Page 42 of Borrowing My Bestie's Brothers

“And now you’re freaking the fuck out in your underwear?” she replied with a chuckle.

I looked down and saw I was doing exactly that.

“How did you know?”

“Knock, knock, bitch. I’m at your front door.”

An actual knock confirmed just that, so I wrapped my towel tight and rushed down the hall to yank it open. She was grinning ear to ear as she walked in, toting a garment bag.

“What the?—?”

“We know you, babes,” she said, tossing her burdens on my dining table. “So when you said yes, Hunt called me. Said you’d have a sartorial emergency right about…” She consulted her watch. “Now, and could I help you out, using his credit card, of course. Shopping on my brother’s dime? Who could say no to that? I got you something pretty, appropriate and… I think you’ll even like it.”

I watched wide eyed as she lowered the garment bag’s zipper and revealed this.

At first I just saw a lot of black fabric, but as she flicked it out, I saw the shape.

“I can’t?—”

“Oh no, we are not doing that,” Millie said. “This dress is fucking perfect and you’re gonna listen.” My eyes narrowed and my back went ramrod straight, but she forged on. “See this bit.” She pulled at some weird scrunched up part that looked way too narrow. “This is a shirred waistband. It’s an elasticised detail that sucks you in just under the bust.”

“So it’s a straightjacket,” I grumbled.

“And the elastic gives when you move, so you’re not feeling stifled. You got a deep V to make the most out of the girls, but the fabric has some give in it. A long flowing skirt?—”

“For me to trip over.”

“To give you plenty of range of movement and three-quarter length sleeves with a little ruffle detailing, feminine but not constricting.”

“I’m not?—”

“Try it on.” She thrust it at me with a dark look. “Try it on and tell me it isn’t fucking perfect, and you don’t have to wear it. No, bugger that, you can wear your goddamn overalls to the restaurant and your work boots.”

I grinned then, seeing my way out of this. Of course I wasn’t going to wear grimy work gear to a restaurant, but something a little more low key? A white blouse and black pants maybe? I’d look like a waiter, but at least I’d be comfortable.

Sort of.

I grabbed the dress from her, going into my bedroom and pulling it over my head before…

Realising Millie was a freaking genius.

“Perfect, right?” she asked, coming into the room as I just stood there.

My pose was all wrong, my arms sticking out awkwardly by my side, but I… I looked pretty. Exactly as she said, I had curves all the sudden, and yet the dress was crazy comfortable. The fabric was soft and silken, but with enough stretch that I could breathe, move fine. I experimented, grabbing a hair brush and throwing it at the wall, then performing the YMCA movements from the Village People song, right as Millie chuckled.

“Holy crap, this looks amazing,” I told her. “How the hell…?” She offered me a pair of black, jewelled slippers. “And I don’t even have to wear heels? That’s it, you’re making all of my fashion decisions going forward.”

“You’re finally going to let me ditch every piece of fleece or denim in your wardrobe?” she replied. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, but.. and I need you to trust me on this.” She stepped around me and then twisted my hair before pinning it up roughly behind my head. “A few tendrils here and there, bobby pins that are easy to get out. I think this is the look.”

Mentally I went to my high school formal and other events where I was forced to wear a dress, but this was the first time it felt right. My hands kept going to it, plucking at the folds and feeling a weird desire to twirl.

“OK, let’s do it.”

“Makeup too?” I watched her whole face light up as I nodded. “Well, let’s go, bitch. What time is my brother getting here?”

“In about an hour.”

“An hour! That’s not enough time.”

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