Boyfriend's and rs
“Does this dress make my butt look weird?” I asked Mia, turning away from the mirror and craning my neck to get a better look.
The black dress hugged every curve, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Everyone knows that if you’re wearing a little black dress to a club, your entire look depends on two things: a great body—and an even better butt.
“Jess, you should be more worried about your lips than your butt, girl. I told you to get fillers last week,” Mia said, lowering her mirror as she gave me a slow once-over.
“You could also use Botox. It would do you some good.”
She picked her mirror back up like she hadn’t just said anything.
“And I thought we agreed you were going to lose a few pounds.”
Mia has been my best friend for almost twelve years. She’s also the harshest critic in my life.
We met at a school playground—at least, I think we did. The memory is fuzzy now. I just remember liking her immediately. I still do. Back then, it was because she didn’t let anyone push her around. Now… it’s because she extends that same energy to the people around her. Especially her friends.
We were a group of four, like most girl friendships—each of us closer to one person than the others.
Mia and I met first. Angie and Stacy were always tighter with each other, no question. But together, we worked. At least, I like to think we did.
That’s why we stayed together. We fit.
So where other people saw rudeness—saw someone who spoke too harshly, too often—I saw love.
Tough love.
I tugged at the hem of my dress again, glancing at my reflection. My eyes drifted to my lips. I’d never had a problem with them before, but now… something about them felt off. Out of proportion.
“Here. Use this,” Mia said, tossing a red lip gloss at me.
I caught it, frowning. “This doesn’t look like me, M’s.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because the only person who looks like you is probably the Virgin Mary—and you’re going to a club.”
She walked over and rested her hands on my shoulders, studying my reflection in the mirror.
“Plus, it brings out your eyes.”
I let out a small giggle despite myself.
“Where are Angie and Stacy?” I asked.
“I texted them earlier. They said they’d meet us at the club. Angie was having some issue with her dress or something.”
“Oh.” I dabbed the gloss onto my lips, still unsure. “I hope she’s okay.”
“She’s fine. Just Angie being Angie.” Mia turned away, grabbing her purse. “But do you want to know what’s not okay?”
“No…?” I said cautiously.
“Your lips. I’m taking you to get Botox tomorrow.”
I opened my mouth to argue—to say there was nothing wrong with them—but the doorbell rang before I could.
Mia squealed, instantly abandoning the conversation. She ran her fingers through her hair and adjusted her already short dress.
“How do I look?” she asked, bunching the fabric even higher.
That could only mean one thing. Damien was here.
“Amazing,” I said, offering a small, tired smile.
“Of course I do,” she replied, flipping her hair and swaying her hips as she walked out.
I added a little more gloss, grabbed my things, and followed her downstairs.
Damien—and my boyfriend, Brad—were probably already waiting. And Brad hated even the smallest delay.
When we reached the door, Mia pulled her dress up even higher—somehow—and opened it slowly, almost theatrically.
“I brought you flowers,” Damien said, stepping inside and pulling her against him.
Mia wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead to his.
“That’s so cute, babe,” she giggled before kissing him.
“Do you like my dress?” she asked.
His hands slid down to her barely-covered backside, and he smacked it.
I cleared my throat loudly.
“That’s my cue to step outside,” I muttered.
Neither of them responded.
Damien’s lips moved to her neck, and she tilted her head back, gripping his hair. I stood frozen halfway down the stairs, heat rising to my face.
“Please move,” I said under my breath.
His eyes flicked to mine—but he didn’t stop. If anything, the look he gave me made my stomach turn.
Predatory.
A chill ran down my spine.
“Hi, Jess,” Damien said casually, finally pulling away.
I rolled my eyes and pushed past him. “Hi.”
I stepped outside, slamming the door harder than necessary behind me.
Maybe it was uncalled for.
But so was whatever I had just witnessed.
Unlike Mia, who kept pulling her dress higher, I tugged mine down as far as it would go.
Across the driveway, I spotted Brad leaning against his yellow Ferrari, smoking.
I frowned immediately.
I’d told him before—I hated that.
He noticed me and quickly dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe.
“You’re late,” he said, walking toward me.
No flowers.
