Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Hey, get in line.” Tiffany laughed and took Malik’s other arm. The two towed him into the saloon, leaving me no choice but to follow.
“You both look law-abiding to me.” Malik smiled at the women. My pissy self couldn’t tell whether he was being nice and playing along or flirting back.
“Better throw me in lockup to make sure.” The dark-haired woman gazed up at Malik like a buzzard spotting dinner. In another lifetime, Malik and I would be two bros out for a good time, and I’d bump his shoulder and whisper how she was a sure thing, not be dreaming up ways to yeet her off the planet, especially when she tugged his arm again. “Or at least come dance with me.”
“I…uh…” He glanced back at me, his smile a little tense around the edges. Did he want me to rescue him or was this where I played the wingman role and stepped aside because it wasn’t like I had a claim on the man. Damn it.
“Go ahead.” I nodded at the dance floor. Last night. Might as well get used to this, practice living in the fucking friend zone.
“Let’s dance too.” Tiffany pulled me along right after Malik and the other woman, even though I had absolutely no talent for dancing, especially not of the western variety. Not that Tiffany seemed to care, and thank fuck, was happy enough to lead me in a bouncy two-step, dodging my clumsy steps with more of her usual humor. “Right, left, watch my toes, Avery!”
On the other side of Malik and his dance partner, a pretty blonde in a prairie dress was dancing with a tall skinny dude in black leather pants and a matching corset.
“Oh, look at him,” Tiffany chirped, not even pretending she wasn’t staring. “Never seen a guy in a corset before.”
“Yeah…” Exactly. The novelty. The spectacle. The eyeballs. All my panic from earlier threatened to return, aided by secondhand embarrassment for the dude.
“It’s hot though.” Tiffany made a whole show of pretending to fan herself.
Oh. I couldn’t muster a reply, but I looked again, trying to see what she saw. It was sexy, the way the guy slithered to the music, the way his girl was all over him, how the lines of the corset accented his slender spin. He certainly didn’t seem embarrassed. Neither did Tiffany, for that matter, appreciation clear in her eyes.
“Damn. He has better eyeliner skills than me.” Tiffany shot the couple another, almost wistful look. “So sexy. Go him being brave. Sometimes I wish I could wear whatever the heck I wanted.”
“You can’t?” I’d always assumed that chicks had it lucky. Sure Megan complained bitterly about lack of pockets, and my mom never shut up about size issues between brands, but women always seemed to have far more options. Tiffany was right in that corset dude was brave as hell, bucking decades of boring-ass male fashion options.
“Oh, Avery.” Tiffany sighed like I was an adorable eight-year-old. “I’m famous now. Cameras everywhere. And expectations. You reach a certain level, and people have expectations.”
“I feel that.” Football uniforms. Navy dress whites. Black T-shirts. Twenty-five years of expectations bore down on me as I watched the corset-wearing guy again. Maybe in one world, Malik and I were bros, but there was another one where I’d nodded, grabbed that corset, let Andre do my makeup, and…
And that was as far as my brain got before I had to glance away, returning my attention to Tiffany because my chest hurt too damn bad.
“Even leaving coffee or yoga class, people expect certain things from a star. I made a whole bunch of year-end most-beautiful-people lists. I’ve gotta play the game if I want to get ahead, designer sweats and all.”
“That’s so sad,” I whispered, pain rising higher.
“You’re so sweet.” She patted my cheek. “Nah. It’s fine. It’s like big meals. After a while, I don’t really miss my ratty T-shirts, boyfriend jeans, and old combat boots.”
She was lying, and we both knew it, but I nodded anyway. I wanted to drag her off for giant burgers and tell her to wear whatever felt good, but I was already enough of a fucking hypocrite. Who was I to tell someone to screw expectations?
“You know, I was just telling your sister how darn sweet you are.”
“Ah…thanks.”
“No problem. And she’s nice too. Busy with the engagement, but still talked football with me and asked party-planning tips.”
In the world where Malik and I were bros out on the make, looking for pretty girls to make happy, this was where I’d invite Tiffany to Megan’s engagement party. She’d say yes, and I’d brag to anyone who would listen that I’d scored a date with someone on those most-beautiful-people lists Tiffany cared so much about. My dad would slap my shoulder too hard, my brother would make crude jokes to cover his jealousy, and I’d feel like…