Page 3 of Little Blue

The chips in my purse (curtesy of the company) should be burning a hole. If I was normal, maybe I’d already have spent them, hopeful for a lucky break. That is, if I wasn’t listening to Rae attempt to find someone—anyone—to deflower me.

The fishbowl of steaming poop my life has become… I just—I can’t even.

“You need to break the seal with someone. You’re legally allowed to drink in public, and you don’t even know the magic that is the D.” She pouts. “It’s a travesty.”

I give her big eyes. “I think you get enough of the D for both of us.”

Those glittery red talons flash as she swats playfully at me, a devilish smirk flirting at her red lips. She knows it’s true. “Oh, whatever.”

Besides, having listened to most of Rae’s sexcapade’s in painful detail, the only innocence I maintain is the thin skin of my hymen. It’s more obstruction (no pun intended) than advantage.

I could probably sell it for a few months’ worth of rent. I’ve heard of girls doing that. Of getting something out of the thing so many men simply take.

But I just can’t.

I take a sip of my sparkling water with its pretty twist of lemon, and feel my insides cringe when I glance at the clock to see it’s only quarter past nine PM.

When is it acceptable for a single woman with no familial responsibilities to leave her office Christmas party?

Gnawing the corner of my lip, I debate the merits of faking a stomach flu. Or a migraine. Possibly food poisoning…

Or anything—anything at all—that’ll get me out of this silly blue silk dress Rae demanded I borrow for tonight. I’d had to borrow one of hers, because I have not one dress to my name that’s fitting of a swanky—or trying to be swanky, party.

Do I really have to justify why I’m leaving to anyone?

Another quick glance around the casino shows my coworkers are having a blast. Most have moved past their first three company-paid-for-drinks, and a few are well past drink number four and five, even though we congregated here little over two hours ago.

It shouldn’t surprise me, what with the way this party had been on the lips of nearly every employee for the last two weeks. Talk of letting loose, no judgement (until the New Year), and wild times of years past at this event, had been the highlight of the water-cooler chit-chat.

I hate public events.

The thought has anxiety prickling at the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades. With a shrug, I do my best to shake it off.

But my skin itches.

I’m lucky to have this job, even if I’m just the front desk receptionist. I’m responsible for little more than smiling pretty, transferring calls, and sipping office coffee. Which is pretty great, as it’s the only coffee I can afford, being that it’s free.

The job is a huge step up from spraying sweaty shoes at the bowling alley, which is what I’d been doing when I met Rae. Somehow, we’d become unlikely friends. She’d convinced me to lie on my resume to snag the position at the mega massive construction company she worked for. Rae is four years older than me, at twenty-five, and the personal assistant to Jeremy Lowman, part owner of Low and Bard Construction. Hank Bard, the man currently eye-fucking me from where he leans against a slot machine, semi-engaged in conversation with Tracy from human resources, owns the other half—if the stamp of his last name on the company header means anything.

I met Rae last year this time while volunteering in the local soup kitchen, and she wormed her way into getting my number. Then, she wormed her way into my life. How she managed, I’m still not sure.

Probably the same way she managed to convince me to wear this dress. Rae is like any invasive species. She sweeps in before you have time to comprehend, she’s there—and then, well, it’s too late.

I love her for it. This dress, though…

I feel like a fraud in my own skin.

“Stop trying to think up some excuse to leave.”

She knows me too well.

I frown. “Lucy misses me.”

“Lucifer is home, alone for once on a Saturday night, gladly licking his balls in peace.”

My eyes widen and I feel my lips part as my jaw unhinges. “He’s neutered.”

She points a finger at me, her eyes landing firmly on mine. “They’re smaller, but they’re still there. I’ve seen them.”

---