than dire warnings, so best self . . . let’s make some magic happen.
I’ve turned the sexiness up to eleven tonight, skipping my usual ass-highlighting jeans for a skin-tight blue skirt, black fishnet stockings, and combat boots.
I haven’t worn a skirt since a certain bastard told me I looked cheap in them and strongly encouraged me to wear pants.
Even after that fucked-up situation ended, I’ve kept wearing jeans out of habit.
But tonight, I feel different. Defiant. Fierce.
I’m going to serve up drinks, look damn good doing it, and enjoy my shift.
Tiffany must be feeling my vibe too. “You’re gonna need Stella’s bat to keep all those pervy bastards off you with all that ass you’re serving up,” she jokes, looking pointedly at my butt. “Or they might even have to call 9-1-1 for those old geezers who come in here with their pacemakers.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Stop it.”
“Just sayin’. You’re gonna get extra-good tips tonight, girl.”
“Tips would be nice, that’s for sure,” I say, fussing with my hair. I’m in a good mood, and I’m not going to let anything or anyone change it. Including crazy voodoo ladies.
Turning around, I check myself out in the big mirror attached to the break room door . . . and damn, do I like what I see.
Tiff’s right. I look slamming tonight. This outfit is highlighting all my best assets, both T and A, my hair is cooperating, hanging shiny and smooth down my back, and my legs look long from my hem to my boots. I might not be ‘hot’ according to the skinny bitches’ magazines, but what the hell do they know? I’m a fucking knockout . . . a curvy fantasy of a woman most guys wish they could get their hands on.
For the first time in a while, I actually feel sexy. Comfortable in my own skin. Confident.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way. I’ve missed it. Missed . . . being myself.
The thought triggers a twinge of anger in my gut, the memory of my past threatening my flow for a second. But I dismiss the voice in my head that isn’t mine, the one with ugly things to say that tear me down, with a pep talk of my own.
He’s nothing. A ghost of my past that got me where I am today. Strong, beautiful, ready to live the life I want.
Tiffany is unaware of the range of thoughts, both good and bad and good again, rolling through my mind. Instead, she’s focused on posing beside me, our reflections looking back at us from the mirror. She shakes her head, making her big curls bounce around her face. “Shit, if I’d known you were going all out tonight, I’d have dressed up too.” She putzes around with her top, trying to make the V-neck into something a bit more plunging.
“I could grab you some scissors if you wanna just slash at that? Really let it all hang out.” She glares at me, but I can see the hint of a smile popping out at the corner of her mouth. She knows I’m teasing, so I flip my hair and wait for her to sass back.
But she doesn’t crack a joke, instead just shimmies her chest at me. “I think the girls are fine where they are, and no shirt, V-neck or otherwise, could hide this awesomeness.” We both burst into laughter, dissolving into hitched breaths and wide smiles.
“What are you two girls giggling about?” asks a stern voice from the doorway before I can respond. I turn my head, seeing Stella standing with her hands on her hips.
I’ve known Stella for a long time, and I don’t think she’s changed a bit since day one. Large, meaty arms from a lifetime of hauling drinks, pulling kegs, and raising two stubborn boys stand out from an ample bosom. There’s nothing sweet or dainty about Stella. She works twice as hard as anyone I’ve ever known and has dealt with drunken customers, even really big guys, with a fierce mask that dares them to try her and see what happens.
Still, for all of her no-nonsense solidness, Stella’s very prim in her own way. She’s wearing a dress that reminds me of an old-fashioned school teacher, her gray-streaked red hair pulled up into a bun on top of her head.
The best thing about her, though, is her heart, stern but infinitely loving.
Tiffany laughs at Stella’s unsmiling expression, knowing it’s just image . . . for now. “Well