Page 22 of Love Beyond Repair
Wendy’s voice cuts through my spiral. “I’m so glad you went for that sexy nurse costume. You look incredible.” She smiles coyly. Her eyes travel down my body and linger, and my chest tightens with uninvited uneasiness. I ignore it.
Terry invited us to his annual Halloween Hooley. He promises it’s going to be one hell of an event. From what he has described, if the police aren’tcalled to his flat, then the party is a flop. I invited Wendy along to be my plus one. I need her support to step out in this outfit.
The dress, if you can call it that, is short, so short that modesty takes a holiday if I bend. It’s tight and clings to my curves. The neckline is cut low to my belly button and exposes my bra. Of course, the lacy bra had to be red because, according to Wendy, that’s what sexy nurses wear.
Accompanying the dress is a pair of red fishnet stockings with lace tops fully on display. The killer red patent boots make it impossible to walk. Wendy tells me they show off the shape of my legs and make my ass look totally fuckable. This assessment did surprise me, but it was positive. So I just smiled goofily at her. I wasn’t allowed to do my makeup tonight. Wendy is currently applying two tons of the stuff. She’s layered it on like war paint.
Once she’s finished, I close my eyes, and she leads me toward the mirror.
“Ta-dah!” she shrieks while jumping up and down. I stare at the woman looking back at me. Wow! She’s stunning. After a moment, the realization hits me—the woman is me. My skin is clear and golden, my eyes are huge with smoky tones and strong eyeliner. My cheeks pronounced with blush, and bright-red lips complete the look.
This woman is smoking hot. I’m smoking hot.
A huge smile spreads over my face, and I laugh. Turning to Wendy, I hug her fiercely. “Thank you. You absolute angel. I look incredible.”
She stares at me; the look in her eyes makes me feel anxious, like she’s looking at me with longing. It’s brief, barely there, but enough to make my stomach twist.
“Don’t you dare cry. You’ll smudge your makeup,” she whispers. The tension in the room breaks, and we both laugh softly. Something shifts. Maybe it’s been there all along. Have I only just seen it?
Putting the awkward thoughts to one side, I decide to enjoy the night we’ve put so much effort into preparing for. Wendy is dressed as Catwoman, encased in black leather that leaves nothing to the imagination. She’s a good-looking woman with curves in all the right places. Her makeup is dark and brooding.
It comes to me that she has never mentioned a man in her life or any of her previous partners, which does strike me as strange. I’ve divulged every past conquest in detail, not that there are many. She has extracted every bit of information from me over the past few weeks. Maybe it is just me who’s been rattling on, selfishly focusing on myself. I make a mental note to ask her more questions in the future and not to be so damn self-centered.
Terry’s apartment is on the top floor of our building. It has direct access to the roof terrace, but London in October is not ideal for an outside party. It would be feasiblefor a drunk partygoer to be blown over the side in the fall winds. So, Terry’s promised that all celebrations will be indoors.
When we reach the upper hallway, there’s no doubt which apartment the party is in. Michael Jackson’sThrilleris playing loud and proud through a door covered with cobwebs and an enormous fake spider. Orange eyes welcome us on approach and tell us to have a “Happy Halloween.”
Wendy pushes open the door, and we walk in. There is no point knocking; no one would have heard us anyway. The room is crammed with people in Halloween getup. With one scan of the room, I conclude that Halloween is a serious event here.
The queen sits on the arm of a chair, drinking a pint of lager with her legs spread wide. I guess her crown jewels needed space. Many celebrities are in attendance alongside ghosts, goblins, and monsters. Fun and hilarity are everywhere. Everyone is here to have a good night.
For once, I feel empowered entering a room.
Wendy strides into the center, looking hot as she swings her hips in time to the beat of the music. She grabs two drinks from the side table, turns to me, and winks. People are watching us; I can feel it.
The flute she hands me is filled with a red, gooey fluid. A vampire stuck to the glass informs me the drink is namedBlood Lust. The taste of strawberries fills my mouth. It’s sweet and delicious. I guzzle it greedily.
When I look up, Wendy’s eyes pop wide open. She passes me her compact mirror and a tissue. My mouth is smeared bright red, like I’ve been feeding. I hiss at her, and she giggles, fluttering her lashes before I dab at my mouth to remove the residue.
“Holy shit, Bex! You look bloody delicious,” Terry hollers, grabbing me into a bear hug. Then he turns his eyes on my companion. It’s only then I realize he’s wearing women’s clothes. “And who is this feline fantasy you have brought with you? I will be dragging the guys off the two of you.”
I laugh and peck him on the cheek.
“Oh, Terry, your flattery is bloody awful. This is my colleague, Wendy.”
He takes her hand, bends low, and kisses it like a Knight of the Round Table.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he drawls and flashes her a wide smile. “I cannot wait to get to know you better.” He leans forward and whispers in her ear, “Preferably on your back in my bedroom.” My eyes widen in horror, and I give him the dirtiest look I can muster. He laughs before disappearing into the party.
“Until later, ladies,” he calls over his shoulder. We watch this mammoth man walk away in sky-high heels and a pencil skirt. Terry Trodden makes walking in heels lookdamn easy. If the first ten minutes are anything to go by, this is going to be one hell of a party. Tonight is my rebirth. The birth of the Bex I like. A Bex I’m proud to be. I’m going to flirt, dance, and have fun. Tonight, people will notice me. And I’m going to let them.
Chapter twelve
Ben
For the past five years, Kelsey has dressed us up in matching Halloween costumes. She spends weeks, if not months, preparing for the parties we attend.
“It has to be amazing,” she repeats over and over while deliberating on the theme for the year. Halloween isn’t a holiday I look forward to. It’s always stressful and about one-upmanship.
