Page 14 of Drunk Dialing My Enemy

I pull my phone out of my back pocket and sure enough, I’ve got a handful of notifications from my best friend.

“Shoot, I’m sorry Dot,” I groan. “I’ve been busy.”

She looks me up and down.

“Well, you don’t appear to be on death’s door. I guess you’re recovering from last night okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Darren made sure I got home safe, and brought me breakfast and medicine this morning.”

I look at Dot, searching for a sign that she suspects that there’s more going on with her brother and her best friend, but she doesn’t seem to think anything is unusual. Why would she? Darren was always looking out for us when we were growing up. She’s never suspected anything ever happened between us, assuming the distance between Darren and I was because of him going off to college and us drifting apart.

“Are you here to shop?” I ask Dot.

“Mostly just to check on you,” she says. “And I was going to ask if you needed me to grab you a coffee, but you’ve already got one.”

I glance at the cup in my hand guiltily.

“But,” she continues, walking down one of the aisles of my store. “I’ve got a new client coming in for a photoshoot tomorrow, so I was thinking maybe I could grab a few things. She’s size eighteen and she hasn’t bought herself anything nice in a long time.”

“Thought she would deserve nice clothes once she lost some weight?” I guess.

“Same story, different girl,” Dot sighs, shaking her head as she flips through a rack of flowy gowns. “As though squeezing yourself into jeans that cut off your circulation is any way to live.”

“What’s the vibe of the photoshoot?” I ask, relieved that the conversation is moving far away from anything related to Darren.

“Boudoir. Not fully nude, but suggestive.”

“Wow.”

“She thinks it’ll shake her out of the funk she’s in,” Dot explains.

I nod. I understand this very well. Most of Dot’s clients are plus sized and it’s funny how often they come in with the same needs.

I’ve always been in awe of Dot’s ability to bring out the confidence in people. She’s done it for me, and now for her clients. They come into her studio reluctant to even smile or be photographed at an angle they consider unflattering. By the end of it, sometimes they’re stripping down for something to surprise their husband with.

“Perfect,” Dot says, landing on a lacy full length robe. “I’ve got a minidress that would look so good with this.”

“So after the photoshoot, what are you up to today?”

She sighs.

“My boss is being an unreasonable douche-face again. So probably doing some work for him.”

“On the weekend?” I ask. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Heis ridiculous,” she says. “I hate that I have to work there. But it’s only until my photography business picks up a little more…oooh, I can’t wait to see his face when I finally quit. I hope it wipes that stupid smirk right off his ugly face.”

“Your boss is a lot of things, but ugly is not one of them,” I say, thinking of William Lewis’s annoyingly handsome face. He might bealmostas good looking as Darren…but I’ve never been into the polished, professional types. Whereas Darren is always wearing jeans and cowboy boots, some kind of dirt or oil staining his palms, his hair and his beard always a little bit wild and in need of a trim.

“You okay?”

“What?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

Dot eyes me suspiciously.

“You just looked like you were zoning out there, for a moment.”

She glances out the window as I ring up her purchase.

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