The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (3 page)

BOB, a.k.a. battery operated boyfriend.
Did she have to go public about that right at this moment?
I cringe. I also don’t need a reminder of my anti-climactic sex life.

I can’t help but be jealous of Stacey’s ability to be such a free spirit—her well-earned moniker of
Spicy Stacey
is quite fitting. I had hoped that after all these years of friendship some of it would have rubbed off. Unfortunately, I think deep down I will always be ‘Conservative Aby,’ ‘Goody-two-shoes Aby,’ or ‘a square’ as she regularly calls me.

“Don’t give me that look, Abs. You know I’m right. You’ve come all this way. All I’m saying is don’t miss out on a viable orgasmic-induced opportunity because you’re contending for this ‘perfect plan’ of yours. Let’s just try having sex before you rush into dating, sugar plum. Just go with it. I’m telling you, you need a massage, there’s way too much tension in that vagina of yours.”

“Whatever,” I tease, standing from the table.

She grabs my arms, holding me in place as she stares me down, “Repeat after me, ‘I will
not
put up my defensive wall tonight, I
will
be open to having fun, will contain my verbal diarrhea mouth, and let my vagina breath fresh air.’”

Rolling my eyes, I laugh, “I love you, Stace.”

“I love you too. Now brace yourself, Effy. We’re going to have a kick-ass night, hangovers be damned.”

“I don’t relish the thought of being hung-over while apartment hunting tomorrow.”

“Hush!” she flashes me the stink eye. “It’s
flat
hunting, darling, and I’ll carry a baggy just for you,” she drawls in a British accent, winking, coffee-to-go in hand.

AN HOUR AND two boutiques later, I find myself trussed up in the most revealing dress I’ve ever tried on.

“Stace, this dress is
not
happening. It’s see-through for God’s sake.”

“Oh come on. You look
hot.
”

My insistent expression screams
Hell NO.

“Ok, ok. Try this one next,” she caves, handing me a black slinky dress.

I hold it admiringly, pulling the curtained door closed. Slipping the black dress up over my hips, I slide the thin spaghetti straps over my shoulders.
This is the one!
I think to myself, staring at my reflection. I feel completely, one hundred percent
woman
in this dress.

Stepping out of the change room I find Stacey sizing herself up in the mirror wearing a skin-tight baby blue dress, short enough that if she bent over I’d see all her lady bits. She looks stunning. Of course that’s no surprise. She always looks stunning. Add to that, her eccentric personality and she’s practically infectious. Well, not quite infectious. More like captivating. People want her around. Particularly men, which works in her favor. I’ve never met anyone more addicted to men, and though she tires of them fairly quickly, she always manages to find some new hottie to entertain her. Even one in each city she travels. Case in point, Thomas, our escort for this evening. He won’t know what hit him when he casts his eyes on her tonight.

“You know what? Some days I find it hard to focus because I’m distracted by my own cleavage,” she mutters, turning around. “Oh, Abs, that’s the one!” she gasps, jumping up and down, her voluptuous breasts bouncing with each bound.

I giggle and do a little turn in the mirror, nodding my head in acceptance to having found ‘the dress.’

“Let’s go pay for these bad boys and make our way back to the hotel. Or better yet, let’s hit a salon first for some pampering!” she turns to her change room in excitement.

Taking a final look at my reflection, I smile in a brilliant show of white teeth.

Here’s to putting my perfect plan into action!

“UGH . . . I’M SO full,” I grumble, lounging on the bed, rubbing my belly.

“Me too. Sorry to say, though, it’s time to grab a shower and get ready for our night, cupcake. Time’s-a-tickin.’ You go first.”

“Uh-uh. You’re the one who made us ralph down that entire pizza, it’s only fair you go first.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Stacey slowly lifts her head to glare at me. “You needed a beefy meal to prepare for the copious amounts of booze I plan on feeding you tonight. You’ll thank me later.”

“That’s fine, but that doesn’t mean I’m getting in the shower first,” I stick out my tongue.

“Damn you. If I didn’t love you as much as I do . . . ” she begrudgingly pushes herself up, making her way towards the bathroom.

With anticipation for our night ahead brewing, I jump up from the bed, my belly groaning a little in protest. Grabbing our shopping bags, I’m giddy with excitement. Like most women, I adore shopping. Particularly when I’m successful in finding exactly what I’m looking for. I didn’t break the bank or anything, but I did make a decent dent in my savings, having left my now favorite store with
the
sexy black dress, fabulous black heels, matching clutch, and dangly earrings.

Hanging up my dress, I slide the chiffon material lovingly between my fingers.
Tonight is going to be so much fun!

SHAKING OUR BUTTS to the beat of David Guetta’s
Sexy Chick,
we continue the preparation fun in a way only meant for private time, laughing uncontrollably at each other’s ostentatious moves. Getting ready together is what girls do best.

“I swear, if I’d seen you in that outfit years ago I would have stolen you for myself,” Stacey whistles, gawking at my lacy black thong and matching bra.

I have no qualms about being mostly nude in front of her. She’s seen me naked too many times to count over the years. “I thought women weren’t your thing?” I chuckle at her dramatic attempt to make me feel sexy.

“Right now, you’re making me question that,” she mutters, making me laugh out loud.

I’ve always had an obsession with sexy under-things. From leopard print bras and matching thongs, to black bras with pink polka dots, my lingerie collection is extensive, always serving to make me feel luxurious and sexy. Even though no one else sees them.

I try my hardest at that moment to recall if Liam ever had a similar reaction, but I come up empty. He was desensitized to them after years of subjection. No matter. I don’t care how
Liam
felt about my sexy undies, but how
I
feel wearing them. They make me feel sensual and sexy. There’s nothing quite as powerful as that.

Sporting my perfect LBD, I’m ready to go.
Oh, wait . . .
I make my
way to the mirror for one last make-up inspection, pulling out my new lip-gloss, applying it generously to my lips.
There,
I think to myself, pleased.
All done.

Exiting the bathroom I grab my clutch, slipping my lip-gloss in alongside our room key, ID and plenty of money for the night.

“Ready?” Stacey questions through a giant smile.

“Ready!”

I’M IN AWE of the Wellington Club. It’s a sight to behold, with its splashes of paint from red, to orange, to bright blue aimlessly thrown on the ratty printed wallpaper and distressed grey-black walls. The effervescent strobes of light flash artistic imagery of religious inspirations from Jesus to hell as I sway to the beat on the dance floor.

We’ve been dancing all night, Thomas included. He’s a hoot. His quirky British sense of humor has my cheeks hurting. I haven’t stopped laughing in the hours since he met us at the hotel. I can see why Stacey is so enamored with him. She won’t admit she really likes him, but I know she does. I can tell. If you ask her, she’s only ‘using him for sex.’

What a crock,
I think to myself, watching their interactions on the dance floor—her periodic adoring stares into his eyes and sensual touches scream she’s into this guy. Dare I say she’s in love?

Thomas certainly appears equally enthralled with her, and why wouldn’t he be? Particularly this evening in her fitted halter dress. Popping against her emerald green eyes and voluminous, shoulder-length copper hair, it accentuates her curvaceous body in all the right places, its plunging neckline framing her generous chest.

With the music fading into a sensual beat, Stacey wraps her arms seductively around Thomas’s neck—my cue to hit the ladies room. With all this ass-shaking amongst the crowd, I could seriously use a mirror check.

“I’M GOING TO THE LADIES ROOM,” I scream to get Stacey’s attention over the loud music.

“WHY?” she screams back, “DON’T BREAK THE SEAL! YOU’LL BE PISSING ALL NIGHT.”

“MIRROR CHECK,” I reassure her on a laugh.

At her quick thumbs-up, I maneuver my way through the jam-packed bar towards the restrooms. Heading for the full-length mirror, I’m surprised to find my smoky eye shadow—care of Stacey—is still intact. She’s a miracle worker with a make-up brush, having framed my blue-grey eyes perfectly.

I stand back, taking in my full appearance, plumping my long brown waves into some semblance of order. I feel sexy in my demure dress, showing just the right amount of cleavage. Doing a quick turn-about, I inspect the rear view as well, sliding my generous locks over my shoulder to admire the floral tattoos donning my upper right side—a bloomed lily in bright red and orange, and a purple chrysanthemum. My two favorite flowers.

Humph.
It could be the beer talking, but I think I look pretty hot.

You might upgrade to sexy if you remove the chastity belt
—my inner actress makes me giggle.

Exiting the ladies room with renewed confidence, I make my way towards the bar to get another drink, maneuvering past the stool patrons. I barely have time to react as a large burly man suddenly bumps me off kilter. Despite my best efforts, I struggle to catch my equilibrium in the impact. I fail miserably, losing my balance, falling gracelessly backwards, a girlish squeal escaping my lips.

Mortified, I realize I’m sitting in someone’s lap. From the thickness of the strong thighs supporting me, and the firmness pressing against my backside, I can only ascertain that it’s a man I’ve fallen on—a man with a seemingly large ‘package.’
Oh my God, this is embarrassing,
I feel the pink rise in my cheeks.

The culprit of my fall turns back to his friends in oblivion.
Fucker.

Strong hands slide around my waist, assisting with my balancing act. “Whoa, sweetheart,” the man says from behind me, his British accent thick. “Are you ok?”