Free SIX by Ker Dukey Page A

the ones I can’t tell anyone about.” She blushes crimson, but it’s not embarrassment—it’s heated flesh from the conviction of her words.
    She leaves everyone speechless and me breathless as she walks out.
    “Where is she going? Doesn’t she live upstairs now?” Lucky asks.
    She wanted to make an impact and leave with a dramatic flair, so she’s probably going around to use the door that never gets used.
    I’d applaud her if I didn’t want to sink my dick inside her.
    “So, Six,” Megan says, and I reluctantly draw my eyes from the door Misty just exited from, giving her my attention.
    “Do you think you could tattoo over this scar?” She points to a lumpy two-inch scar on her wrist.
    “Why would you want to cover it? Our scars remind us what we lived through and survived was real. It’s our story—our tattoos of life, written with blood and pain.”
    “That’s actually kind of beautiful. Maybe I could have that tattooed next to it instead?” She smiles.
    “Sure. Come in the shop tomorrow around noon.”
    She claps her hands and pokes Jude in the arm.
    I finish the rest of my beer and say my goodbyes.
    I can’t sit here knowing she’s above my head doing God knows what.

 
    Being out with a girlfriend is foreign to me.
    Shopping for dresses, shoes, and having our hair and nails done—it all feels like wasting money, but Parker insisted I come with her and let my hair down for once.
    “You work too much—we both do. We need to go out and find some sexy men to take our minds off other sexy men.” She purses her lips.
    She’d been telling me things between her and Lucky looked like they might have been going somewhere until she brought Emma into the bar that day.
    Ever since, he’s been keeping his distance.
    Emma’s dad isn’t in the picture, but Lucky didn’t appear to want to be in any role apart from a sex partner and Parker wasn’t going to give him “the cookie”.
    “This would really show them. You need to try it on.”
    She hands me a black dress that could be a skin suit it’s so thin and tiny.
    “That’s not really my style.” I crinkle my nose.
    “Fuck that, Misty. Your style isn’t getting you laid, so slut it up for one night. Please?” she pouts, blowing kisses at me.
    “Fine,” I grumble, snatching the dress from her hand and going into a changing room.
    The dress is impossible.
    I can’t wear a bra with it because it has tiny straps and a triangle cut into the back, exposing most of my spine.
    My panty line shows through and I may need to roll in grease to get me out of it.
    My sandals don’t really go with it either, but I can’t walk in the heels Parker gave me, so sandals it is.
    Holding my hands over my erect nipples pushing though the fabric, I shuffle out of the changing room to show her.
    “Holy shit, girl! Where have you been hiding that figure?”
    “I look bloated! It shows every imperfection.”
    “You’re crazy. I didn’t even look like that before I had Emma, and I was a fitness freak who lived on two smoothies a day,” she exclaims, her voice gaining attention from other shoppers.
    “I’d kill for those hips. You have Kardashian hips,” she muses, shaking her head.
    “What’s a Kardashian?”
    “Oh God, are you even a real person?”
    “What?”
    “Never mind—here.” She snaps the tag off the dress and a gasp rasps from my mouth.
    “Now, we have to buy it.” She grins.
    “Go take it off and I’ll check out with the cashier.”
     

     
    I don’t like the caramel swirls the hair stylist put in my hair, but according to Parker, “they’re smoking.”
    She told me to meet her downstairs in the bar, but I can’t get my feet to move.
    She relented and let me buy a smaller heeled stiletto, but made me promise I’d wear the dress, so here I am staring at a stranger in the mirror.
    My cell beeps and I pick it up.
    Parker : DON’T YOU DARE CHICKEN OUT ON ME.
    She made me promise that earlier as well, laying on the guilt trip