Page 42 of Wallflower
I scan the mountain of fabrics without much hope, wondering if there’s something—anything—I can salvage in my own wardrobe, but then a hint of deep purple catches my attention.
It’s a tight-knit top, and it’s got potential. I dig around and discover a pair of high-waisted shorts that match, then remember the belt I’ve got in my closet that’ll bring the two pieces together.
Daisy has a pouch full of costume jewelry in her suitcase, and there are a couple of pieces in there that aren’t too flashy, plus she’s brought over three pairs of heels.
Within five minutes, I’ve laid a top-to-toe outfit on the bed. I take a step back and study it with satisfaction.
Daisy materializes at my side, fists on hips again, staring up at me like I’ve been hiding a secret. “Um… wow?” She runs a critical eye over the clothes and nods approvingly. “I never thought of matching these pieces before, but they look fantastic together. How did you know?”
I shrug to hide the fact that I’m pleased. For just a second, I’m tempted to confess the truth about my degree, but telling a second person in as many days about my failed fashion career is too much. “I just like clothes.”
“Well, you’re going to look hot in this.”
“Oh, no.” I consider the outfit again, this time imagining myself in it instead of Daisy as I planned, and an anxious chuckle bubbles out of me. “This is for you.”
“No chance. This purple top has your name all over it, Violet. Literally. I’m sure you’ve got shoes you can wear.”
I do have a pair of heeled ankle boots that might work, but that’s beside the point. “The shorts are too short for me.”
“Bullshit. You’ve got incredible legs, and you should show them off. Now that’s settled, what can you do for me?”
Daisy has the bearing of a tiny drill sergeant, and I don’t like my chances of arguing with her, so I grimace and poke at the clothes again. Another five minutes later, and with a few carefully selected additions from my own wardrobe, I’ve put together a second outfit that Daisy approves with an enthusiastic round of applause.
“You’re a natural at this,” she marvels as she strips off her clothes, and the compliment puts little roses on my cheeks. “Now, the quicker we get dressed, the sooner we can do hair and makeup, and the faster I can get a drink in my hand and my booty on the dance floor.”
As optimistic as Daisy is, it still takes an hour to get ready because she insists on curling my hair and giving me smokey eye makeup. When she lines my lips with a bright red pencil, I barely recognize myself, and when she asks if I have contact lenses, I begrudgingly put them in. A spritz of perfume later, and she’s shooing me out the bedroom door.
Daisy leads the way down the stairs. “I hope you’re ready for a big night, Vi. I plan to dance till Mona kicks us out.”
“Mona?”
“The owner. You’re going to love her. When I was growing up, Mona’s daughter was my best friend. Plus, she makes the best white wine sangria you’ll ever taste.”
I tug at my shorts and think about meeting new people tonight, dancing with strangers, and having my first real cocktail. A wave of worry flips my stomach, and I glance back at the way we came. In another world, I’d be in bed with a microwave dinner, my headphones, and my sketchbook right now. Part of me yearns for what’s safe and familiar. Another part—a more powerful part—is too exhilarated to turn back now.
We stop to collect our purses and do a final check of our faces in the hall mirror by the front door. Daisy suddenly jumps, letting out a little squeak and splaying her fingers over her chest.
“Jesus, Chord. Creepy much?”
She turns from her reflection and steps into the dark living room behind us. Only then do I notice the tall, broad shadow leaning on the back of the sofa. Daisy finds a switch and snaps on the light.
Chord’s eyes are already on me, his gaze burning across my body. He starts at my white boots and sears a path up my bare legs, over my hips and chest, then reaches my mouth. When he meets my eyes, his fingers tighten where his hands rest on the back of the sofa, and his jaw hardens.
Things flutter inside me. At my throat. In my stomach. Between my thighs.
“Why the hell are you creeping around in the dark, weirdo?” Daisy turns back to the mirror and fluffs her shiny blonde waves. “I know you can afford the electricity bill.”
Chord grunts and pushes upright, crossing those magnificent arms over his chest. “I wanted to make sure you know to call me if you need a ride.” He pauses while his eyes trail over my outfit again. “Or maybe I’ll go with you and keep you out of trouble.”
Daisy snorts as she leans closer to the mirror and examines her makeup, running a finger under her bottom lip to catch a smudge. “This is agirls’ night, Chord, and if there’s any trouble, I’ll take care of it.”
“How are you getting to the bar?” Chord moves closer, and though he’s talking to Daisy, his eyes don’t leave me. “How will you get home?”
Daisy finds her phone, opens her ride share app in three efficient swipes, and flashes the screen—along with a triumphant grin—at Chord. “Our car will be here in ninety seconds. And like magic, we’ll do the same thing at two a.m. when our feet are sore, and our heads are spinning, and we’re begging for bacon sandwiches.”
He’s listening to Daisy, I’m sure of it, but Chord hasn’t looked away from me. His focus is intense enough that my heart is a hummingbird in my chest.
I tear my eyes from him and pretend to check myself in the mirror, but all I can see is Chord in the reflection, his stormy blue eyes leaping at these tiny shorts that barely conceal my ass.
