Page 45 of Destroying Everleigh

Twenty-five-hundred dollars.

“Amber,” I snapped, charging toward her. “I am not letting you spend thousands of dollars on me. I was skeptical about a hundred.”

She groaned like I was the one being unreasonable. “Girl. It’s fine. I want to do this.” She shrugged. “It’s not like I have siblings to shop for.”

She returned her attention to a short red dress. It was gorgeous. Embedded with lace and had a sweetheart neckline. It would look amazing on her.

“What’s Ashton’s favorite color?” she asked, tapping a finger against her chin thoughtfully.

“Red. At least, that’s what it used to be. Why?”

She motioned to the dress she was just looking at. “What do you think of this one?”

I snorted. “I don’t have the tits for something like that.” My breasts weren’t small, but they also weren’t the center of attention, either. A dress like that would probably just look awkward on me.

“Those are your insecurities talking. But fine, we’ll find something sluttier.” She shot me a wink.

Two employees approached, greeting us and letting us know that they were at our service. Amber barely spared them a glance, focused on all the clothing around us. Finally, she turned to one of the workers and told her to go find something slutty in my size and stated that it needed to be red. She didn’t sugarcoat, and I didn’t know if I should laugh, or feel embarrassed that she used the termsluttyin an establishment such as this.

The worker came back with a few options, but there was only one of them that had my breath catching in my throat. It was slutty, alright. I reached out, taking the dress in my hands. The fabric was smooth beneath my fingertips.

“Go try it on,” Amber urged with excitement. “Dressing room is right through there.” She pointed to a desk across the room.

I stared down at the red piece between my hands, my heart racing. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d worn a dress just for the hell of it. I made my way across the room and slid into one of the stalls, locking the door behind me. These were some of the nicest dressing rooms I’d ever seen. There was a large, soft bench seated to one side, and a wall-length mirror as soon as I walked in.

I placed the hanger on one of the hooks plastered into the wall and hurriedly stripped down to my underwear before slipping it on. The dress was smooth and snug against my body, pushing my breasts up to make them appear larger than they were. It had a giant hole over the chest area, showing nearly allof my boobs except for the nipples—probably because I still had my bra on—and the sides. A string sat beneath them, holding the dress together from the bottom, and there was a smaller hole beneath it, showing off the top of my stomach.

One thing was for sure.

Under any circumstances, I could not bend over unless I wanted to flash everyone. It was that short. But I loved the way it looked on me and the way it hugged my curves. My legs appeared longer than they were because of the length, and I was absolutely obsessed with it.

I changed back into my old clothes and slipped out of the room with my new item resting over my arm. Amber was in the same place I’d left her, but both of the workers she had with her were drowned in clothing and jewelry.

“I found the one,” I said. “Since you’re so hellbent on getting me an outfit.”

She paused, turning to look at me. “You’re so funny. It almost sounded like you saidanoutfit, meaning one.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m getting you a new wardrobe, bitch. Keep up. If I have to see you walking around in a pair of joggers one more fucking time, I’m going to burn them all.” She grabbed a box of the sticky silicone bras that I’ve seen countless times in commercials. “You’ll be needing some of these.” She handed them over to one of the employees before taking my dress from me and looking it over. “Sexy.”

My mind was short-circuiting, trying to keep up with all the random bullshit she kept spewing. “Amber,” I warned.

“Nope. Don’t cause a scene.” She shot me a condescending smile, letting me know she won this round, and she knew it. She handed my dress to one of the workers.

“Why are you so concerned with the way I dress?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest.

She sighed before turning to look at me. “Look. It’s not because I think you have a shitty fashion sense. Which you do, by the way.” She gave me a pointed look. “I just know that you don’t have a lot of clothes. I’m not doing this to change you, or to make you feel shitty about your situation, but I’m not going to let my best friend walk around in the same three outfits every week when I have an entire spare room for a closet. So, let me do this for you.”

My chest tightened, but not because I was in pain or in discomfort. It was because it was the last thing I expected her to say. She didn’t get vulnerable often. In fact, it was extremely rare, and I wasn’t about to take it for granted.

“You’re not responsible for me,” I added.

She rolled her eyes. “If you say so. Now go pick out some shoes. Andnosneakers.”

We ended up spending hours in that store, and I found myself enjoying it once I got past the fact that Amber was buying things for me. We grabbed a bite in between at some expensive restaurant that I’d never be able to afford. I tried talking her into a diner, or a fast food restaurant, because I’d at least be able to pay for my meal that way, but as expected, she refused.

Her parents were both wealthy. Not as wealthy as the Banks, but pretty damn close. Her dad was a businessman while her mom was a well-known fashion designer. I think that’s where she developed her fashion sense and the love for shopping, despite having everything she could ever need.

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