Page 49 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
“Good afternoon thank you for calling Fleuret this is Chloe speaking how may I help you.”
The snort on the other end of the line is all too familiar. “Well good afternoon to you, too, sweetheart! Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”
My lips curve upward. If Grace only knew what had happened in my bed this morning, her head would explode.
“I slept blissfully, thank you very much.”
There’s a pause. “Why do you sound like you’re smiling when you say that?”
Damn, that girl is sharp. I wipe the smile from my face and sit up straighter in the chair. “No reason. I’m not. Anyway, how are you? What’s up?”
There’s another pause. I worry she’s going to grill me, in which case I’m toast because Grace can sniff out a lie like a shark can sniff out a single drop of blood in ten thousand gallons of water. But she lets me off the hook.
“What’s up is the time. We’re waiting for you over here!”
Frowning, I look at the clock. “Here? Where?”
Grace groans. “You’re in so much trouble.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The first fitting is today, genius! You forgot!”
“Oh, crap.” She’s right; I did forget. At this very moment, I’m supposed to be at the Monique Lhuillier atelier in Beverly Hills, getting fitted for my outrageously expensive, incredibly gorgeous, floor-length, sage-green silk chiffon bridesmaid’s dress. “I’ll be there in twenty. Make sure there’s champagne ready.”
Grace chuckles. “You’re so going to tell me what’s up with you the minute you walk in the door. Did you by any chance see our friend the surly drummer slash Russian spy?”
I try to sound nonchalant. “You wish. I’ll see you soon.” I hang up before I can do any more damage.
When I arrive at the bridal salon, having left the shop in the capable hands of Trina and Renee, I’ve worked myself up into a bit of a lather about what, if anything, I’m going to tell Kat and Grace about A.J. It’s not that I want to keep anything from them, it’s just that what’s happening with A.J. feels so . . . delicate. Intimate. Strange. I don’t know how I’d describe it, or if I even could.
All I know is that I’m hoping with every fiber of my being that when I look out my window tonight, he’ll be there, waiting.
Or stalking. Whatever.
I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m going to do about Eric. I don’t even know if he’s really going to call me, like he said he would. For now, I’ve decided to cross that bridge when I come to it. There are only so many fires you can try to put out at once.
And damn, am I on fire. I’m burning so hot, I’m surprised everyone can’t see the flames.
I’m a little breathless when I walk-run into the elegant, white-on-white salon.
Kat and Grace stand on a raised dais in front of a wall of mirrors. Kat’s all rocker-chick chic in skinny jeans, pointy-toe high heeled boots, and a leather jacket, her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Looking like an Amazon warrior goddess gussied up for a ball, Grace is in the sage-green dress. It’s one shouldered, fitted and shirred through the bodice and waist, with a side slit that exposes her toned leg all the way to her hip. A seamstress kneels at her feet, pinning the hem. The blade-thin salesgirl who helped Kat find her wedding dress when we shopped here with her a few months ago is fluttering this way and that like an emaciated butterfly, pouring champagne into crystal flutes. Kenji, Bad Habit’s stylist and Kat’s third bridesmaid—er, bridesman—is admiring himself in a full-length mirror near the dressing room.
He’s wearing the same gown Grace is.
“Hi! Sorry I’m late!”
Everyone turns to look at me. Kat smiles. Grace narrows her eyes. Kenji puts his hand on his hip, looks me up and down, and whistles. “Well, helllooo, white chocolate! Who’s been nibblin’ on your little ol’ Wonder Bread crusts?”
“I would answer that, but I don’t even know what language you’re speaking.” I toss my handbag onto a white leather chair. The salesgirl scowls at me. I want to tell her to eat a hamburger. Then I remember that’s exactly what A.J. did say to her when we were here last, and a flush creeps up my neck at the thought of him.
“Allow me to translate,” says Grace, eyeing me with one elegant brow arched. “What Kenji said was, ‘Hello, normally uptight white girl who suddenly has a mad, hip-shakin’ strut, you look like you’ve recently gobbled down a giant cock sandwich, and we’d all like to know whose it was.’”
I stare at Grace. “Honestly, dude. Sometimes I wonder about you.”
She smiles serenely. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Leave her alone, Grace.” Kat winks at me. “And go get your dress on, Lo, we have to be out of here by four. They have another group coming in.”
