Page 15 of Beyond the Fame

Rude.

Not only did Ginger forbid me to wear anything in my comfort zone, but both Mylan and Bruno warned me to show up dressed to impress.

I mean, seriously. I don’t always wear flannel and jeans. Sometimes I’ll wear a t-shirt with a lightweight hoodie over it… and jeans. Plus, they’ve seen me at award shows. I wore a fucking tux to the Oscars. I wear suits to attend movie premieres. Still, those are formal events. Tonight... it’s casual. It’s dinner with friends. A dinner that Ginger threatened immediate ass kicking if I showed up looking like I was ready to chop wood.

A month ago, when I told my therapist about Ginger’s threat, first, she laughed, then she challenged me to use this as the next step in my body acceptance journey by wearing something I usually wouldn’t. Something that doesn’t hide my body. I’ve been testing it out this past month and if I’m honest, coming up with a new outfit every day has been fun. I’ve been getting a lot of compliments too.

I hate when she’s right.

The dinner is being held in the outdoor area of a restaurant on the property. It’s the end of August and hot as hell, so, swallowing my anxiety, I dress in an approved short-sleeved blue button up with colorful palm tree designs paired with tan cargo shorts. Both show off parts of my body I rarely let the public see.

I stick my feet in a pair of white Vans and check my hair in the full-sized mirror across from me.

Ready as I'll ever be.

I open the bedroom door and step out at the same time Rebecca does.

We both freeze, staring at each other, mouths gaping.

I’m the first to break. My eyes travel down her body. She changed into a tropical-themed romper with yet another plunging neckline that hugs her tits to perfection. The romper’s shorts showcase her long, tanned legs and wonderfully thick thighs. Thighs that I want, no need, wrapped around my head.

She’s put her light brown hair up in a messy bun with flyaways framing her face. Her makeup... I've never seen her so natural in my life. She’s beautiful, heavy makeup or not, but with the light mascara, gold eyeshadow, and light pink lip gloss on those plump lips... she’s a goddess.

The longer I stare, the harder my dick gets. When my eyes find hers again, she’s blushing. Her breaths are shallow, and I glance at her now-hard nipples poking against the thin fabric of her outfit.

Fuck yes. She's reacting to me too.

“I see you’re ditching the flannel and hipster jeans.”

I cock an eyebrow. She’s baiting me. She wants to fight with me.

I shrug. “Bride’s orders.”

“Didn’t realize you had tattoos.”

My shorts and shirt offer perfect views of the ink covering my arms and legs.

“I have more you can’t see.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Do you want me to take off my clothes and show you, Becky?”

“That’s not...” She snaps her mouth shut.

I've won this battle.

“We’re late,” she mutters and walks towards the door.

I follow her and a barrage of fruit and flowers hits my nose... cherry blossoms and peaches. It takes everything in me not to grab her so I can bury my nose in her neck.

I move past her and reach the door first. I open it and wave my hand at the hallway.

“After you, princess.”

She crosses her arms, which amplifies her cleavage, and I steal a look before focusing on her pouty pink lips.

“I’m not a princess.”

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