Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
The brunette’s jaw drops. “No way! Oh my god.” She snickers out a mean giggle before adding in a softer voice, “Well, he certainly upgraded with you, didn’t he?”
My eyes snap to her profile, narrowing in instant hatred. I’m already well on my way to hating the other woman, too, when she says, “I mean, yeah. But seriously, she’s so pathetic it’s embarrassing, you know?” She fluffs her luscious, perfectly wavy blond hair. “I have no idea how a nine like Zack didn’t see that he could pull way better than a five like her.”
Brunette snorts. “Five on a good night. And tonight is not a good night.” She glances toward the great lawn. “Did you see that pink monstrosity she was wearing? She looked like a shredded vagina with hemorrhoids come to life or something.”
They titter—meanly—and then Evil Bitch Who is Clearly the Woman who Fucked Keely’s Ex in Their Bed and is Now Pregnant with Twins, hisses, “Stop. We shouldn’t make fun of her. It isn’t nice to punch down.”
“No, it isn’t,” a small, shattered voice whispers from my right elbow.
I look down, stomach bottoming out as I see Keely beside me, holding two flower crowns. Tears fill her big blue eyes, spilling down her cheeks as the Evil Ones turn to stare down their noses at her.
Neither of them seems truly surprised to see her, though they do a decent job of pretending to be as they murmur, “Oh, hey,” and “Wow, didn’t see you there.”
But they did see her there.
They knew she was here, listening, the entire time, way before I did. They probably knew I was listening, too.
But just in case, I make it clear that I was by saying, “You’re bad people. And dumb as rocks. Vaginas don’t get hemorrhoids. That’s asshole business, you assholes.” I wrap an arm around Keely’s waist. “Come on, pumpkin. Let’s leave these idiots to their idiot business.”
“We said we were sorry,” Brunette calls after us before she and Evil Preggers start laughing again.
“No, they didn’t,” Keely mutters, tears still spilling down her pink cheeks. “They didn’t say they were sorry. And they aren’t sorry. They’re horrible and mean and…right.” She pulls in a shuddery breath, sobbing harder as she adds, “They are. They’re right. I look like a shredded vagina!”
“You do not,” I say, pulling her behind the ice cream stand as several passersby arch eyebrows in our direction. Once we have a bit of privacy, I turn to face her, squeezing her shoulders as I promise, “You don’t. You look like a boisterous, happy little flower having a fun night. So, don’t let those freaks ruin it.”
“A flower looks like a vagina,” she says, continuing to sniffle. “You basically said the same thing they did, just in a nicer way.”
“I did not,” I insist, though now that I think about it, I can see where she’s coming from, I guess. “But whatever, it doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Who gives a shit what they think?”
“I don’t care what they think,” Keely says, swiping at her tears with the back of her hands. “I care what I think. And I think they’re right. I’m a five, a lousy five, who’s never going to find someone to bang for fun, let alone for love, because I’m a… I’m a dandelion in a rose garden.”
“I like dandelions,” I assure her. “Dandelions are beautiful. And edible. You can eat the leaves and the flowers.”
“Great, I’ll remember that if I’m lost and starving on someone’s front lawn,” she says dryly, making me laugh.
I stop when it becomes clear she’s still down in the depths of despair.
“Seriously,” she adds. “New Orleans is full of drop-dead gorgeous women who know how to dress and hold themselves and take care of themselves. How is a genetically average human being with no fashion sense and a demanding job supposed to keep up, let alone stand out?”
“Hey, stop,” I say, bending until my face is level with hers. “That’s not true. You’re not average. You’re cute as a button.”
And she is, but…
“But,” she insists, reading my mind.
I curse my shitty poker face, but for once, it might be a blessing in disguise. I mean, I was just thinking how much I’d like to pull a Straight Guy with a Queer Eye on my bestie’s ass. I was going to hold off mentioning anything until she was more secure in herself, but maybe a makeover is just what she needs to blossom into her new era.
One in which she looks less like a literal blossom…
“But you don’t have a lick of fashion sense,” I say, pushing on before her face can crumple again. “But luckily, you have a best friend who does, so here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go have fun, dance around the fire, and forget our troubles. Then, tomorrow, we’re going to have brunch at my place and discuss our makeover strategy.”