Instead of focusing on the party, since I have a few hours before I need to get ready, I set an alarm on my phone and lose myself in my book and the academy of underworld types. It’s not your typical assassin book, but I am so here for it. This girl is living the dream: shoots like a badass, multiple guys falling at her feet. What’s not to love about it? My fantasy life inside these pages is far better than real life.
My alarm pulls me from the assassin world and I contemplate telling Emerson I’m sick. I’d much rather spend my night reading than going out, but I don’t know when I’m going to get a chance to see her again since we’re not going to college together anymore.
I run through the contents of my suitcases in my head and realize I have absolutely nothing to wear to a party. Especially not one in Oakwood.
I’m going to have to bite the bullet and look in the closets at the clothes Tobias mentioned earlier. Fun.
Groaning, I climb off of the heavenly bed—which might just be my favorite thing about this new situation of mine—and head over to the closet. Opening the door, I roll my eyes. This isn’t just a closet, it’s a fucking closet slash dressing room combo that’s probably the size of my old bedroom.
Rails line three of the walls; more clothes than you’ll find in a normal fucking store hang on them. That’s before I even get to the drawers that run along the bottom half of the closet.
Or the wall of cubed shelving that holds shoes.
Who the fuck needs a shoe wall?
This is not my life and I feel so fucking out of place. I never thought I’d miss our shitty two-bedroom apartment, but I do. It might not have been much, but it was home. Yes, the hot water left a lot to be desired and the water pressure was basically non-existent, but it was still home.
I brush my hand across the ridiculous amount of clothing, taking in the different textures. I feel like I’m living in one of my romance novels. This shit just isn’t real life.
With the choices I have in front of me, I should be able to find something to wear.
The problem with that is, none of these clothes are me. I really am the torn jeans and ratty hoodie or oversized cardigan kind of girl. Skirts, heels, crop tops… yeah, not exactly what I’d usually wear.
Except for the row of brand new Converse, each pair a different color.
Apparently, my mom did at least try to consider my clumsiness when she put this part of my new wardrobe together. Heels and my coordination do not work.
After spending too much time rummaging through my new gigantic closet, I find a pair of jeans and a black crop top. The jeans are, thankfully, a little like the ones I’d usually wear.
And then I can at least put my black cardigan with it and hide myself a little better. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my body, but my curves aren’t exactly comparable to the runway models that flit around the city. Pretty sure Serenity Falls is going to be full of the same sort. Not that there’s anything wrong with them, I’m all for body positivity, I’m just not tall, leggy, and stick thin like Emerson. I have tits and a dump truck for an ass.
Outfit chosen, I jump in the shower to wash away my day of traveling, doing a little happy dance, not just at the size of the shower stall, but at the delicious, powerful spray of hot water too. This bathroom is like something from the movies and as much as my new situation is a little upside down…
Maybe there are some perks to this new life of mine.
CHAPTERTWO
Ijump out of my cab, wrapping my cardigan around me, feeling more than a little self-conscious as my long red locks blow around in the breeze. I’m not self-conscious about my body—I adore my curves. I wouldn’t call myself plus size necessarily but I definitely have some extra ass and boob that I’m not sad about. No, what I’m self-conscious about is what I’ve put on it. This outfit is so not me. Not even a little.
The music from the house across the street from me is crazy loud, but no one else on the street seems to mind. Whoever this is must have really friendly neighbors. Not that the next houses are all that close. This house isn’t quite the monstrosity that I get to call home now, but it’s still insanely big, and people are somehow spilled all over the front lawn.
“Hey, bitch!” I turn, hearing Emerson’s voice as she struts toward me, all legs and long, straight hair. Of course, she’s in booty shorts and a tight tee. Paired with skyscraper heels, she looks fucking fabulous, as always.
“Hey!” I smile as she reaches me and wraps her arms around me.
“You look fucking awesome, your hair ishot!” she says, lifting some of the long bright red strands. “And you added bangs. I love that for you!”
“I wanted a change over summer,” I say with a shrug, and my cardigan falls open.
Her eyes go wide as she takes in the crop top. “Briar, you look hot as hell. Youhaveto ditch that hideous cardigan before we go inside.”
“One, no. Two, where the hell would I put it? In a fucking bush?”
She laughs at me likeI’mthe one saying wildly outrageous shit. “Come on, let’s head inside before my pre-buzz wears off.”
I choke out a laugh. Of course she’s already buzzed. She wrestles my cardigan from me, cackling once she has it in her clutches, and drags me across the street toward the masses of people before I can cover my stomach with my arms.
Someone save me. From her or myself.