Page 100 of Rock Bottom Girl
She was supposed to be me. Only a better version that involved actual effort.
I couldn’t help myself. I snapped a selfie and sent it to my sister.
Zinnia: What the hell happened to you, and can you make it happen to me too? If this is a photo filter, I need it.
Me: My team made me over. I don’t recognize myself.
Zinnia: You look gorgeous! Tell me you’re not wasting that look on Saturday night leftovers with M&D.
Me: Actually, Jake’s taking me out.
Zinnia: You can’t hear me, but I’m squealing right now. Okay. I’m squealing internally because I’m at Edith’s violin concert. Where are you going? Will there be sex?
Me: Uh. Yeah. Fake relationship. Remember?
Zinnia: He’s single. You’re single. He’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous. I’m not seeing the problem.
Me: Sex would complicate EVERYTHING.
Zinnia: Your willpower is laudable. And annoying. If you loved me at all, you’d have sex with Jake and then write up a detailed report on it for me.
Me: You’re ridiculous.
Zinnia: Gotta go. Miss Edith just strode on stage in epic resting bitch face. She’s about to rock this place with the Suzuki rendition of Itsy Bitsy Spider.
Ahh, precocious child proteges.
Me: Break a leg, Edith.
I glanced at the time and realized Jake was picking me up any minute. I gave myself a last once-over, reveling in the fact that “oh well, whatever” didn’t echo in my head like it usually did. I’d kept the jeans, changed into a cute green sweater I’d stolen from my mom’s closet and added a puffy vest for warmth. I looked…good.
My confidence was further reinforced when I answered the front door.
“Hi—” Jake’s greeting cut off abruptly as he took in the visual glory of the new me.
Was there an odder pleasure in this world than having a man bowled over by your attractiveness?
“What?” I asked innocently, as his gaze traveled from my boot-clad toes to caramelly new hair. Those green eyes paused an additional second in the boobal region.
“You look…different,” he mused. “Are you taller?”
“That must be it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Are we ready to go?”
“Hell yeah, pretty girl.” He grinned. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and I reconsidered Zinnia’s demand that I have awesome sex with Jake.
I followed him down the walkway toward the street and came to a halt. “Where’s your car?”
He held out a helmet to me and stroked a loving hand over the seat of the motorcycle parked at the curb. It wasn’t the crotch rocket he’d ridden in high school that had mothers warning their daughters to stay away from “that Weston boy.” This was something bigger, beefier. Sexier.
“You’re not afraid of a little fun, are you?”
Jake wouldn’t understand that my hesitation wasn’t fear. This moment was straight out of a dorky high school loser’s fantasy.TheJake Weston was picking me up at my house on a motorcycle. I was sure I’d fantasized about this exact scenario. Today I was living out a high school ugly duckling turned swan movie. I’d had the makeover. Bonded with the cool kids. And now the cutest guy in school wanted me to climb on a bike and wrap my arms around him so he could drive us off into the sunset.
“I figured we could ride to dinner and then grab my SUV before the bonfire,” Jake said, wiggling the helmet.
I took it, praying that Wilma’s miracle hair spray could withstand helmet head.
“Let’s do it,” I said.See? I could be cool. I was totally cool.
