Page 11 of Too Good to be True

Francesca picks up what she tossed on my bed and holds it up against her body. There isn't much to it. I think it's supposed to be a dress of some sort.

"I don't know. It looks kind of short."

"It is!" Her eyes actually light up with excitement. "Now go put it on."

"I have a dress—"

"Your dress is what a nun in training would wear to church, not what a single woman wears to a club."

“What will Sam think about us going to a club?"

She shrugs. "He's coming with. This is our joint bachelor/ bachelorette party."

I don’t want to go to a club. I rub my hand up and down my arm, trying to buy myself time. Time to come up with an excuse not to go. My stomach is twisted in knots. She's right. I can’t get out of it; I have to go.

"Do it for me. Besides, Walker will be there," she says with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Who's Walker?"

"Don't even. I saw you two last night."

"You did?" I ask, shocked. But now that I know she knows, I want to ask her a million questions. What did she think of him? Did it look like he was interested in me?

"Of course I did. I see everything," she teases, opening her eyes wide. "He's a nice guy. Besides, you never know, maybe you'll be able to turn this fling into something real back home."

She had me at Walker.

That's his name. I'm giddy from the newfound knowledge. I take a deep breath and head to the bathroom, slinky black dress in hand, thinking of Walker, and suddenly, it's hard to breathe.

I pull the dress down inch by inch so that I don't accidentally rip it as I squeeze my body into it. I want to wear it with confidence, but right now, I feel like I'm impersonating an overstuffed pillow ready to burst at the seams.

I return to the main room to face my friend's scrutiny. When I see the stunned look on her face, I know I'm in trouble. I must look like shit. I glance down and see the ladies are practically popping out. The neckline is cut way too low. And there's no way I could wear a bra. I bet I'm showing nipple.

My eyes travel down to the top of my thighs. The hemline is shorter than anything I would normally wear. The side panels run the entire length of the dress and are made of a soft, stretchy lace fabric. A very see-through lace fabric that allows my panties to show.

“Um, Franny, I have a problem."

"Holy shit!" She stares at me open-mouthed. "You don't have a problem. When Walker sees you . . .Anyguy that sees you in this is going to have a problem. He'll be sporting wood faster than you could say, 'fuck me.'”

"You're crazy."

"No. I thought you'd look good, really good in my dress, but mother of all that is evil, I didn't think you'd look so fucking hot! I mean, if I weren't marrying Sam,I'dfuck you."

I laugh at my friend. "Are we for real?"

"Seriously." She bends down in front of me and reaches her hands up the dress along the outside of my thighs. I feel myself panic.

She’s just joking.Isn't she?

"Fran? What are you doing?"

"Relax."

She laughs at my reaction as her hands pull my underwear down. I can't speak. I can't breathe. I love Francesca, but not in this way.

"What the hell?"

"Relax, Penelope Prude. I'm just getting rid of these granny panties." She tosses my underwear on the bed.

---