Sydney
If I remember correctly, I’d never been to a party at a club before.
Never seen one happen before. Never been invited to one.
Yet here I was, standing in front of Maeve’s mirror with lip gloss and eyeliner on, preparing to attend one that had absolutely nothing to do with me.
“Come on, live a little.” Maeve had said the hundredth time. “It’s either this, or we’ll go running through an ocean this time.”
I’d laughed at the thought.
Because if that happened, she’d probably be dragging my lifeless body out of the water by the end of it.
So I’d taken only one look at the outfit Maeve picked out.
And in the next few minutes, she’d squeezed me into black leather pants and this fitted white thin-strap top she’d produced at the last minute.
Because the first had been too small.
