Page 48 of Wild Hit
“Yes, but we need a casual dress. Like something you could wear for a night out clubbing in Vegas.”
Rose then asks, “So then it doesn’t necessarily have to be white, right? Like, who goes clubbing wearing white?”
“Nobody,” Hope and I say in unison.
I turn my body away. “You’re right, let’s go find clubbing clothes. Besides, I don’t think that anyone who gets drunk and married in Vegas is really thinking about what they’re wearing.”
“And probably most of the times the clothes end up on the floor.” Rose and I turn to look at Hope, Rose with a smirk and I with a quirked brow. “What? Do we need to talk about how babies are made?”
Rose snorts.
I sigh and change the topic entirely, back to square one. “I just can’t believe that this is what we’re doing on our much awaited day off.”
A hand falls over my shoulder, and the tallest of us says, “Don’t worry, we’ll also have brunch at a nice place. Then it’ll feel like this was a normal girl date.”
Except there’s nothing normal about today.
On our list, we have to find dresses for tomorrow night, comfortable shoes that match or compliment, and wedding rings for Miguel and I. He couldn’t get away from practice today, especially after already taking a day off yesterday to talk with Marty’s school principal. Instead, he gave me both his measurement and an ornamental ring that I can use to ascertain whether the ring I’m buying—mind, with his credit card—will fit him.
I swear, his ring sample and his card weigh two tons in my purse. Pretty sure it’s actually caused by my guilt for roping him into this.
“Let’s check out that store. I usually love everything they have.” Rose motions at us to follow her, and it takes some maneuvering through the throngs of people to finally make it.
The rush of cool air conditioner that greets us weakens my defenses just a tad, enough to not make me drag my feet as the former beauty pageant girl steers me toward a specific rack.
When I really pay attention, I discover that it’s stuffed with miniskirt dresses. All of them. Not a single one would fully cover my things.
Once more, Hope and I voice the exact same thought. “No.”
“Yes,” Rose counters, calmly. She folds her arms. “Picture this. Our hot coworkers ask us to dance at a club. What’s the one proven method that will keep their attention on us?”
“Our fantastic personalities?” I ask in my deepest sarcasm.
Hope adds, “Our gorgeous heads of hair?”
“That’s a good one,” I tell her, because honestly all three of us have spectacular hair—whether long and straight brown, or copious brown curls, or Alicia Silverstone type of blonde.
“Incorrect.” Rose places her hands on her hips. “The one thing that will hold their attention is what they consume through their eyes. Men are simple that way.”
I empty my lungs dramatically once more.
It’s true. There’s no denying this. However… “I’m not really planning to capture Miguel’s attention or anyone else’s.”
“Sure, but a cute little dress will make the act more believable for when I take pics and videos to share online. Like if you dress in a potato sack I’ll still think you’re a knockout, but the internet is gonna wonder what Miguel saw in you enough to marry you on the spot.”
I deadpan, “My stellar wit?”
“Well adjusted and non superficial people would agree, but they’re in the minority.” She offers me a cross between a smile and a cringe.
Hope narrows her eyes at her roommate. “That was a very nice way to diss the masses.”
“Thank you.” Rose grabs the sides of her skirt and does a little curtesy.
“Fine. We do have to lean on the physical angle to justify why we’re getting married after knowing each other for like two months. But this?” I pull up a dress with more cutouts than fabric. “This isn’t my style.”
“Trust your friend.” Rose points at herself. “I have great eye and also your very best interests in mind.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m in a changing room with five options, all of them in various shades of pink. Everyone knows that green is my thing, but we carefully looked at all the options in that color and let’s just say, I wouldn’t like to appear in my wedding pics looking like someone threw slime on me—they were that bad.
