Page 115 of Sweet as Sin (Bad Habit 1)
f, though. She simply offered a polite, “Congratulations,” and we’d moved on to the subject of the party.
It must have been hell on her to bite her tongue. I was going to give her a huge hard hug when I saw her next.
“Nico’s got so many cops coming you won’t be able to walk ten feet without bumping into a man with a gun. And Barney has a bunch of his freelance undercover buddies scheduled to be there, too. Security will be tighter than a nun’s snatch. If anyone so much as sneezes the wrong way, he’ll have ten cops up his ass before you can say ‘God bless.’”
“What lovely visuals,” said Grace with distaste.
“Those are Nico’s words, not mine.”
“Naturally.”
We shared a small laugh, then fell into tense silence. After a moment, she sighed. “I’m worried about you.”
“I know, Grace. And I love you for it.”
When I didn’t add more, she sighed again. I imagined her tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the mahogany desk in her office, staring at the PhD in psychology from Stanford framed on the wall, wondering how she’d wound up with such a train wreck for a best friend.
“All right. I’ll go to this party of yours—”
“Bad Habit’s,” I corrected.
“—whatever. I’ll go to this party, and be nice, and pretend to have a good time, because I love you, too.” Her voice turned thoughtful. “And it might be mildly amusing to observe the hero-worship dynamic in collective. It’s fascinating how adults can idolize entertainers as if they’re gods—”
I cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s very interesting, Doctor Freud. Now can we please talk about what we’re going to wear?”
“Aside from a liberal coating of anti-bacterial hand cream? Of course.”
“I’m pretty sure you won’t have to shake anyone’s hand, Grace. It’s not exactly a business meeting.”
“And I’m pretty sure one can catch a virulent strain of gonorrhea from the toilets in places like the House of Blues.”
“Well then you’ll be putting that anti-bacterial cream somewhere other than your hands, won’t you?”
She laughed. “I suppose I will. Do you think anyone will notice if I just wear a full-body condom instead of a leather miniskirt?”
It was my turn to laugh, and it felt good. “Girlfriend, I think if you show up in a leather miniskirt half the men at the party will drop dead of heart attacks.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “Give me some credit. With my legs, I’d kill off at least three quarters of them.”
“And the other twenty-five percent are obviously gay.”
I felt her grin through the phone. “Exactly.”
“Well, if it helps you decide, I’m wearing a red dress so short my coochie will be probably be waving hello to everyone.”
Grace said drily, “You always were a class act.”
“It’s not my fault! Nico sent over a personal shopper from some boutique in Beverly Hills whose clients must all be hookers and trannies. I’ve never seen such an abundance of stretchy, shiny, tiny dresses.”
“Did you get the clear heels?”
I snorted. “Clear heels? Are you kidding me?”
“Kat, if you’re going to work the hooker look, you’ve got to go all the way. You can’t show up in ballet flats with your coochie hanging out of your dress. We don’t want to send mixed messages.”
“Clear heels are for strippers, dummy. Thigh-high pleather boots, now those are full-on hooker wear.”
She paused. “Ugh. Did you see the movie Kinky Boots? Because I’m getting this really awful visual right now.”
