my best friends. I cling to the feeling that they’re right, all I need is a new man to help me forget the last one.
Besides, what do I even know about my rockstar? Sure, he knows how to use his hands and his smile will live in a dusty corner of my memory forever, but we only had a few minutes of perfection together. Maybe in the real world we’d have nothing in common other than animalistic attraction.
My heart thuds in protest.
Fortunately, I don’t have much time to listen to my heart. Our dates await!
Before I know it, we’re climbing out of our Uber, walking down the Manhattan sidewalk arm-in-arm, heels clicking against the concrete beneath us.
“It’s so good to see you smiling again,” Chloe murmurs into my ears. “You’re going to love Eric. He’s funny and smooth and really good looking. He can be a bit immature but I’m sure he’s looking forward to this.”
“I’m not looking to marry the guy, I just want to forget about my rockstar.”
“Well, that’s why I picked Eric. He’s always a good time and he’s a musician too!” Chloe says enthusiastically.
I bite back a groan, knowing she’s just trying to be helpful. But the last thing I want is another smooth-talking artist. My heart can’t handle it.
“Perfect,” Stacy gushes, not noticing my expression of uncertainty. “Tomorrow you’ll wake up freshly laid and full of smiles.”
“Hey now, what kind of girl do you think I am?” I tease, making both of my friends laugh.
As we walk up to the front of La Folie, I recognize Donovan instantly. He’s not the kind of guy you forget, with those powerfully broad shoulders and stern eyes that glow like blue embers. Chloe is one lucky lady. Standing beside him is a nice but boring looking man about Donovan’s age in a tailored suit.
“Ladies,” Donovan greets us coolly, striding by Stacy and me to take Chloe into his arms. In one fluid movement, he dips Chloe backward and plants a deep kiss on her lips that makes me want to swoon and barf, simultaneously.
Ugh. To have what they have . . .
I push away the lingering insistence of my rockstar’s lips in the back of my mind, refusing to allow him to bother me tonight.
“My name is Tom,” the man in the suit is saying to Stacy when I stop watching Chloe and Donovan’s embrace and turn around. “You must be Stacy?”