Page 39 of Pipe Dreams
“Oh.” Becca sniffed. “Tonight just got so much less interesting than I thought it was. Too bad I’m not supposed to drink. Georgia—come here, honey. Let me fix your mascara.”
Her friend turned around. “Did I goof it up?”
“Not yet, baby doll. But you’re probably going to. Let Auntie Becca do that.”
“You have no confidence in me!” Georgia complained. But she handed over the mascara wand.
“I have every confidence in you,” Becca cooed, tilting Georgia’s chin so she could apply the mascara. “Except when it comes to fashion and makeup. Now, Lauren! Let’s see that blue dress.”
“I’m not wearing it.”
“Let’s see it before you decide.”
It was probably time to settle her own fashion crisis, so Lauren carried the blue dress into the bedroom where she donned a strapless bra. Then she shimmied into the blue dress, and the silk was cool against her skin.
“I’ll zip you,” Ari offered, hustling to help. “Whoa! This fits you perfectly. When did you wear this last?”
Lauren did the math. “Three years ago.”
“It’s stunning. Guys—look at this.”
Georgia and Becca stuck their heads through the bedroom doorway. “Wow!” Georgia said, while Becca made “hummanah-hummanuh” noises.
Lauren went to stand in front of the full-length mirror. “Still fits,” she said.But not for long. She put a hand over her flat stomach. If everything went according to plan, she wouldn’t be the same dress size in the fall.
Now there was a wild, thrilling idea. It was almost exciting enough to get her through the next few hours.
Almost.
“Youhaveto wear that one,” Ari said, appearing behind her in the mirror. “It’s gorgeous. Either Beak got very lucky with the fit, or he’s missed his calling as a fashion consultant.”
Lauren snickered. “I think we’d have to go with luck on that one. He wears the same sweatshirt six days a week. Or he used to,” she amended quickly. She skimmed her hands over her silk-clad hips. “I can’t wear this dress. What if he remembers it? That would be weird.”
“Men don’t remember that stuff,” Georgia said.
“And what if he did?” Becca asked. “That dress says:You had your chance, buddy. This is what you could have had.”
“No kidding,” Lauren agreed. “But maybe it’s obnoxious. Like waving a red flag in front of a bull. You should only do that if you want the bull to charge.”
“I don’t think the bull usually comes out ahead in those scenarios,” Georgia pointed out. “The worst thing that could happen is that you shoot him down.”
“Here’s a plan—you could pick up another guy tonight!” Becca suggested. “Find yourself a nice basketball player. In that dress you’ll be fighting them off.” She grinned. “That’s my plan for the evening. But I’ll look ridiculous with a basketball player. Maybe I should reconsider this barefoot idea. I need a couple of inches tonight. Hmm.”
“Put your dress on,” Lauren ordered, happy to have the topic of conversation shift away from her own troubles. “Let’s see it with and without the shoes.”
They zipped Becca into the vintage dress. The effect was completely different than Lauren’s. They stood side-by-side in the mirror, a study in contrasts. Where Lauren was sleek and long, Becca was short and curvy. The sweetheart neckline was a good choice for her, as was the perky color.
“Wow, you guys,” Georgia said. “The basketball team doesn’t stand a chance.”
Lauren studied her reflection and considered the idea of a hook-up tonight. It wasn’t really her style. But in her suitcase were the first doses of the fertility drug the doctor had prescribed. She was supposed to begin taking it in about a week. After that it would be game time—the clinic would inseminate her and she could be pregnant before the play-offs ended.
If she wanted a final fling, the time was now. Although picking up a guy in a room full of her coworkers didn’t sound all that relaxing. She’d have to see where the evening took her.
And she still wasn’t sure about the blue dress. The red one she’d brought would look good, too.
But Georgia needed the mirror, and they all admired her new pink sheath. They were in various states of makeup and hair-doing when someone knocked on the door. “Lauren?” came Nate’s voice.
“Hang on!” she called, setting down her round brush.
