Start a War (Saint View Psychos #1)(32)

I hadn’t missed the abrupt conversation one-eighty.

But I let it go and held up the first dress I pulled off the top of the pile. It was a slinky red number. And about large enough for my pinky toe. “None of these are going to fit me. My left boob alone is as big as your head. You’re a toothpick next to me.”

Rebel glanced over at me. “You have a point. I’d give anything for your curves.”

“I’d give anything to be a size two.”

Rebel shook her head. “Women, man. We really are our own worst enemies. How about we both just say we’re smoking hot?”

I smiled. “Deal. But I still can’t wear your clothes. No amount of body positivity is going to fit me into your dress.”

“So you’re going to come?”

I guessed I was. “Yes, but I’m going to have to find something in my own wardrobe.” I stood and tugged it open, eyeing the racks of clothing with a critical eye.

Rebel came up behind me and let out a low whistle. “It’s like a clothing store in here.” She stepped inside the walk-in closet and ran a hand along the multitude of dresses, pants, and tops I had hanging inside. “A really boring clothing store that my nanna probably wouldn’t even shop in, but a clothing store nonetheless.”

“Hey!”

She shot me a look. “Your ball gown the other night was smoking. You had killer cleavage. Where the hell are all the dresses like that?”

I bit my lip. “My fiancé bought me that dress. It’s not something I would have chosen for myself. I tend to keep my outfits more conservative.”

“There’s conservative, and then there’s boring. I hate to break it to you, babe, but your clothes? They’re way too dull for what we’re doing.”

I groaned, flopping back down on the couch. “See? I don’t belong there. Better I just stay home.”

But Rebel took a black dress from the back of the closet, eyeing it carefully. “Are you sentimentally attached to this dress?”

I shook my head. “I don’t even know when I bought that. I’m not sure I’ve ever worn it.”

“Great. Got a pair of scissors?”

“Oh my God, why?” But even as I said it, I got up and crossed the room to my writing desk pushed against the living room wall. From the top drawer, I pulled a pair of stainless-steel scissors.

Rebel attacked the dress with a disturbing amount of glee. When she was done, she tossed it in my direction. “Put it on.”

I went into the closet and shrugged off my cardigan and sweats and shimmered into the formfitting dress.

It now barely covered my ass and showed off more cleavage than even the blue dress had. Rebel cheered and clapped, but when I looked in the mirror, my eyes bulged. “I can’t wear this! You can practically see my underwear!”

“Wear a cute pair and flash ’em on purpose.”

I stared at her. “Nobody wants to see my flabby behind! It’s not cute and pert like yours.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have booty, and it’s the sorta booty women pay money for. You’d be surprised who’ll want to see it. But you’re being overdramatic anyway. I can’t see your underwear and I’ll probably be the shortest person there. Plus, this will be modest compared to what other people are wearing.”

A prickly heat spread across my skin while I watched my reflection. Despite the length of the skirt being about five inches less than I was comfortable with, I didn’t dislike my appearance. My boobs looked great, thanks to the way the dress cinched beneath them. The bar would be dark. Perhaps no one would notice the cellulite on my thighs.

“Add a killer pair of heels, some hair and makeup, and we can be on our way.”

She guided me to my vanity table and got to work on my hair. We were both silent for a moment, and I watched her work in the mirror. I’d never had a friend do my hair for me. I’d gone to hair salons with friends and let hairdressers do our hair, but never had one of my friends ever sat me down like this and given me a makeover.

Rebel concentrated on a lock of hair she twirled around a curler. “Dis, I like you. So there’s something I think you need to know.”

Uncomfortable embarrassment swirled inside me. I should have known better than to get too comfortable with someone I barely knew. “That doesn’t sound good. This feels like the time my best friend told me that Oliver Brimwell didn’t actually want to date me and only asked me out because his friends dared him to.”

She screwed up her face. “The people you hang out with all sound like assholes.”

I didn’t say anything because she was kind of right. Caleb being the biggest asshole of them all.

“No, I just know something about Axel. I wasn’t the one who told the cops. I don’t snitch. But someone else might have.”

I twisted so we were facing each other. “What?”

“You ever heard of the Saint View Slayers?”

“Of course. The motorcycle club.” They’d been the guys hanging out at Psychos the last time I’d been there.

“That’s the one. Cops classify them as a gang.”

I shrugged. “So? They are one.”

She nodded. “They see it differently, but for all intents and purposes, you’re right. Anyway. The reason the cops think Axel is gang affiliated is probably because of them.”