Love & Liability by Linda Cassidy Lewis

Author:Linda Cassidy Lewis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romantic comedy
Publisher: Two-Four-Six Publishing
Published: 2022-10-09T00:00:00+00:00

A chorus of happy men’s voices ring out when Laura answers her door. A few seconds later, a crowd of six men burst into the living room with Ethan at the head.

“We’re kidnapping Jeremy,” he announces. “Impromptu stag night.”

“But”—Jeremy looks to me—“our dinner plans . . .”

He’s struggling to hold back a grin.

“No big deal,” I say, “we have dinner every night. Go on.”

“Thanks.” He kisses me quickly, and the man pack files back out past Laura.

“Well,” she says, “it’s just you and me tonight.”

I’m too preoccupied with a sudden bad feeling about this stag night business to do more than nod.

“Something wrong? You aren’t angry about Jeremy going—”

“No. Of course not. And it will be fun, just the two of us.”

“It will, so let’s change plans. We’ll have a quick dinner and then make the rounds of some of my fave spots for drinks.”

“A girls’ night out.”

Laura looks down at her outfit—a cashmere sweater and wool slacks. “But first we need to glam it up a bit.”

“Sure.”

We head to our rooms to change. I don’t know what Laura considers glam, but it’s probably not what I’m thinking, so it’s a good thing I didn’t bring any of my regular party outfits. After seeing how Alison was dressed today, I changed clothes the minute we got home. So I keep on my skinny jeans, but trade my wool cowl-neck sweater for a white silky V-neck one and my boots for red stilettos. Still pretty conservative but dressier. I spice up my eye makeup and head to Laura’s room.

Her door is open. I don’t see her, but when I step into the room, I hear her moving around in the bathroom. “Laura?”

“Almost ready.”

A moment later, she steps out. Totally transformed. Her hair is pulled up in a messy topknot, leaving several loose tendrils that look effortlessly artful. She’s wearing a black body-con mini dress with spike-heeled ankle boots. And then she totally rocks it by slipping on a purple leather bolero jacket.

By comparison, I look like a middle-aged mom. The look she gives me agrees.

“Chelsea? What the hell!”

“Pretty lame, huh?”

“Definitely not the bomb ass you I met in California.”

“I wanted to make a good impression. On your parents.”

“Well, we won’t be seeing them tonight.” She beckons me to follow her into her closet. “We’re the same size, I think.”

Ten minutes later, dressed in a black bustier skater dress, I feel like myself for the first time since we arrived in London.

“Perfect,” she says. “And I have a killer red jacket that will match your shoes, but first . . . your hair. I don’t have any color spray, but we can spike it up or do something to make it more your style.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re eating fish and chips from a nearby shop. Laura assures me the grease coating our stomachs will allow us to drink more without getting “pissed.” The taxi drops us at a club called Sync, where we drink lavender martinis and dance. We leave with Becky, a friend of Laura’s, in tow.

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