Redesigning Fate (Revive #1) - A. M. Wilson Page 0,8

I graduated from high school, and I haven’t seen him since then. He had promised to wait, to take me with him, but he left without a word. The betrayal I feel from DJ is more powerful than that of my parents, combined.

Is the pattern obvious yet? It was my turn to walk away before someone else could turn their back on me. I vowed never to let someone important walk away from me again. Travis may have broken my heart in the cruelest of ways, but I left before he had the chance to coax me into giving him another chance. I’m ashamed to admit I have a history of taking him back.

I slow the treadmill to a brisk walk, leaving my thoughts behind for my cool down. The three miles I typically have to push through flowed easily from my system tonight. I hit the showers before heading out to my car. Remembering my fridge at home is embarrassingly empty, I pick up Subway for dinner and leisurely drive home.

An hour later, I sit on my couch, flipping through the television channels. I am just stuffing the last delicious bite of my turkey sub into my mouth when my door flies open, and Carly comes waltzing inside, bags in tow.

“Are you here for the night or staying for the week?” I ask, eyeing the bags dubiously.

She laughs a high-pitched squeal, a mischievous look in her dark brown eyes. “Of course I’m not staying for the week. But we are going out to celebrate, and I thought you could use a new dress. Plus, half of this is just my stuff for getting all glammed up to go out.”

“You have more beauty supplies than a drag queen,” I say, with a roll of my eyes. “Let me see the dress.”

She tosses a black garment bag on the couch. I unzip it slowly, excited yet a little scared. Carly is known to be extreme at least eighty-five percent of the time. I clap my hands together when I see what’s inside, a sexy black mini dress. The slinky black material has a halter style bodice with a sweetheart neckline. Straps crisscross down the open, low back. Under the breasts, the sides are cut out offering a flash of exposed skin. I practically run to my bathroom to try it on, grinning like an idiot the entire way.

“I take it you like it?” Carly yells from the other room.

I’m giggling and giddy as I rip off my own clothes to slide it on. It fits perfectly, as if it were tailored specifically to me. The dress hugs every inch and curve of my body, hiding all the right places and accentuating my best assets. I step back out into the living room and catch Carly as she finishes sliding on her own new dress. Hers is a bold red with a flaring skirt that barely reaches mid-thigh. It has one thick shoulder strap with a keyhole cut out showing a flash of cleavage.

“Damn! You look hot,” she says while checking herself out in my living room mirror.

“So do you! Thanks for getting this for me. Nothing in my closet compares to this.” I cannot hide my excitement. My family had little money, not that they would have given me any, and I’ve worked for every penny in my name. But I could never justify splurging on such a purchase, as beautiful as it may be.

“It was nothing, baby girl. You deserve it. Now get over here so I can do your hair and find the makeup to finish your look.”

I am on my way to her when a thought strikes me, and I change course toward the kitchen. I grab two shot glasses, my half-full bottle of Patron, and head back to where Carly is waiting.

“Can’t forget to pregame. Bottoms up,” I say, filling the glasses and throwing back the burning liquid in one swallow. I slam my glass on the table and sit down on the stool Carly has waiting for me.

She goes to work curling my brown hair into big, soft curls. We both know it won’t matter once we really get dancing. Clubs are hot and sweaty. I could spray enough hairspray to put my personal hole in the Ozone, and I’d still end up with my hair in a ponytail in about an hour. Regardless, it’s fun for us to style each other’s hair and makeup. The task has become somewhat of tradition when we go out.