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won’t.”
Maryanne rolled her eyes. “Trust me, all he’s going to be thinking about is how
hot you look, not that you’ve tried to impress him. Men are so clueless about
that stuff. They believe we roll out of bed looking like sweet angels with a
naturally even skin tone and perfectly styled hair. And that we can guzzle beer
with the big boys and eat pizza and burgers and still maintain a size four
figure.”
    “Well, we do eat
pizza and burgers,” I pointed out.
    “Right.” Maryanne
nodded. “And do you know what I do the day after I eat pizza? Work out for
three hours and eat an ounce of chicken,” she said before I could answer.
    “In fact,” she
continued, “that’s part of why I dropped out of my sorority. I couldn’t stand seeing
the lengths some of the girls would go to. I don’t think there was one time
when I visited the sorority house that a sister wasn’t vomiting in the
bathroom.” She shuddered.
    Maryanne had
pledged our first year, but quickly decided that sorority life wasn’t for her.
She’d never really said why.
    “That’s sad,” I
commented.
    “I may starve on
occasion to make up for a bad decision, but I don’t vomit. That will ruin your
teeth.”
    I laughed. “I
don’t think that’s the biggest problem with bulimia.”
    She waved her
hand. “Enough depressing talk. You need an outfit, woman!”
    “How about this?”
I held up a turquoise skirt.
    “Try it, but it
doesn’t look short enough,” was Maryanne’s response.
    Fifteen minutes
later we had picked out five different outfits for me to try on. MA was going
to try the skinny velvet pants and a pair of black leather pants.
    We stepped into
dressing rooms next to each other. “Turquoise skirt is no good,” I said
immediately when I had pulled it on. I looked like a schoolgirl.
    “Told you so,” MA
called back.
    I dismissed the
next two outfits as well. The rose colored dress had a nice fit but it didn’t
compliment my pale skin, and I wasn’t much into pinks anyway. And the blue
dress MA had insisted I try had a stupid looking ruffle at the neckline.
    “How do you like
the pants?” I asked Maryanne as I wriggled into a black dress.
    “Need your
opinion,” she replied. “You decent?”
    “One sec.” I
pulled up the zipper on the side and stepped back to study myself in the
mirror. The dress hugged every curve of my body. It fell to just above my knees,
but there was a slit up the right thigh. The top was simple: scooped neck and
sleeveless. The dress had a silky feel to it. I looked mature, sexy,
mysterious…it was perfect.
    Not wanting to
influence Maryanne’s opinion with my own, I said, “Yeah I’m ready. I need you
to tell me what you think of the black dress.”
    We both stepped
outside our fitting rooms. “Oh my God, Lana, you look effing amazing!” Maryanne
exclaimed.
    I couldn’t help
but grin. “I like it, too,” I told her.
    “I mean seriously,
you’re going to knock his socks off,” she said. “And his pants.” Maryanne
laughed.
    I could feel my
heart racing. I had pushed all thoughts of sex out of my mind. I didn’t think
Michael was like Damon and I felt certain he wouldn’t expect sex on the first
date. But then again, what did I know?
    Seeing my
expression, Maryanne quickly said, “Relax. This is just dinner. Sure, if you
date him he’s going to want more, but he doesn’t expect you to sleep with him
on the first date. No decent guy would,” she assured me.
    I smiled. “This is
it then.” I looked at her velvet pants. “Those are hot!” I told her.
    Maryanne studied
herself in the mirror. “I think they make my ass look big,” she said
critically.
    “MA, your ass
wouldn’t look big if you padded it out like a Kardashian!”
    “Ha, I wish. These
pants are really expensive so I should put them back.”
    “Yeah, if you
don’t feel good in them, don’t get them,” I agreed. “What about the leather
ones?”
    “Oh, those are
hot,” she said with a mischievous