Page 9 of Beautifully Wild

In a matter of hours, we’re back in our cramped apartment dressing into our colorful animal-print outfits. And by colorful, I mean neon pink, yellow, and blue with a black background.

We decorate our faces in a dark bronzer before applying the glitter and colorful eye makeup to match our costumes.

“You know this makeup isn’t going to stay on once we head out into the heat, right?” I say as I stroke mascara to my lashes.

“You should have fake lashes. Foolproof,” Amy quips. She bats her synthetic ones to make a point.

“If I were to glue any now, it would melt in this humidity, and by the end of the night, I’d probably find it on my cheek.”

“She has a point,” Bree adds.

Amy ignores Bree. “Done.” She twirls in front of the mirror. “Girl, we’ll be picking up tonight.”

I stare at her in the reflection, my hand frozen mid-air. “Here? In this tiny apartment? Do I need to remind you we’re sharing a queen bed?”

Amy shrugs, causing Yasmine and Bree to grin at me.

“Hope there’s room for three in your bed,” I remark to their reflections.

“There is. I’m not that big,” Amy replies.

I roll my eyes.

Yasmine smiles at me. “I’m popping the champagne now.”

“I’m glad we have only two more nights here.” I bump Amy with my shoulder. All four of us trying to use a single bathroom mirror isn’t ideal.

After popping two bottles of champagne, we head to Ipanema Beach. With the alcohol pumping through my veins, combined with the excitement of partying with fifteen thousand other revelers, I swear I’m close to wetting my pants.

Forty-five minutes later, I clamber out of the taxi holding my stomach because I spent the entire ride squeezing my pelvic floor.

Amy appears by my side. “If it makes you feel any better, I was scared for my fucking life!”

Bree joins us. Her face is also pale. “That ride was an experience.”

Ignoring us, Yasmine walks past with a spring in her step. “I can hear the band.”

We don’t question, only follow.

“I have to pee,” I tell Yasmine. “I need to find some form of restrooms first.”

“C’mon,” Amy yells from outside the cubicle when I’m taking the longest pee in the history of urination. “I’m dying of dehydration out here.”

“Okay, ready,” I say when I join my friends outside. There’s no doubt where the action is. The crowd is thick along the beach, and we have no clue where to even look for the bar.

It doesn’t take long for us to infiltrate the membrane of the crowd.

“How the hell are we supposed to get drinks when we have to snake around partygoers, and all I see is people dressed in drag with twenty-inch heels, or they are propped for the Samba parade with a ten-foot headpiece?” Amy whines.

I chuckle because we have always teased Amy about her height. “That’s why Bree is leading us,” I say and wink. Even though I’m almost as tall as Bree, I fall behind because this body on body and being surrounded by sweaty skin isn’t as fun as it looks.

We get to a point, and no one moves to allow us through. We can’t see beyond them or where in the crowd we’re stuck. “Can you point us in the direction of the bar?” Amy asks a group of guys.

A guy stares at her with a confused look.

“Bar,” she repeats and mimes drinking from a cup.

“Sim.”Yes. “Bar,” he points toward the beach further along.

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