Page 141 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
We throw back the drinks.
Josie doesn’t do anything fancy to my hair, but I’m not sure how a quick blow-dry makes my curls bounce the way they do. It’s like I’m the star getting a makeover on one of those Y2K rom coms. I promised I’d never be that woman. But I’m doing this for myself, so that’s the difference.
“Let’s shake it up tonight and let loose.” Josie plops my Stetson on my head and fluffs my curls over my shoulders.
I run my fingers through my hair, the statement sounding foreign, but thrilling.
“Let’s let loose.”
Josie whistles. “There she is.”
“Give me a second. I’m gonna change.”
“Ohhh.” Josie slaps my ass. “She’s gonna change.” She pulls the sleeve of my Aztec sweater, and I let it fall to the ground. “Shit just got real. All my clothes are on limits. In fact, I say wear anything.”
“If I want to look like a honky tonk heartbreaker or a woman who does questionable things in the back of a truck.”
“Questionable things in the back of a truck,” Josie yells.
I turn. “But seriously, pick up my sweater. It’s from grandma, remember?”
Josie is already bending down to grab it.
I shut the bedroom door and hear the laughter on the other side. Denim and T-shirts are my usual armour. But right now they feel like camouflage. Like I’m hiding in plain sight.
Not tonight.
I walk deeper into the chaos of their makeshift closet. AKA: the back bedroom that looks like a cowgirl yard sale exploded.
Clothes everywhere.
Glitter, fringe, something that might be feathers?
I eye the pile of dresses hanging crooked off an overhead hook. They’re not mine. None of this is mine. My sisters brought half a boutique and zero shame.
I pull one out. Black, fitted, tiny. Strapless. It looks like sin on a hanger.
I stare at it, half-horrified, half-hypnotized.
This ain’t me.
But maybe that’s the damn point.
I peel off my shirt, and my jeans follow.
I shimmy into it with way too much excitement for someone raised on Wrangler jeans and button-downs. Every tug feels like I’m shedding someone I outgrew, someone who always kept her buttons buttoned, her heart guarded, and her mouth polite.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I want to feel everything.
The dress is tighter than I expected. Shorter, too.
I catch myself in the mirror and blink.
Damn.
I don’t look like the ranch girl who wakes up at five to feed horses. I look like someone who’d climb onto a mechanical bull and break hearts with her thighs.
