Page 49 of Wanting the Winger

“I love how much you still love my brother.”

“You two are my best friends.”

She nudges my arm. “But I have the edge on him, right? You can tell me.”

“He’s the father of my child,” I say.

“So, you’re saying he’s caused you a lot of stress?”

I laugh. “He’s not solely to blame for Tillie’s conception. And stressful or not, I wouldn’t change a thing about my life. I’m damn lucky.”

“Look at you being all grateful and positive. It’s nice to see.”

“Darius is a good influence on me.”

“I guess so. When do I get to meet him?”

“I’m hoping sometime tomorrow.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” She places the sizzling-hot iron down on the bathroom counter, then her hands fly around my head as she twists and pins locks of my hair. I’m curious to see what she’s done, but she has my back facing the mirror. I’m not allowed to see until I’m completely dressed, but I trust her enough to know it’ll look appropriate for a formal event.

She sprays half a can of hairspray on my hair and I choke on the fumes.

“Don’t be a baby,” she scolds me.

“A little warning would’ve been nice. I could’ve covered my face with my hands.”

“And knock your fake lashes off? No way.”

I place my hand to my chest. “That would be a travesty, for sure.”

“Okay, let’s get your dress on. I’m sure Tillie is eager to see you.”

I stand and untie the knot on my robe. “I know. She asked me if she could come with me. I had to explain it was for adults only.” I let the soft garment slip from my shoulders to land on the chair behind me.

Wendy holds the dress in place as I step inside the black circle of gathered material. She drags the silky design up my body. I slip my arms into the lacy top portion and she pulls up the zipper in back.

I breathe out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank God it fits.”

“You never tried it on?”

I laugh. “Nope.”

She steps back, looking me over. “Hey, sexy momma.”

I smile stiffly.

“Why do you look constipated?” she asks.

“I’m practicing smiling.”

“Jesus. If you can’t do better than that, don’t bother.” She bends down, grabbing my shoes. “Let me help you get these on.”

I slip my foot into the torture device that’s made of golden leather. Wendy kneels down and loops the strap once around my ankle and twice around the bottom portion of my calf. When she moves over and fastens the other stiletto around my calf, the slight ruffled bottom of the dress falls just below mid-shin. Spinning around, I glance at myself in the mirror.

“Wow, you made me look good.”

Still on her knees, she scowls up at me. “Pfft. Good? Try sexy as fuck.” Standing, she hands me a small bag that matches my shoes. “Your phone, wallet, and lip gloss are already in here.”

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