Page 77 of Wicked Pickle

“Mmm,” Jenna says, “I think Marietta might be right.”

How can they say that? “I barely know him!”

Jenna sorts through my closet. “But don’t we all secretly want to tame the wild, reckless bad boy? Make him ours? Domesticate the beast?”

“I’m kinda all about the beast,” Marietta says. “Shame they always have to change back into a prince.”

Jenna shoots her a have-you-lost-your-mind look and pulls out a pale yellow dress with a deep neckline. “This one. Wholesome but with so much cleavage. Show him you have two sides.”

I do like that dress. And it’s long enough that I can keep my no-panties rule. “Okay. Let me put it on.”

I take it to the bathroom, not wanting them to notice that I indeed do not have underwear. I smooth it over my heavy duty bra. It has a nice waist and flares out fifties style. But the bodice has a triangular cutout that shows off a lot of boob.

It’s the right color for my hair and the waves. Nobody can be in siren red all the time.

I fiddle with my necklace and earrings before going back out. My friends have me rattled. Do I want Diesel to fall in love with me, at least eventually? It seems ridiculous. I’ve known him for a week, not counting the time we waited to see each other at the wedding.

There’s no way to predict what this thing is.

Our coffee date was nice, back to the easy chatter of the library. He was right. He was an asshole, and I didn’t accept his apology. We were going to have moments like this as our two worlds clashed.

But tonight, it will be steaks and seafood at a very nice restaurant. We’ve texted like normal people, arranging times and checking in with each other.

Maybe we are morphing into a couple. Early-stage relationship.

Shoot. I probablywillwant him to fall in love.

I can’t do that.

For one, I’m applying for three positions in government. None of them will work if I get arrested for public indecency or if there is too big a splash with tatted, motorcycle-riding Diesel around the poli-sci profs, all of whom have connections in my field.

A biker bar owner who probably commits a dozen questionable actions a day can’t be on my arm at political parties or election rallies.

I stare at myself in the mirror. Stop thinking ahead, Symphony. Just be happy. Enjoy him.

I cup my hand around my throat. I never would have guessed that would be so hot. I want it again. I’m not sure how to ask.

Marietta calls through the door. “Girl, he’s going to be here soon! Get out here!”

I open the door. She’s holding two shots. “Liquid courage.” She passes one to me.

I sniff it. “Fireball?”

“Yes! I bought some. It’s our lucky booze now! Besides, I’m trying to increase my tolerance. I want to keep up with the wild ones at the Leaky Skull.”

I down the shot and watch warily as Marietta takes hers. “When are you going back there?”

“Next time you do. I promise not to flash anyone.”

“We need to check with Diesel and Merrick before we go. We might be banned.”

“Oooh, do you think my boobs are on the wall? Like those pictures in convenience stores of shoplifters?” She seems taken with that idea.

Jenna comes to take our shot glasses. “What did you do with the real Marietta?”

Marietta shimmies her shoulders. “I think this was always me. And the switch has been flipped.”

Jenna and I exchange a glance.

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