Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Unease trickles through my body, and I hesitate for just a moment, not wanting to answer the door. I don’t really feel like being sliced and diced today. I have my mother’s wedding anniversary dinner tonight with her new husband, and I can guarantee that there will be more than enough slicing and dicing going on there.
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.