Sleepwalker Wolf

Different

Valery

   The two new Scott boys stay in my mind all night and through the rest of the following morning, especially Travis. A knot of excitement forms in my gut. On all of the double dates Carry forced me on, this never happened. There was just never anything there. No pounding heart, sweaty hands, or dizzy excitement.

   But just thinking of seeing Travis again tonight gives me all of it.

   Carry comes over in the afternoon for the traditional get-ready-together girl time. She has a duffel of clothes, hair products, and makeup because apparently I'm a fashionless troglodyte who needs all the help she can get.

   When I tell her I invited a new friend while she's curling my hair, she freezes mid curl and I have to yell at her before she burns my hair.

   "You," she points a manicured finger at me, "invited a guy to the bar with us?" Her voice is disbelieving.

   "Yes. He's the older brother of the delivery boy that brings venison to the shop," I explain as Carry continues fussing with my hair.

   "That's all I get?" Carry huffs, blowing a strand of black hair from her face before pinning me with her green eyes. "Is he hot?"

   "He's... handsome. And sweet," I tell her, feeling a strange need to keep just how attractive he is to myself. Which is strange.

   Carry groans in mock despair. "God, girl. You need to learn how to give the dirty details."

   "And just what dirty details would I give you? Nothing happened!"

   He did kiss my cheek, but just thinking about that makes my stomach squeeze delightfully and brings a flush to my cheeks. It was so very sweet.

   "I guess I'll see for myself."

   Carry finished curling my hair before doing a light make-up. I hate the feel of make-up and the smell of the powders. It always makes me sneeze like crazy until she puts it away.

   I do have to admit, Carry knows what she's doing. My pale blond hair is curled softly and the soft brown and gold eyeshadow makes my hazel eyes look almost green.

   I leave Carry in the bathroom to finish "putting her face on" so I can get dressed. She left an outfit on my bed, once again silently declaring that I have zero fashion sense.

   It's a light blue bodycon dress that's a little tight because my ass and tits are a little bigger than her's. It stops mid thigh and has a sweetheart neckline that shows off the rounded tops of my breasts. It's a dress that says, "I'm sexy, but still a lady."

   I glare at the six inch stripper heels she left with the dress. After tossing them back in her duffel, I pull some white flats out of my closet. If Carry has issues with my shoes, she can fight me with her acrylic claws, but we both know I'll win.

   Carry purses her lips at my choice of shoes, but doesn't say anything. I mean, it is my birthday. She puts on a tight white dress that's an inch shorter than mine and shows off most of her back. She does put on the hooker heels, taking her from an inch shorter than me to a few taller.

   The drive to the bar consists of Carry singing horribly to the radio while I sit on my hands to stop from covering my ears. It's a cool night, the air damp with expected rain tonight. The bar isn't far from the woods, making the air smell of moss and earth. It's fantastic.

   Carry parks her car and pulls me inside with one of her arms looped through mine. The bar is lively, but not packed. Music plays through speakers in a darkened corner where lively young adults dance together, creating a sweaty musk and mixing with the stinging smell of alcohol that makes me scrunch my nose. The actual bar sits at the opposite end, where a bartender slings out drinks over the dark wooden countertop. Wooden tables and chairs are scattered in the center.