chance meeting,
love lasting.
on a seemingly normal night, a famous creator raids a smaller streamer and sets off a chain of events that lead him to his dream girl.
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"Nalani freaking Roswell, lose the damn sweater."
I pulled the crocheted sleeves over my hands, balling the fabric in my palms as Brook closed in on me. Within seconds, the cardigan had fallen off my shoulders, revealing more skin than I was used to showing.
A bright smile graced Brook's face, replacing the deep scowl she wore when she first saw me. "Was that so hard? I told you, you're smokin' tonight!"
I turned to look in her bathroom mirror. "I don't see it. The cut is way too deep, my waist feels like it shrunk two sizes, and my feet already hurt in your heels."
Brook came up behind me, draping her arms over my shoulders and resting her cheek against mine. "The cut shows off your ladies, the dress is supposed to be skin-tight to accentuate curves, and you put on the heels two minutes ago."
I tore my eyes from the mirror, looking at anything but Brook's triumphant smirk. Sometimes, it was easier to give in than to fight her.
Brook stood to full height, fluffing her hair again and pursing her lips. She frowned as she peered at herself, glancing back at me. "Come with me to the salon tomorrow. I'm not feeling the blue anymore."
"When? I work all morning."
"I'll see if they have early afternoon appointments. It should work out perfectly since the girls want to go to the bar tomorrow night."
"To flirt with Rye . . ." I mumbled, kicking the fluffy mat beneath my feet.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Brook shrugged, checking her messages. "You can come if you want. I'm sure tonight we could convince Major to keep you company."
I didn't like the suggestive edge to her voice.
I grabbed my clutch from the counter, playing with the silver clasp. "Sure."
She looked up from her phone. "So, the boys will meet us at the restaurant. I guess Major's meeting ran long and Rye just got off."
On the way to Leonetti's, a popular couples' restaurant, I popped in earbuds and found a short YouTube video. Brook huffed in the driver's seat the entire ride—car trips were her excuse to complain about anything and everything.
"You okay?" she asked after we checked in for our reservation.
I nodded, watching the waiters shuffle past with platters of pasta and salad. My stomach grumbled through the suffocating dress.
"If you're nervous about tonight, don't be! Rye knows the plan, too, so we'll be your wingmen."
Which was the last thing I wanted.
My phone vibrated in my clutch. I scrambled for it, grateful for the excuse to not reply.
