There’s only one thing that could make me agree to dress up like a playboy bunny and parade around half-naked in front of my colleagues and library patrons on a Wednesday night. Yep, you guessed it – a boy. Or, rather, a man.
Tonight’s the night I’m going to introduce my new boyfriend to my friends, and, despite the outfit, I can hardly wait. I’m in the staff bathroom putting the final touches on my costume – adjusting the rabbit ears atop my head – when my phone pings with a text. My heart thuds even before I read it. If that’s Kieran saying he can’t make it, I’m going to kill him. He’s the one who convinced me to dress as my namesake in the first place. We’ve only been seeing each other a few weeks, but when I casually mentioned our adults-only Library Lovers Night, he not only said he’d come, but suggested we dress up as a tart and vicar, a la Bridget Jones.
To say I’d taken some convincing would be an understatement. Quite aside from the whole bare skin thing, I usually try not to draw attention to the fact I’m the other Bridget Jones. Hold the jokes, please. I’ve heard them all.
The good news is the message isn’t from Kieran.
The bad news is it’s from someone much, much worse.
You total bitch! I know what you’ve been up to with my husband. If you ever touch him again, I will hunt you down, skin you alive and feed your innards to my Rottweiler.
‘Oh my God!’ I shriek, slapping my hand over my mouth. The face looking back at me in the mirror goes pale. Five seconds ago, I’d been quite pleased with my appearance – I’d tousled my shoulder-length, caramel-blonde hair and accentuated my boring green eyes and lips with bolder make-up than I usually wear – but now I think I look like a clown. A foolish one at that.
‘What is it?’ says Fred as she emerges from a cubicle dressed in a shiny faux-leather, skin-hugging full body suit and a dark wig with a long braid down one shoulder. She’s dressed as Katniss, her favourite kick-arse literary heroine.
Unable to bring myself to voice the words, I thrust my phone in her face.
He eyes widen and then she yells, ‘The prick! He’s married?’
I shrug in shock. ‘Apparently. Kelly certainly thinks so.’
Kelly being his wife who had found our saucy messages in his phone. Why is it always the woman’s fault? I didn’t know he was married but he obviously did. With any luck she’s feeding him to their Rottweiler this very second…
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