Page 54 of Rules

"That man wants you," Auntie continues. "I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. Like he's memorizing every inch."

"And the way he stutters whenever you're wearing that green sundress," Mary adds. "That's not disinterest, honey."

I feel a flicker of hope, which I immediately try to squash. "Even if you're right, what am I supposed to do? Chase after a man who explicitly told me to stay away?"

"Absolutely," they chorus.

"You need to take matters into your own hands," Auntie says decisively. "Show him exactly what he's missing."

Mary nods enthusiastically. "You initiate Operation Sheriff Seduction."

"WHAT?" I protest, though the idea sends a not-unpleasant warmth through me.

"You need to up your game," Auntie agrees. "When's the last time you bought new lingerie?"

"You need to work what your momma gave you." Mary says, eyeing my outfit critically. I'm wearing my usual day off clothes—jeans and a t-shirt. "Now, answer the lingerie question."

"I'm not discussing my underwear in public," I hiss, glancing around nervously.

"Fine, we'll discuss it while shopping," Mary says, already signaling for the check. "Because that's what we're doing next."

"I have to—"

"Frank," my Auntie's talking into her phone. "Please, go over and get Joey, we're going into shopping mode here. Yes, she needs a full-on makeover."

"I don't need a makeover," I protest weakly.

"Darling," Auntie pats my hand, "you're a beautiful young woman with a wonderful figure, but you dress like you're trying to hide it. He knows what he likes, now it's time to kick it into acting on what he likes."

"Exactly," Mary agrees. "Nothing extreme—just some strategic enhancements. A push-up bra can change your life."

"And a good lipstick," Auntie adds. "I'm thinking something bold. Red, maybe."

"And a skirt with a high slit—"

"I cannot believe we're having this conversation," I groan, covering my face.

"Believe it, sweetheart." Auntie stands, smoothing her skirt. "A little bit of this and a little bit of that and he'll be at a loss for words."

Mary grins wickedly. "Time to unleash your inner femme fatale."

"I don't have an inner femme fatale," I mutter, but I allow them to pull me from the booth anyway.

"Every woman does," Auntie says, linking her arm through mine. "Some just need help finding her."

Three hours later, I sink onto a bench outside the third boutique we've visited, surrounded by shopping bags. "I think you've both lost your minds."

"Maybe," Mary says cheerfully, "but you're going to look incredible."

I peek into the bags with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. A push-up bra that creates cleavage I didn't know I could have. A green wrap dress that Auntie insisted brings out my eyes. Jeans that Mary claims make my ass look "criminal." And the coup de grâce—a red lipstick that made both women high-five when I tried it on.

"Get in here, Ruth, this outfit is the one." Auntie Irene yells from inside the store.

Sighing and grabbing the bags, I stand and drag myself into the store.

"Look," Mary and Auntie Irene step aside from a mannequin wearing a one-piece black dress that's cut high in the front with a swooping neckline. On the floor are a pair of boots I'm certain my calf won't fit into.

"THAT?" I drop the bags.

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