Curse And Craving

10

“I can’t wear this. You know my girls are way too big to go braless. This isn’t even my dress. How many dresses did you bring?” “I don’t think one can truly ever have too many dresses. Don’t make this difficult. I know you have those sticky-front boobie holders, so slap those babies on, and let’s get moving,” she said as she batted her eyes at me. I gave her an Oscar-worthy eye roll, but it was undermined when the corners of my mouth lifted grudgingly. Ashley was similar in size to me, though we were not at all the same shape. She didn’t have nearly as much chest as I did, but she did have a small waist and way more junk in the trunk. It meant we could share some of our clothes, depending on the fit, and the stretchy dress worked well on either of us. For herself, she had selected a royal-blue dress that clung to her curves and accentuated her bright-blue eyes. Her straight blond hair had been given some wave, and all together, she was smoking hot. I applied the boob tape to one side, then the other, ensuring the girls were as well aligned as possible. Giving them a bit of a jiggle, I ensured they were sufficiently secure, then shimmied into the little black dress. Ash gave me a once-over. “Let’s touch up your hair and give those eyes a little s*x appeal, then we’ll be good to go.” She was much more interested in makeup than I was. The stuff never interested me much. She pulled me down to sit on the bed and went about finalizing my look for the night. After several agonizing minutes of holding as still as a statue, she stepped back and gave me an appraising look. “These Irish boys won’t know what hit them!” Clapping her hands, she turned to dig in her bag. When she came back around, she had one hand behind her back and the other hand holding up a finger in the universal one moment gesture. “I know you’ll probably say no, but I have the most gorgeous necklace that would be perfect with that dress.” My head fell back in exasperation. “Ash, how many times do we have to have this conversation?” “Becca, just think about it. You always wear the same necklace. Wouldn’t it be okay, just for one night, to wear something different and jazz things up a bit?” She gave me sad puppy dog eyes any golden retriever would have been proud of. She held out the necklace for me to see, and I had to admit it was beautiful. A collar-type necklace made of shining silver probably would have been more appropriate for a night out than the necklace I was already wearing, but that wasn’t going to change my mind. My necklace had been around my neck as long as I could remember, longer even. I never, ever took it off. My stomach twisted just at the thought of removing it. The silver chain with a stone pendant was a versatile piece of jewelry. The black oval stone was surrounded in feminine silver scrolling, surprisingly detailed for its size—only a tad larger than a quarter. It went with everything, as far as I was concerned, so there wasn’t a compelling reason to take it off. It was a part of me, and I’d feel naked without it. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, and I really appreciate you trying to get me to branch out, but I’m not going to change my mind.” I cupped the stone in my hand protectively and wondered if she would let the subject go. “I know, I know. A girl has to try, though.” She smirked at me, unfazed by my rejection. “Come on, let’s get some dinner. I’m starving.” I breathed out a small sigh of relief as I followed her downstairs and out to catch a cab. Ashley had chosen a local restaurant suggested on one of her tours, and it was just as delicious as advertised. As the evening progressed, we got a good head start on our night with several glasses of wine. At close to ten o’clock, we headed to the Huntsman. Our cab pulled up in front of a four-story building thrumming with activity. I learned with a quick internet search that the Huntsman was a fullfledged nightclub rather than a pub. It was located on the top floor of the building, boasting floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The building itself was decently modern, and with its location in the heart of Belfast, it had either been a full remodel job or the prior occupant had been torn down to make room for the large modern structure that was now standing. Just inside the entrance of the building was a bank of elevators with two enormous men standing guard over a line of approximately thirty people. I felt a surge of disappointment, unsure if we would be able to make it upstairs to the club with so many people waiting. We weren’t the type to attempt to cut in line, so we started for the back, but before we went far, I heard my name. “Rebecca Peterson?” one of the bouncers called out in a strong voice that carried above the noise of the music and chattering crowd. “Ah, yes?” “You can go on up. Ronan is expecting you.” He eyed me curiously as he pressed the call button on the elevator, and the doors opened. How the hell did they know it was me? Aside from the fact that I hadn’t given Ronan my last name, he didn’t have a picture of me, as far as I knew. While I stumbled to register my confusion and unease, Ashley took the lead, more than happy to accept their invitation. “Perfect! Thanks, guys!” She grabbed my arm and tugged me into the open elevator. Before I could argue, we were on our way upstairs. The elevators had a retro style with decorative wrought-iron caging on the inside for aesthetic purposes rather than functionality. Dim lighting from antique fixtures, rich wood paneling, and burgundy carpet set the tone for a trip into the 1920s. The Huntsman club was a perfect replica of a 1920s speakeasy.