We’re in Nicole’s car again, driving toward our destination. The ‘good’ news is we’re making good time. The bad news is I can barely breathe in this thing she calls a dress. It’s way too short, and way too tight, but according to her, that’s a ‘killer’ combination.
I think I might agree with her, only the person who might end up dying here is me and not the men she thinks will be ogling me because of it.
I shift in my seat again, adjusting the dress I’m wearing for the hundredth time in an attempt to get somewhat comfortable, because that’s the most I can ask for. This dress was not made to be comfortable. That much is clear.
“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding all that underneath those baggy clothes of yours this whole time!” Nicole exclaims for the sixth time—or maybe it’s the seventh. I’m not sure anymore. I lost count after her initial reaction when I first put it on in her apartment.
She’d literally screamed, to the point where I was ready to reach for my phone and dial 911 because I thought something had gone horribly wrong. But then her overly dramatic squeal was followed by the exact words, “Holy shit, Ramona, you’ve got tits and ass for days!”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I still don’t. To say that I was bewildered by her reaction would be an understatement.
“Jesus, those guys are gonna be falling over themselves trying to impress you tonight,” she says, bringing me back to the present.
“Gee, why doesn’t that make me feel better?” I counter, making sure she hears every bit of the snark in my tone.
I try to sound unbothered by her words, but renewed anxiety is making my heart do flip flops in my chest at the prospect of several men eyeing me the way a pack of wolves would a huge piece of meat. I can’t stop the shudder that escapes me at the thought.
“All you need to do now is get rid of those granny panties you have on,” she says nonchalantly, ignoring my remark.
“Ugh, for the last time, they’re not granny panties, Nicole,” I say, feeling exasperated from her continuous picking on my underwear. “They’re cotton briefs!” I explain, as if telling her that for the umpteenth time is going to make her change her stance on the matter.
“If they’re not lace thongs, they’re granny panties,” she says coolly. “And I can’t let you go in there wearing outdated granny panties. This is my reputation on the line, here. Besides,” she adds with a wicked smirk, “why would you wanna cover up an ass like that?”
“My God, you sound like a guy,” I say, sighing in surrender. I seriously give up! There’s no use arguing with her over it.
She makes a quick detour, pulling up at some sort of boutique.
“Sit tight. I won’t be long,” she says as she pops her door open.
“Wait, wh—” I begin, but she heads out and slams her door shut before I can get another word in. I watch her sashay into the fancy shop, swaying her hips almost provocatively before disappearing through the glass door.
I sigh again, leaning my head back on the headrest and resisting the urge to bang it several times against the firm leather cushion.
A few moments later, Nicole comes back, easing herself into the driver’s seat once more.
“Here,” she says, casually tossing a brand new red lace bra and its matching thong my way. I look at the pair of items incredulously, along with the attached price tag, and then I shoot her an even more disbelieving look.
“You can’t be serious,” I say, my eyebrows arched so high that, if I’m not careful, they may very well assume their new positions permanently.
“As a heart attack,” is her simple response.
“Nicole, look at this!” I say with a hint of desperation in my voice, holding up the flimsy sheer fabric of the thong as if she didn’t just pick it out herself. “How the hell am I supposed to wear this? And why the hell does something so small cost this much?”
It’s so tiny that it’s barely even there. I mean, where the hell is the rest of it?! I might as well just go commando if this is what I’m supposed to be working with. Besides, thongs and I have never gotten along for a reason; they’re practically constant wedgies!
I mean, why the hell would anyone pay to get a frickin’ wedgie?!
I frown as I continue to regard the thong. “And even if I did agree to wear this, where I am supposed to change?”
“Well, right here, duh,” Nicole says, her tone still as nonchalant as ever.
I shoot her another incredulous look.
“What?” she says with her brow arched. “We’re both girls, here. Plus, I’ve already seen your goodies,” she adds with a grin. “Well…most of them, anyway.”
I feel my face burn at hearing her tease me like that. I know they’re just harmless words, but it’s still embarrassing.
I sigh in surrender once more, silently agreeing to take the plunge and just wear the damn things. I know she’s risking a lot for me with the Rainbow Service, and I don’t want her to feel like I’m being ungrateful.
I slide down the length of the seat, and the dress immediately rides up my thighs as I do, exposing more of my skin to the heated leather. I reach for the band of my panties under the dress and pull, avoiding any eye contact with Nicole as the briefs slide down my thighs and legs.
After quite a bit of fussing and uncomfortable body positioning while trying to remain discreet, I finally have the lecherous pair of lingerie on.
I stuff my other pair into my purse, and a part of me can’t believe I just changed my underwear right in front of Nicole—and in her car, no less.
I finally meet her eyes, and she still has that coy grin on her lips. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I can only shake my head in resignation.
She starts the engine up again, fixing her wand-curled hair in the mirror before zipping onto the road again.
She maintains the grin plastered on her lips. “Now you’re ready for a party.”