I called a meeting tonight so we could finally narrow down a name for our business. We’d been arguing about it via phone calls and texts for the last few days so I figured sitting down face-to-face where we could talk things out would be better. I should have known as soon as I opened the door to find Ariel standing there with two bottles of tequila and margarita mix that things would go downhill quickly and we’d never get any work done.
“I wasn’t that bad. And it was my first time imbibing an alcoholic beverage. I think I did quite well,” Belle replies with a shrug as we all remember the ride home from Charming’s the night I gave PJ a lap dance.
“Our poor Uber driver had to pull over six times so you could throw up on the side of the road. I’ve never seen so much vomit come out of such a small person before,” Ariel complains, refilling my glass even though I shake my head and try to cover my glass with my hand.
“Studies show that having a mere three ounces of alcohol reduces fat-burning by a third. You’re probably right. I shouldn’t drink,” Belle says with a sigh as she eyes the pitcher with longing.
“Oh, shut the hell up. You weigh like, thirty pounds. My tits weigh more than you,” Ariel complains. “Speaking of tits, Cindy, you are a kinky, kinky motherfucker.”
She laughs as I snatch the red-and-black bustier out of her hand and shove it back into the box she’s been pawing through since she noticed it in the corner of the room with a few other boxes of clothes and shoes we didn’t get around to burning. I was planning to sell it all on eBay.
“Will you stop touching my lingerie? It’s weird,” I complain as she grabs a bright purple lace thong and starts twirling it around her finger.
“It’s only weird if you’ve worn this stuff before and your lady juice is on it. This shit all still has the tags on them. How in the hell do you have a giant box of lingerie, really expensive lingerie, just sitting in the back of your closet collecting dust?” Ariel asks as I yank the thong off her finger, toss it into the box, and push it out of her reach.
“Did you forget about the part where I haven’t had sex in three years and all the shit I did to get my husband to have sex with me during that time? That shit included a lot of late-night online lingerie shopping. It seems like a waste to have this stuff just sitting around when I can probably get good money for it. Can we please get back to the reason why we’re here tonight and try to pick a name for this business?”
Ariel looks at me like I’ve gone insane, and I ignore her, chugging the entire margarita she poured me before grabbing the notebook and pen sitting on the carpet next to me.
“Um, hello? Gorgeous, sexy man who is hot for you, won’t stop flirting with you, bought you a whole closet full of new clothes, makes you practically have an orgasm in the middle of Forever 21, and knows how to suck up to a teenage girl. I’m pretty sure none of that shit will go to waste, and I refuse to let you sell it.”
Ariel looks at me pointedly, and I busy myself by doodling on the notebook in my lap.
“He’s not hot for me. He’s just . . . being nice,” I reply lamely, knowing damn well there’s nothing nice about the things PJ says and does to me.
I might not have a lot of experience with the opposite sex, but I’m pretty sure no man would be this persistent or work so hard unless he wanted something out of it. And herein lies the problem—I don’t know what the hell he wants. Does he want to see what it’s like to fool around with a reformed, prudish housewife and then toss me to the side once his curiosity is sated? Does he want to run off into the sunset with me and make babies? Do I just want to have sex with him and then kick him to the curb? Why am I even worrying about all of this when I need to be concerned with paying my bills and starting this business?
I blame the tequila. There’s too much tequila in this tequila and it’s making me crazy.
“Why haven’t you sent me any pictures of you wearing your new clothes? Particularly the peach wrap dress that looks incredibly easy to untie.”
Blinking rapidly to clear my thoughts, I see Ariel holding my phone and quickly crawl over to her and try to grab it out of her hand before she reads any more of the texts PJ has sent me since our trip to the mall. But she evades my reaching and holds the phone above her head with the screen facing down as she continues to scroll through his messages.