Page 6 of Hide and Seek
On the other hand, if I were to be brutally murdered, then I’ll have a pretty good excuse to skip out on dinner. However, I’m sure my mother will still find something to complain about. Even in death, I’ll never be good enough.
Another knock sounds through my apartment, and my best friend’s voice comes booming after it. “Don’t you dare leave me out in this hallway, you cum guzzling thunder slut. I know your bitch-ass is in there.”
I let out a relieved breath, feeling the shakiness fade from my body as I get to my feet and put my villain mug down on my coffee table. I wasn’t expecting just how uneasy that unexpected knock made me.
“There has been zero cum guzzling,” I call out, shuffling toward the door before glancing through my peephole to confirm it’s really her. Though had Laith actually shown his stupidly gorgeous face, I can assure you, the cum guzzling would certainly not be at an all-time low. I’d have a whole daycare in the pit of my stomach.
I find Izzy standing on the other side, her arms loaded up with bags of clothes while a to-go coffee cup balances on top, and judging by the way she’s intently watching that cup, there’s a good chance it’s about to decorate my hallway.
Hurrying to unlock my door, I grab the handle and yank it open before diving for the coffee just in the nick of time. “Woah,” I say, both of our eyes going wide.
“Holy fuck,” she mutters, pushing past me into my home and dumping the bags of clothes on the ground at our feet. She looks down at the red marks the bags left on her hands and arms. “Who would have known bags of clothes would be so heavy?”
A scoff rumbles through the back of my chest. “I think the bigger question is, why the hell are there three massive bags of clothes on my floor in the first place?” I ask with amusement as Izzy takes the to-go cup out of my hand.
I start glancing over the bags, wanting to peek inside, when Izzy starts her explanation. “You’ve got that anniversary dinner for your mom tonight, right?” she questions. “I came to make sure you didn’t go looking like a drowned rat like you did last year.”
I place a hand to my chest. “Oh, how so very thoughtful of you. But unfortunately, your expertise on the matter is not required. I’m quite fond of looking like a swamp turd when I visit my mother. Her disapproval is such a reward. How will I possibly loathe myself without it?”
Izzy laughs and shoves the door with her ass, letting it swing closed. The second I hear the soft thud, I reach back, flick the lock, and slide the bolt into place. “I don’t care how much you enjoy getting on your mother’s nerves, you’re going to look like a fucking goddess tonight, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
“Iz—”
“Don’t even try to argue with me,” she says, kicking the bags deeper into my apartment. “Besides, she expects you to turn up in your black ripped jeans and grungy cropped shirt. Imagine the shock on her face when you prove her wrong. Ohhh, and just think about her embarrassment when she has to face all her little country club friends after she’s spent the past year telling them what a disappointment you are.”
Damn. She used the magic words.
“Fine,” I say with a heavy sigh. “But you’re not about to get me into some pink frilly piece of shit. Give me something sleek and sexy, and if it isn’t black, don’t waste my time.”
Izzy smirks and drops down to the bags, quickly unzipping the top and letting piles of black outfits spill out onto the floor. “Girl, this ain’t my first rodeo,” she says before fixing me with an exasperated stare, suggesting that I know better than to doubt her madness. And honestly, I should.
Izzy is a fashion designer and a damn good one at that. We met back in the early days of college and have been inseparable ever since. She specializes in women’s fashion, leaning more into evening wear and business casual. However, every year, she dazzles the world with the most gorgeous line of prom gowns I’ve ever seen. She’s a master at her craft, so if anybody is going to dress me for my mother’s ridiculous anniversary dinner, it’ll be Iz.
She pulls out one outfit at a time and lays them across my couch, mixing and matching heels to skirts and then trying the arrangements with different styles of tops. There’s no doubting her skills. Every outfit she puts together is gorgeous, and despite not being my usual, I would wear every single one of them.
Izzy narrows it down to three different looks and stands back, surveying her work. “Hmmmm,” she muses, glancing at the outfits before looking back at me. “I can’t choose. All three would work for you. What do you think?”
Oh, hell no. She should know better than to ask my opinion on this. I’m far too casual to know anything about what occasions require which outfits. If I had it my way, I’d be leaving my apartment in a pair of jeans, my Nirvana tee, and my hair thrown up into a messy bun. Maybe I would have gone the extra mile and left my hair down for a change, but it’s not likely.
A sudden wave of nerves settles over me, and I gaze at the three outfits, trying to see if any of them scream out at me. The first is a plain black jumpsuit with a plunging neckline, dressed up with heels and an abundance of dainty gold necklaces. Next up is a sleeveless, fitted crop top with cutouts at the waist and a matching high-waisted, wide-leg pant that gives sexy CEO vibes, and then finally, a black silk cami paired with a high-waisted leather pencil skirt that snatches the waist.
“Honestly, I’m leaning toward option two or three,” I tell her. “Sexy CEO or flirty receptionist.”
Izzy glances back at the outfits before she snorts out a laugh. “Oh shit. You’re right,” she mumbles before glancing back at me. “How were you planning on doing your hair?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe a slicked-back ponytail.”
“Yes!” she gasps. “In that case, you have to go with sexy CEO. That long, black hair up in a high pony, along with siren eyes, will have everyone eating out of the palm of your hand. Not to mention, your mother won’t know what hit her. The second she even tries to claim you’re a disappointment, people will laugh her away.”
Fuck yes. I’ve been waiting twenty-eight years to render my mother speechless.
“Alright,” Iz continues. “Let’s get you ready, and while you wash that bird’s nest on top of your head, you can tell me why the hell you’re still in your pajamas at four in the afternoon.”
Ahhhh. Fuck.
Ten minutes later, I’m lathering shampoo into my hair while Izzy sits across my bathroom, slouched on the closed toilet with her feet propped up on the vanity. It doesn’t look comfortable in the slightest, but Izzy has a gift for finding comfort in the weirdest places.
She’s on her phone scrolling through social media as I rattle off the details of my night—or lack thereof. I tell her how Laith was supposed to come over but bailed after I left work early. When her face scrunches, I realize my mistake.
