Page 41 of Wild Pitch
“Hmm.”
I run my fingers down the tips of my freshly blow dried hair. I was pretty sure I had at least a couple of dresses. I recall a teal one and a floral thing. Didn’t I wear them to go clubbing with the girls not that long ago?
“Oh!” I step into the mess to rummage through the shelves where I keep my linen and smaller gym clothes. There, under a pile of undershirts, I find the two dresses all balled up.
I guess Starr’s plan continues ahead. However, a new little problem has been unlocked. The two dresses are more wrinkled than a raisin. At least they smell clean.
Feet bare, I pad out to the living room. Rose sits on the couch with her Mac, and by the look of concentration in her face I surmise she’s in the throes of editing videos for social media. Meanwhile, Audrey’s in the kitchen, her back turned to us while she waters the serpent’s tongue plants by the kitchen window. Beyoncé is the final member of the household, singing a country song in the background.
“Does anyone have an iron?” I ask, interrupting the quiet.
The two of them turn my way. No one’s shocked at my state of undress—we’ve all seen worse at one point or another. But what captures their attention right away is the two dresses that hang in a crumpled cascade from my hands.
Rose points at them. “Whoa, what is that?”
“Dresses?” Audrey narrows her eyes, mouth open wide enough to let flies in.
“No need to be so shocked,” I retort in a deadpan.
“Since when does Hope Garcia wear dresses?”
I shift my weight to one foot. “Since she’s trying to make a bare minimum effort.”
“Fair.” Rose grins. “I can lend you some more interesting pieces.”
“Please, I’m not a million-feet-tall former beauty pageant, I can’t pull off anything in your wardrobe.”
“I’m sure I have an iron somewhere.” Audrey sets the watering pot down on the counter and pats her hands dry with her sweatshirt as she makes for the stairs.
Rose continues as though uninterrupted. “You can definitely pull off whatever you want. But I hope you have cuter underwear?”
I snort. “Literally no one’s going to see it so what’s the point?”
“The point is foryouto feel like a million bucks, not to show it to anyone at all if that’s not what you want.”
Steps echo behind me. “‘Kay, it’s not an iron. It’s a steamer.”
“I’m sure that’s fine,” I say, turning to receive the device. It looks like some kind of tiny kettle and I immediately know that I have no idea how to even make sense of it. “Er, help?”
The two of them fully abandon what they were doing to help me get ready. I end up going for the teal dress because it’s a simpler number—I’d describe it as a tight, short-sleeved T-shirt that reaches down to the middle of my thighs. With white sneakers, and a light coating of mascara and lip gloss, I feel like I’ve tried enough that it shows, while not making myself uncomfortable.
“How’s this?” I ask the girls as they surround me in front of my floor length mirror.
“Not bad. Simple but cute.” Audrey nods.
Rose hums. “I wish there was more cleavage or something.”
“Just for the record, I’m wearing it to go to my brother’s for my sister-in-law’s birthday. There’s literally zero need for cleavage there.”
“Oh, okay.”
Audrey side eyes me, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. “What if one of your relatives brings a hot friend over?”
“In that case, having my boobs firmly secured under fabric will make me less nervous.”
“Pfff.” Rose shakes her head and leaves my room with the air of someone who gives up. All Audrey does is pat my shoulder before walking out too.
I grab my mini backpack, one of the jackets haunting my wardrobe, and blow kisses at them on the way out the door.
