Page 26 of Shield

She appraises me carefully, tapping a finger on her jaw. Her eyes light up. “I have just the thing! It’s a graffiti dress, and it’s stretchy and it’s super cute. It’s perfect for youandfor tonight!” She bolts toward her bedroom before I can protest.

Amelia picks up her shot glass and sips it gingerly, her face contorting. “What’s a graffiti dress?”

Olivia struts back into the living room with the look of a tigress, holding up something metallic. “This,” she announces, her voice dripping with triumph.

The dress glitters in her hands like a sequined disco ball, covered in bold splashes of graffiti-style colors. It’s short—very short—with wide shoulder straps and a plunging neckline.

“And I’m a C cup, thank you very much.” She winks as she holds the dress out for us all to view.

“Well, I’m a G cup,” I say flatly, shaking my head. “And that’s not happening. There’s no way I’m squeezing into that.”

“It’s stretchy!” she insists, tugging at the fabric to demonstrate. “It’s going to fit you like a glove and hug alllll the curves.”

“Yeah, like a sausage casing,” I mutter, downing another shot.

“Awww, come on,” she cajoles. “It’s on theme, it’s sparkly. I want you to stand out like the fucking star that you are!”

“Yassssss!” Blake claps and bounces up and down in his seat.

“Try it on! Try it on!” Amelia chants, loudly laughing.

Before I can argue anymore, Olivia grabs my arm and thrusts the dress into my hands, shoving me toward her bedroom. “No arguments. Go!”

With a resigned sigh, I strip down in her enormous bedroom and tug the dress on. To my surprise, it stretches overmy curves like a second skin. The sequins catch the light, and the bold graffiti pattern practically screams for attention. I turn toward the full-length mirror.

“Fuck, I look good,” I murmur, running my hands over the sequined fabric and turning to see the side view. My cleavage looks amazing, and so does my ass, though the hem barely skims past it.

Olivia comes in, peeking her head around the door. “Okay, good. You’re trying it on! And it looks fan-tab-ulous!”

She rummages through a jewelry box on her dresser and pulls out bright neon earrings that pick up the accents of the dress. “These will be perfect. There are bowls of jelly bracelets downstairs, so we’ll stack those on you, too.” She pulls my chain with the St. Michael the Archangel pendant out of the dress, the one I’ve been wearing since I got home, gives me a small smile and a wink, and tucks it back in. “We’ll just keep this right here for good luck. Ready?”

I sigh. What the hell, why not? I can’t remember the last time I got dressed up. Or went out. And this is exactly the kind of dress that will get me the attention of assholes that I can have fun ripping to shreds with Olivia, Blake, and Amelia.

Fueled by just enough alcohol and residual rage at Matti, I stride back into the living room to a chorus of hoots and hollers. Holding my hands out like a model, I turn in a slow circle then collapse on the couch, laughing and yanking on the hem. “This thing’s dangerous. One wrong move, and I’ll flash half the room.”

“Oh, you’re definitely wearing it,” Olivia laughs. She disappears into her room and comes back minutes later with a makeup kit. “And I’m doing your face! Smoky eye, eyeliner, neon accents, the works!”

“What shoes are you going to wear?” Amelia asks, reaching for the tequila bottle.

“I could wear the ones I wore to work,” I say, pointing at my bag.

Blake rolls his eyes. “You are the only woman I know who wears heels into work and then changes into sneakers for the rest of the day.”

“It makes sense. Heels for confidence, sneakers for survival,” I explain as Olivia dabs at my face with a makeup brush.

“But you can’t run in heels,” Olivia points out. “Hold still.”

I oblige. “No, but I can stab someone with the heel.”

She snorts. “Good point.”

Amelia bursts out laughing. “Is that why you do it? I’ve always wondered.”

I nod, and Olivia grabs my face and gives me a warning look. I still myself. “Yep, haven’t had to do it yet. But I’m ready for it.”

“God, if you keep moving…” Olivia grumbles.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” I laugh, trying not to move my mouth as she paints lipstick across it.

---