“I swear,” my finger points back and forth from the two. “Whatever games you all are into will be the death of you. When I retaliate–”
“Good God, Reese, you can't fight,” Jamie busts out with laughter again.
“My nails aren’t tacky press-ons, babe.”
“Well, damn, tell me how you really feel!” he says, glancing at his immaculate manicure. "Mmmm, maybe I could use a fill."
Then I huff, giving in. “The two of you made a promise to me, last night. So I’m gonna go out on a limb and believe that it means I have double the date. Both of you are coming?”
“Uh-uhn, girlfriend, not me. If we’re trying to get technical, babe, it’s Sandra’s turn to do anything involving that mother of yours. Now get dressed, then we’ll tell you how tonight will pan out.”
I roll my eyes and step out of the room.
After slipping into an olive-tone dress that brings out the tan in my skin tone, I glance in the mirror. There are tiny, white-gold magnolias all over it. The style is almost ‘60s attire and makes me think of my client, Kitty. I could see myself in a noir crime thriller. There's something sexy about a classic dress. Shit, I put my foot in my mouth calling Evan yesterday. Smoothing out the silk material, I start back into the living room. Yet my confidence is the consistency of Jell-O and ever changing.
While walking down the hallway, my tone is seasoned in doubt, “You guys, this isn't gonna work. I want to show more...” With one leg cocked to display my best attribute, I stop abruptly. If I can't have Evan, truly and honestly, why not leave him hanging with his mouth open? What if he took my psychosis to heart and actually brought a leggy blonde?
The gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach subsides in an instant. Leg jutted for effect, I look up. This odd noise escapes from my mouth only to be closely described as the noise Scooby Doo makes when shocked.
Grayson's sitting on my couch. Jamie has gotten up to stand in the opposite area. I've seen this anger before; he will stalk around as if waiting to pounce. My friend wanted to cuss Grayson’s ass out after the emailed break up. But that makes not a lick of sense seeing that these two so-called friends of mine had to have let Grayson in.
Sandra also seems to be second-guessing whatever it is these two knuckleheads have done.
The ex-Suit’s eyes drag up and down my body, at the same instant the thought slams into me. This modest dress was for him! Prim and friggen proper. Fuck friends. The duo suggested this outfit. My lips are one flat line, eyes shooting daggers at my so-called friends, as Grayson enjoys the view.
“You look stunning,” he pronounces each word.
My mouth opens. What to reply? I've been bulldozed. Lied to. Hoodwinked!
At which point, Jamie turns on his heels, struts toward me and winks. “No, Reese’s Pieces isn’t quite ready yet.”
I sneer, “What the f–”
Jamie grabs my wrist. In his attempt to be debonair while turning me back toward the room, I cave and allow it. Better to be whisked away on a high-note than almost break my ankle. Soon as we've veered down the hall, I snatch my hand away.
“You're begging me to choke you out,” I hiss.
He steps toward my dresser and begins to rummage around. “Hmmm, the Chanel lipstick I bought and you never wear. Yes, girl, this will do.”
“Correction! Your ex-sugar daddy bought it,” I snatch the tube and place it on the dresser still eyeing one of my closest friends with murder in my eye. “And just so you know, I’m referring to the sugar daddy–who assisted you in ruining it with the love of your life, Owen, by the way. And I swear if said sugar daddy was across the street, got zapped by a lightning bolt on a gorgeous sunny day, I wouldn't even allow you to piss on him. Hell, I wouldn't even spit. Because yes, you shitted on true love with Owen for paper!”
“You're angry,” Jamie tries to hand over mascara. I slap it from his hand. He screams like a girl.
“Damn straight. Talk.”
He bites one of his fingernails and then says, “It was all Sandra's fault. She said wouldn't it be fun to bring the guy, the very reason you don't date suits too–”
“No. Not fun,” I snap.
His tongue slithers over his top teeth, and then Jamie holds up a finger. “Let me finish.”
“Finish.” My lips barely move. And at this point we almost seem to be in a ‘90s rap battle, trying to outdo each other.
“So wouldn't it be fun to bring the old suit, Grayson, obviously–”
“Obviously,” I parrot in order for Jamie to get to the point.
“To meet the new suit you've fallen for but honestly shouldn't be able to bang.” His head tilts slightly, “Honey, I've pissed you off royally. Let's both disregard the fact that I only wear my men's suit jackets after a good night of sex, so there'd be no tricking Evan with me as a date. But don't forget, girl, I know you better than you know yourself! You can't keep screwing your stepbrother.”
“But I haven't done so in weeks!” I exclaim, the torture written all over my face. Then I pout, “Okay, so you're saying I can screw Grayson?” My eyes rim with tears. I hold up my hands, flexing and relaxing my claw-like fingers while grumbling. I'm just about ready to plonk down onto the floor and have a toddler meltdown.
“Hell no, Grayson is never to get the cookie again. If he so much as lays a paw on you, the both of you are in trouble. I'm liable to punch him like a man, and bitch slap you for being so dumb.”
“So why Grayson?” Tears fall down my face. I'm truly over him; it's the friggen principle. Sandra and Jamie are as close as siblings, so why do this? And how? “How did you get him here?”
“Well, as far as 'why', can one honestly answer why one does the thing that one does?" When I reach out to slug Jamie, he screeches. "Okay! Sandra
