You're to Blame(3)

Ridiculously smart to the point it’s annoying, she’ll correct your grammar and ramble off facts most people shouldn’t know. Her gorgeous long, blonde hair is closer to white than gold, framing eyes as dark and deep as the Atlantic Ocean. And for someone only a few inches over five feet, her huge boobs leave quite the impression. Loyal, intelligent, beautiful, and stacked. No wonder most girls hate her.

I don’t know what would’ve happened if we hadn’t gotten accepted to the same university. The thought of not having her in my life is nearly unbearable. Some would call us co-dependent. A lot of people believe a soul mate is the person you end up marrying. I disagree. Your soul mate is the person who stands by your side no matter what. Rachel knows me and is willing to call me out when necessary. It’s one thing Jacob has never understood. Our friendship is rare. If you want me, you get her, too.

And here she is, smiling at me. If she doesn’t stop the grin, her face will split in half before we reach my car.

Intending to avoid a night of drinking and dancing, I pull my keys from my purse and attempt to skate around her. She slips between me and the door, sidestepping in front of me when I reach for the handle. Her thin arm blocks my entrance.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she shouts. Her car is a few spaces over, and she drags me by the arm behind her. “We’re going out tonight, but before we do, I need to take you home. We’re finding the tightest dress and the tallest heels in your closet. Only then will we go dance away the shit-tastic life you lead right now.”

I have a few options here. The first being to kick my best friend’s ass and make a run for it. Or I can pull up my big girl panties and do what she says. Forgetting my shit-tastic life, as she so lightly puts it, doesn’t sound half bad right about now.

My groan bounces off the brick of the hospital, echoing through the parking lot. “Fine, one drink, tops. The deal is if I don’t complain, then I get to head home by midnight,” I argue. A few bats of my eyelashes paired with the sad distraught puppy dog eyes, and she gives into my demands.

Rachel nods and smiles. “It’s a deal. Not one word of resentment or negativity. I want you to have fun, even if that means I need to force feed tequila down that long, beautiful neck of yours.”

Like always, I don’t put up much fight, and ten minutes later, I unlock the front door to our apartment. My purse lands on the kitchen counter, and I sprawl in my usual comfortable spot on the couch. The overstuffed cushion is a nice change from the hard hospital chair. They have a way of sucking every bit of life out of a person.

“If you plan on being tucked into bed by midnight, then you need to get your butt in gear. It’s almost nine, which only gives us three hours to get your skinny ass drunk.” Rachel pulls me to my feet. “Shouldn’t be too difficult, since you’re a lightweight and under practiced.”

Shoulders slumped in resignation, I don’t say anything as I follow her into my bedroom. My silence is the perfect act of an obedient friend. Hangers clink together while Rachel rummages through my closet. She grumbles and sighs with disgust of my choice of clothes. Clothes fly onto every available surface of the floor.

“Yes! I found the perfect dress!” she exclaims. “Remind me to take you shopping.”

Dangling from her hand is the only tight article of clothing I own. The bandage dress is hidden all the way in the back of my closet for a reason. She extends it in front of her and then pulls it back against her body. Her amused grin widens as she showboats the cobalt mini dress.

“This is fucking hot. Why haven’t you ever worn this? Why haven’t I borrowed this?” She carelessly pokes through my jewelry box and pulls out a few longer necklaces and earrings, holding them up to my ears.

“You can have it. Jacob’s always said it shows too much thigh.” Rachel’s eyes soften when she hears the defeat behind those words. “He meant well,” I add.

“You must have kept it in hopes of wearing it someday, or else you would’ve just thrown it out.” Her eyebrow quirks. “Go slide this on. Put on a pair of ‘fuck me’ heels and get your ass in gear.” She bumps her hip into mine. This is her attempt to lighten the mood.

“I don’t need ‘fuck me’ heels.” I snatch the hanger from her grasp. “And I suppose there’s no reason not to wear it now.”

The sleek fabric cools my skin as it slips up my legs and over my thighs, until it covers all the important parts. In the mirror, I assess the damage. Too much thigh. Too revealing. Still, I don’t look half bad. Old habits die hard. I’ve always believed Jacob’s small critiques were for my own good.

“Quit tugging.” Rachel swats my hands. “It’s not going to get any longer, and thank fuck for that. Look at those legs.” She grazes her hands over the exposed skin. “It’s a shame Jacob always wanted this all covered up.”

Rachel rests her chin on my shoulder, and I stare at her in the reflection of the mirror. Sometimes words don’t need to be spoken to have an exchange. We’ve discussed Jacob and me. She’s asked questions. I’ve bared my soul. She knows what I feel. Just as I know she’s here for me.

“Can we get going before I change my mind?” I pull a long, silver necklace over my head as Rachel hands me a pair of black heels. The smug grin on her face irritates every cell in my body. She follows behind me. A smack lands on my butt after she slams the apartment door.