Once Crash left the building, Angel turned to Shannon. “Look through what we brought. See if anything feels like you.”
Shannon nodded toward Crystal. “I like what Crystal’s wearing.” Her eyes swept over the tight baby-doll tank with the tiny lace trim, down over the expanse of exposed belly to the belted denim shorts that came just past her ass, and down to the combat-type boots she wore. The whole thing was topped off with several strands of chain necklaces and dozens of bracelets on each wrist.
“That’s Crystal’s style. That’s not you. What would you wear to a BBQ? Let’s start there,” Angel suggested.
A half hour later, after sorting through all the clothes, Shannon was modeling an outfit. She was dressed in a pair of white, short-shorts, a bright orange tank top with the back straps twisted into a rope that ran down the center of her spine. Two gold metal circles attached the straps to the bodice of the tank at the front that hung loosely to her hip. They’d accessorized her with a pair of dangling gold disc earrings and platform sandals.
“She can’t wear the cute platforms riding,” Crystal commented.
“Sure she can,” Angel insisted. “I’ll leave you an old pair of my boots when you go riding, but I think for today, you’ll be fine. You’re only going to the clubhouse and back.”
“It’s forty miles,” Crystal pointed out.
“But they look so cute with the outfit.” Angel wasn’t giving in.
Crystal rolled her eyes. “Not sure this is what Crash had in mind when he called us to redress her.?
?
“Crash doesn’t know beans about women’s clothes. Besides, we could give her a ride to the club, it that’s his problem with this outfit.”
Crystal grinned, taking in the long length of Shannon’s tanned legs and the way the shorts hugged her ass. “Yeah, that’s gonna be his problem with this outfit. The shoes.”
Angel smiled conspiratorially at Crystal.
“Oh, I see your game.”
“What?” Shannon asked.
“Nothing, hon. I’m sure this will be fine.” Angel smiled at her.
Shannon looked down at herself. “Are you sure? I thought you’d be dressing me in a Harley tee and jeans.”
The women ignored her.
“She needs to go braless,” Crystal commented.
“She doesn’t need to be skanky,” Angel disagreed. “Crash can have skanky any day of the week. What Shannon’s got going for her is her beauty and class. It’s like she’s some unattainable ideal.”
“Well, you don’t want her to seem too unattainable. I say braless—that’ll get his attention,” Crystal reiterated.
“The strapless bra. It’s sexy as hell,” Angel asserted.
“But it shows,” Crystal argued.
“All the better—a little peek can be very flirty.”
“Better braless.” Crystal wouldn’t give up.
“She’s not easy. That says easy,” Angel insisted.
Twenty minutes later, when Crash stepped off the elevator, they had helped her with her hair and makeup, arguing about that as well. Angel wanted to sweep it up to show off Shannon’s sexy bare back and shoulders. Crystal insisted men liked women’s hair down. Angel, as usual, won out, insisting Shannon could start out with it up, and then let it down later in the day. That way, they both win.
Shannon rolled her eyes and went with the flow.
Now she was standing in front of Crash as his eyes swept over her, feeling almost like a show-horse put up for sale. His gaze heated, his eyes turning molten, especially as they trailed over the length of her long legs and ass. His eyes finally lifted to meet Shannon’s a split second before they swung to Angel. “You’re shittin’ me, right?”
Angel grinned. “No, we are most definitely not ‘shitting’ you. She looks great. This is what she’s wearing, so deal with it.”