Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva), Nicole Fox [ebook reader 7 inch txt] 📗

years all you did was study, study, study. And even when I went to visit you over the summer, you were taking extra classes at the local university.”

Wendy crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Listen, Little Miss Bookworm. You are coming out with us. And if you try to back out, we’re just gonna stay here and keep pestering you.”

I groan and slam my hands down on the comforter. I’ve been through this routine before. They’re in top form tonight, and when they get jazzed up like this, resistance is futile. “Fine.”

The two girls smile from ear to ear as they bounce up and down on their toes. I can see it in their eyes already. They’ve been planning my makeover.

Ugh, what did I do to deserve this?

The last time they made me over, two years ago, I was hounded all night by drunken fools. I don’t care for being the center of attention. Or attracting the attention of any man, really. Partying has never been my thing. I’d much rather wear my jeans and turtleneck sweaters over some skimpy dress that barely covers my butt.

But my two friends are the exact opposite. They’re not brain-dead, like some of the hard partiers around campus, but they definitely do more than their fair share of getting dolled up and hitting the town.

Wendy and Jenna start whispering to one another, and I fling my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. Time to set some boundaries before this gets too out of hand. “Listen, the two of you: I agreed to go out with you tonight. But I don’t want a repeat of the last time you both played fashionista with me.”

“Don’t worry, Annie. We promise to be a little more modest,” Jenna says.

“Yeah, last time no one paid attention to us at all.” Wendy rolls her eyes and pouts. “Do you know how gorgeous you are? I mean, you hide that killer body in oversized sweaters. Not to mention, I’d kill for your naturally wavy hair.”

“Thanks, Wendy,” I say, looking down at my feet. Heat crawls up my neck to my cheeks. Accepting compliments has always been hard for me. As if I’ve always believed them to be a lie. I’m not ugly by any means, but I just don’t place importance on looks. Grades are what’s important to me.

“Now, go get that butt of yours in the shower,” Jenna says.

I hop off the bed, grab my robe, and stop in the middle of the doorway. “Where are we going?”

“Club Exposito,” Wendy answers.

I groan. Of course. The two have been dying to go there for a couple of months. It’s supposed to be the hottest place in town, meaning it’s guaranteed to be absolutely packed to the gills. I shake my head and continue toward the bathroom.

Once inside, I lock the door and strip out of my clothes. I step into the shower, toes flinching as they touch the chilled ceramic floor. I turn the dial, old and metallic, and let out a sigh as the hot water trickles down my skin. I stand for a moment and enjoy the sensation. It feels like I’m rinsing away my hardest semester yet.

After the twenty minutes it takes to wash my hair and body, I slink into my robe and head to my room where Wendy and Jenna are waiting. “So, just an outfit, right?” I say tentatively. I wince, knowing that Wendy’s reply isn’t going to make me feel any better.

“Oh, we’re going full-out, honey.” Wendy holds up a blow dryer and pumps the trigger like a crazy woman with a gun. They both laugh. I just groan again.

Still, things could be worse, I remind myself as they set upon me like a pack of hyenas. While I might not like the idea of getting a sexy makeover, I’m not opposed to being pampered a bit. So while Wendy and Jenna go about styling my hair and makeup, I mentally begin to plan for the next semester.

Definitely need to meet with the advisor again and see if it’s worth jumping right into a master’s program or if I should keep pursuing the job hunt first. Some of the firms I’ve been perusing offer to pay tuition costs for employees. And that would help so much. My loans are already out of control.

“Stop frowning.” Jenna smacks my shoulder, startling me out of my reverie. “You’re screwing up the lip liner.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re sitting here planning your future career,” Wendy says as she twists a lock of my hair around the curling iron.

“I’m just trying to figure out what my next move should be. Besides, there’s not much else for me to do except sit still while you psychos go to work on me, so I might as well be productive,” I say.

The two huff and roll their eyes. When they’re done, Jenna grabs a miniskirt from her closet and throws it on my bed while Wendy fishes out the cobalt-blue shirt I have in my closet. The one with the low V-neck and see-through sleeves. Of course she picked that one out—she’s the one who made me buy it.

Grudgingly, I put on the outfit and slip my feet into the six-inch stilettos Wendy brought in. Why do we have to be the same size shoe? I swear the universe hates me. I make my way to the full-length mirror behind the bathroom door and gasp.

I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. The one with the fake eyelashes and dark red lipstick. The one with loose flowing locks of brown hair framing smoky eyeshadow. This is too much. It isn’t me.

But ... I feel sexy.

Uncomfortable, extremely likely to trip over a sidewalk curb and break my ankle into a jillion pieces ...

But sexy.

“Thank you,” I say to my two roommates, my sight blurring from the tears starting to form.

“Don’t you dare cry. I don’t have time to redo your makeup,” Jenna threatens.

I chuckle and head