Page 15 of Such a Good Girl

“Fine,” I sighed. Reluctantly, I stripped off my sweatshirt and pushed my sweatpants over my hips, suspiciously eyeing the bundle of straps Violet held.

“Take off your bra and panties, too,” she commanded.

“Easy for you to do,”

“Job hazard.” She shrugged. “You lose all sense of modesty as a model.”

“I’m not a model. I have lots of modesty!”

“Well, pretend you’re someone else. Like Beyoncé. A stage presence, so to speak.”

“Right,” I said, peeling off my underwear and standing buck ass naked in front of my friend.

“Damn girl, you are fucking hot, you know that right? Look at that ass! Those curves! Your nipples are perfect.”

My face heated instantly.

“Don’t be shy, mama. Own that shit. Do you know how many women would kill for a body like yours?”

“I just hope I can figure out who’s killing bodies in general,” I said, as we struggled together to get me into the strappy contraption. It took a few minutes and all I could think about was that I hoped I didn’t need to go to the bathroom while wearing it.

“You’re gonna knock a few people dead yourself in this outfit,” she said once we’d succeeded. She stepped back with a nod of approval. “Damn, Kaylee. If I wasn’t straight, I’d have my head firmly wedged between your thighs right now.”

“Violet!”

“What?” she said, with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m serious. Go look in the mirror.”

I padded off to the bathroom, shaking my head at her words.

The reflection staring back at me looked like it belonged to a stranger. Somehow the straps managed to cover all the private bits, even forming a tiny banded skirt that barely covered my ass and crotch. Everything else was completely exposed.

I hated it.

I couldn’t imagine wearing this in public.

Violet appeared next to me, nodding enthusiastically.

“I can’t wear this,” I said.

“You already are. And you’re fire, baby!” she said.

“I can’t!”

“You have to wear this, Kaylee. It’s a sure thing.”

“Shit,” I muttered, my stomach turning.

“Do it for the victims,” Violet reminded me, as she held up a pair of thigh-high, black suede, stiletto boots. I groaned, gathering every ounce of strength inside of me to pull this shit off.

The crime scene photos flashed in my mind and the familiar rage bubbled up to the surface again. I had to hold onto that rage, or I would fail spectacularly.

I turned away from the mirror and headed back to the couch, anxious to get out of this get-up. My phone flashed and I grabbed it, reading the text message from the Lieutenant with a loud groan.

“What is it?” Violet asked, filling my wine glass again.

“My assignment starts tomorrow. And Hoskins is going to be my handler. Fucking great. He’s the prick that put the vibrator in my locker.”

“Fuck him. You got this,” she replied, handing me the glass. I grabbed it and downed it quickly, then sank into the couch, the dress digging into my fleshy bits.

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