Page 12 of Mid-Thirties Slightly Hot Mess Female Seeking Billionaire

Tequila is the devil. Or the drink of the devil. Or something like that. I swear that if I hadn’t had tequila, I wouldn’t have acted like the fool that only my friends know me to be.

Also, note to self: Boasting about your prowess as a stripper in a bar is not a good idea. Especially when you’ve never really been a stripper and are not interested in being one. Same goes for lap dancers. Saying that you once got a thousand dollars for a lap dance is not the flex you think it is when you’re drunk.

Especially not when the CEO of your company is sitting in a booth in the corner of the bar, watching and listening to the entire conversation.

Kill me now.

Shameful and hungover,

Sarah

"This place is popping." Isabel grins as she bops her head back and forth in time with the music blasting through the open doorway of the bar. "We are going to have so much fun tonight." Her entire body is practically buzzing in excitement as we walk into the crowded bar. She looks me up and down and beams as she takes in my sexy, slightly uncomfortable outfit. It’s an outfit from when I was twenty pounds slimmer and ten years younger, but I wanted to sexy it up for the night. Something about being ignored by a hot guy makes you want to look your best. "You look so pretty, but I’m going to take your glasses off."

"What?" I exclaim, shaking my head. I know my glasses make me look nerdy, but they are a part of me. "I won’t be able to see if you take my glasses off, and I kind of need to be able to see."

"You only need to be able to see if you’re going to make a mistake tonight, but I’m not going to let you make any mistakes."

"Isabel, no," I say as she grabs my glasses and takes them from me. I feel naked without them on my face. I reach up self-consciously to touch the side of my face. I miss having my glasses there. They are like a part of me.

"Don’t worry. I won’t let you make out with anyone fugly and I won’t leave your side to make out with anyone myself." She cocks her head to the side. "Unless Bradley Cooper shows up and says he must have me right away." She licks her lips. "Or Brad Pitt. Or both of them. I’ve never been interested in a threesome before, but if they both want me, I don’t know that I’d be able to say no."

"Isabel," I whisper-shout, blinking my eyes, trying to adjust to the dim light of the bar. "I can see you and that’s about it. Everything else is blurry." I tap her shoulder. "Glasses, please?"

"You’re able to see, right? Just not everything?"

"Yes, but…"

"Just enjoy the night. Plus, you look absolutely gorgeous." Her eyes run up and down my face and body. "You’re the belle of the ball."

"This is not a ball."

"You’re Cinderella and your Prince Charming is going to see you and want to sweep you up into his arms because he can’t resist your stunning aura."

"You mean I look absolutely gorgeous without my glasses?" I fake a frown. "So, with my glasses, I’m the ugly stepsister?"

"No, silly. But why don’t you wear contacts?"

"I told you why. They irritate my eyes, and I always feel like I’m going to lose an eye when I put them in and take them out."

"You just have to practice." She sighs deeply and motions putting contacts in and out of her eye. "When I first got contacts, I hated it, as well. But after the first month, I got used to it. You will get used to it, too. I can put them in and take them out in my sleep now."

"I’ll think about it." I shrug and look around the bar. It’s packed in here with wall-to-wall people from every sector. I can’t see many faces clearly, but I can make out suits and skirts, and there is a lot of laughter in the room. The music is too loud, but what bar really gets the music level right.

"Oh, I love this song," I say as I hear Noah Kahan’s song, "Stick Season" playing. He’s no relation of mine, even though we have the last name. Though, it would be cool if we were related. Maybe then I could play a song with him at one of his shows.

"Oh, it sounds cool." Isabel nods her head. "Totally your type of music." She sways back and forth to the folk-rock song. She’s right. I am definitely into bluesy folk music. I’m a one singer with a guitar sort of person. "Written anything recently?" she asks, and I nod. "When can I hear it?"

"Soon." I’m too self-critical. I know that. I want everything to be perfect. My therapist blames it on my family. She says that even though I love my family, my brothers’ constant teasing caused me to lack self-confidence. I don’t know if that’s true. It makes me feel guilty to assign blame to them for any of my negative traits.

"Hey, hold on," Isabel says as she reaches over and pulls out my hairband and lets my hair down. "You do not need your hair in a ponytail tonight."

"I didn’t get to flatiron it and I need to get a trim." I run my fingers through my tresses and try to fluff it up.

"Or you don’t have to do anything. It looks really cool and sexy, wavy like that." She grins. "You look hot."

"You mean I look hot without the glasses and with my hair down."

"Yes. I look better without my glasses, as well. It’s not like you got plastic surgery, and I’m saying you only look hot after that." She links arms with me and hugs me to her. Even though Isabel is younger than me, she reminds me of a big sister. She’s blunt and honest at all times, but she’s the most loving, caring person I know. Also, the queen of bad decisions. However, that’s not saying much because I am a close second in that realm. "Come on, let’s go and get some drinks. Tequila shots on me."

---