Page 45 of The Fake Dating War

Everyone gasps. The street-front display wastamecompared to the pieces they have on display once you cross the doors. There are pussy floss panties all around us. Yeast infection inducing frills of lace.Harnesses.

As I’m lost amongst the transparent scraps of fabric, Esha leaps into action. I love that she’s a decisive shopper. Within ten minutes, she picks up ten outfits, and then shows us two of the more modest ones on. The last one is sea-shell themed, where her tits are oysters cupping the pearls that are her nipples.

“Gurinder is going to collapse seeing you in this,” I tell Esha as she spins in a fluttery circle before us. “You’re sure about marrying him, right?”

Bad timing, I know–but I’m compelled to ask. It’s been a while since I have. Bridesmaids jerk their eyes to me. Calculations are being made. How do they exorcise the divorced sister before she destroys the mood?

If I cared, I’d do another soapbox thing. Divorced people are not automatically depressed. I am not bitter over men. Actually, I miss men and the convenience of regular, scheduled dick. If anything, after I move out on my own, I’m going to dabble with casual sex. Leo will help me vet the matches. Maybe I’ll start with my Finder date, Wes? The picnic he set up for us was nice, and he even texted me ahave funmessage about this week.

Since Pooja and Jyoti still dagger-eye me down, I hug Esha. “Not that I have doubts. From everything you’ve told me and from the time I’ve spent with him, Gurinder is incredible.”

She sniffs, “He’s the best.”

It remains weird to see her get so emotional. Esha loves dramatics, but is rarely close to tears. Then again, weddings make people go funny.

I squeeze her shoulder. “You are so lucky to have found each other.”

“You’ll get your happy ending,” says my sister. “I have a good feeling about Jake. He could be the one.”

“Sure.”

“Speaking of him, where is he? You agreed to bring him today!”

“Right,” I look around. “Coleman.”

“It’s weird you call him that,” says Jyoti.

“It’s not,” I defend. “It’s cute.”

The group remains unconvinced, but I don’t care. I’ll run naked down the streets before I give in and call him Jake. “He’s meeting us here,” I say, immediately realizing that this day can, in fact, get worse.

I should’ve asked Esha about her itinerary. In my ignorance, I’ve invited Satan to a lingerie store! Not just anyone, but one designed for maximum titillating!

I need to text him not to come.

The shop-owner emerges from the back and heads our way. She’s holding a box. Apparently, there is a presentation portion to this outing. She leads the four of us to the sitting area. Champagne is popped.

“Where is he?” Esha asks again.

“Finishing… work. He’ll be here soon,” I say, trying not to panic-sweat at the thought of him in this store. It’s so sexual. Dripping with sex. Lewdly outrageous.

My brain conjures him cornering me against the wall, like he did in his hotel room last night. He’d been so tall and bossy, and… I wanted to swing my hand and punch him in the chin. Or grab him by his shirt and push—pull—him for a shake. And somewhere, between all that, was a sliver of a fucking moment where I imagined—very impulsively—me leaping forward and throwing myself against him. Crushing my mouth to shut him up because the man drones on sometimes.

As the owner starts talking, I focus on the present. Maybe I’ll ask her to turn on the air-conditioning. It’s clearly broken. I’ve been hot these last few moments.

Not giving a care about my silent request, she talks more about pussy floss. As she goes on, I can’t help but be impressed by the craftsmanship of the pieces here. Fabric is high quality and there’s variety. You can also get a pussy latch that opens with a little tug.

Once again, I imagine Coleman here during this conversation. The back of my neck burns at the thought. Irefuse. This can’t happen.

I’m gulping champagne and secretly texting him with my phone hidden on the side. I miss the next part of the discussion–something about the stimulation of unlined lace baby dolls with thongs?—but no one notices. I’m good at this. Last year I made multi-tasking my bitch, even more than usual.

My first message to Coleman is blunt.You have a stomach issue.

Do I?is his immediate reply.

That’s why you can’t make it to this bridesmaid thing.

But I’ve already left.

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