Page 88 of Bad For Me (Rock Canyon, Idaho 5)

“No.”

“Ow! Dude, you did not have to hit me.”

“Well, stop trying to come in here, and I won’t have to whackadoodle you,” Callie said, shimmying out of the clingy costume. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you boundaries?”

“She tried.”

“And failed, obviously.” Callie stood for a moment, studying her body in just a plain white bra and bikini briefs. Her fingers traced the six scars she could see, the first across her right shoulder. The second and third had been just under her collarbone and below her breasts. Three raised white lines marred the skin of her abdomen, and the last was on her back. It was strange to see them healed, especially since she could still remember lying on the floor and feeling the wet warmth of her blood pouring out of her before she’d drifted into nothingness.

Callie jumped when Gracie spoke again.

“Hey, what the hell does whackadoodle mean, anyway?”

She didn’t want to look at herself or remember that night. Covering her body, she looked away from the mirror and gathered up her T-shirt, covering her chest with it. “It’s something my mom used to say when I was being a pill. Basically, cruisin’ for a bruisin’ but funnier.”

“I think I got something,” Gemma said. She thrust the item through the curtain. It appeared to be a black robe in a plastic bag, but as Callie turned the package over, she got a look at the picture and description. It was nun’s habit—with half the habit missing. It would definitely cover her chest, but by the looks of the skirt, it stopped about midthigh and if she even thought about bending over, she’d be flashing her butt cheeks.

Holy slutty habit, Batman.

“How is something like this not illegal?” Callie ignored their laughter and pushed the costume back out through the curtain. “If I’m going to dress in a naughty costume, I don’t think a nun is the right choice. Besides, it’s just tacky.”

“But you said you wanted something that covered more up top,” Gemma argued.

“How about something that doesn’t scream ‘hooker wear’?” Callie muttered.

“Hey, maybe I’ll see if Caroline wants to come out with me,” Gracie said.

Callie stared into the mirror, her expression puzzled, while Gemma said exactly what she herself had been thinking. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Since Callie will be deejaying, and you’re . . . well . . . too round to party, I need a new wing woman. Someone who doesn’t mind getting her sexy on.”

“I’m pretty sure Gabe would have a problem with her getting her sexy on,” Callie called out.

“Damn it, I am too young to be the last single person in my social group.”

“Mike’s single,” Gemma said.

“Yes, but I am not going to date Mike. It would be incestuous at this point.”

“Okay, I’m going to look for something else for Callie while you ponder your spinsterhood,” Gemma said.

“Hey, I am single by choice!” Gracie was quiet on the other side for a minute before speaking to Callie. “Maybe I should be the nun. It’s not like I’m getting any anyway.”

“You can have it.” Callie could just picture Gracie in the skimpy costume, having no problem rocking something like that and looking good doing it. But if a blasphemous black habit with a strip of white was all Callie had to choose from, she’d just wear a pair of cat ears with her jeans and T-shirt.

Callie stuffed the costume around the curtain for Gracie to take. “You could totally pull this off.”

“I know,” Gracie said. “But if I wore something like this, the dickhead would show up and find some way to make me feel like an idiot.”

“Are you talking about Eric? I thought Eric liked you.” Actually, Callie wasn’t quite sure what their deal was, but she thought it was attraction.

“Liked? Eric likes to pick at me. He doesn’t like me.” Gracie’s tone was irritable as she added, “Can we just not talk about him, for once?”

Whoa, talk about touchy subject.

“Sure, of course. And hey, look, I don’t need a costume—”

“Wait, I’ve got it!” Gemma squealed and a few seconds later stuffed something through the curtain.

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