Unexpected Angel

Unexpected Angel by Sloan Johnson

Text copyright © 2013 by Sloan Johnson

Cover Photo: FuriousFotog

Cover Model: Alfie
Gordillo

Cover Design: Indie Pixel Studio

This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

All rights reserved.

As I drive my beat up Camry around the corner, I feel the bass thumping through the neighborhood. Normally, I would be the one complaining about the excessively loud music, but tonight, the techno beats polluting the air are blaring from inside my living room. Until I walk through the door, I have never experienced music so loud that it blocked the ability to think, but this does it. And
that
is exactly what I need right now.

“Tasha, get your sexy ass in here,” my best friend
Holly shouts from the bathroom, annoyed that I’m late getting home from work. She obviously feels right at home, having made use of the key that I
did
tell her to use at any time. Luckily, my house is small enough that I am able to hear her over the blaring music. “Come on, girl, we have to get you ready to go!”

In a moment of either weakness or insanity,
I agreed to allow Holly to put together a divorce party for me. In my mind, I pictured her inviting our high school crew over for fruity, blended drinks and man bashing. Had I been thinking clearly, I would have realized this was Holly we are talking about and said “hell no” to her offer. Instead of getting together at my house with my closest friends reminding me what an asshole Nick is, I am getting ready to go to something called Leather & Lace Night at some club across town.

“Oh hell no
! You can NOT wear that,” Holly criticizes, seeing me pulling out skinny jeans and a three-quarter sleeve black lace top with a nude underlay. It is the only thing in my closet that qualifies for the leather and/or lace requirement to avoid paying a ten dollar cover charge. “Here, put this on.” I look at the garment in Holly's tiny hands and know that she has completely lost her mind.

“
Holly, I can't wear that,” I shriek. “What am I going to wear over it?” I grab the bright white lace corset in her hand and throw it onto the bed. The last time I wore that was on my wedding day.

Holly
shakes her head, picking up the corset and handing it back to me. “It's Leather and Lace night. And sweetie, they don't mean wear your Sunday best lace. The corset
is
your top for the night. Now, let me see if there's anything that will go with it in your closet, otherwise you'll have to pair it with those hideously preppie jeans.”

“
Holly, no way in Hades am I wearing that!” Forget about the fact that it cost nearly two hundred dollars brand new; it is lingerie from my
wedding day
. Oh yeah, and it is
lingerie.
My free-spirited, eclectic best friend is officially certifiably insane if she thinks I am walking out of the house wearing nothing more than a corset.

“Sweetie, we'll find something better next month, but for tonight we have to use what's available. I can't loan you anything since you're some sort of
Glamazon freak and all my shit's custom made just for me. So, it's this or one of your lacy bras from Vicki's. You pick.” She crosses her arms over her chest and taps her foot, waiting impatiently for me to make a decision.

“I can't wear that! I've worn it
once
. I don't think I have to tell you when that was.” Honestly, it’s a total waste to have such an admittedly divine piece of lingerie collecting dust in my drawers. One of Holly's friends makes custom corsets that are to die for. Holly hooked me up with her, and she made my corset as soon as we found the dress that I was going to wear to marry Nick. It isn’t like the mass-produced garments in the store; she cut every panel of this corset to fit my body. Luckily, that body isn’t much different now than it was six years ago.

“Yes, you can. You're going to have to wear your jeans, but that'll be
fine since they're dark wash. And we'll go to my house on the way since I have the most killer pair of boots that will save you from looking like a rejected Gap ad.”

She
starts lifting the hem of my American Eagle t-shirt, and I swat her hands away. “I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself,” I say defensively.

“Um, no, you're not.” She
holds the corset in front of me, wrapping it around my now bare chest. “Unless you have some sort of go-go-Gadget arms that will help you lace this shit up.” Without warning, I immediately feel the laces tightening on my back, making it hard to breathe. “Stand up straight. Are the girls situated where you need them?”

No, they’re most
certainly not where I need them.
I take a moment to adjust myself. Might as well play up the assets I have, including just enough cleavage to cause a backache most days.

“There,”
Holly says, smacking my backside when she finishes strategically tightening the garment. I look in the full-length mirror, and I have to admit I look good.

“So, you don't think it's weird
for me to wear my wedding corset to my divorce party?” I turn to the side, admiring the silhouette reflecting back at me. It really is a shame I never have a reason to wear this.

“No. Call it the start of reclaiming Tasha. You
already gave that asshole too much of your time. You don't even know who you are anymore. And, attaching new memories to that masterpiece is a great fucking way to start!” Holly pushes me onto the hope chest at the end of my bed and starts pulling my blonde hair back into a chic French twist. “You're going to look
hot
with your hair pulled away from that freaky giraffe neck.”

Before I
can see what Holly is doing, she moves around to stand in front of me and starts opening makeup compacts in some of the most outrageous colors I have ever seen. “You are
not
putting any of that crap on me.” I feint left trying to get away from her.

“Shut up and trust me,”
Holly says, pulling me back to my seat. I briefly think about arguing with her, but it just isn’t worth it. It’s one night with people I’ll probably never see again, and it will make Holly happy. After she stuck by me through five years of complaining about Nick, it’s the least I can do.

She
pushes a hand mirror in front of my face. I. Look. H-O-T. The plain Jane I’ve become is gone. In her place sits a jade-eyed vixen with curves in all the right places. “Dang,” I mutter with a deep exhale.

“No shit, right? Now
are you going to listen to me and have some fun for once in your life?” She grabs my hand, pulling me through the narrow hallway. “Come on, we have to hurry if we're stopping by my place.”

I open the visor mirror while I wait for Holly to run in for whatever she thinks I need to complete my outfit. I’ve never considered myself vain but I can’t stop looking at my reflection. As I stare at a face I barely recognize, an off the wall idea hits me. I hope we have time for one more stop because if I am going to go through with this, I need to do it before I lose my nerve.

“Here, put these on,”
Holly huffs as she throws a pair of knee-high red leather boots across the driver's seat of her silver Jetta. Between the fact that the boots have at least a four-inch heel and the fact that Holly’s feet are a full size smaller than mine, I’m going to be hurting by the end of the night.

I
pull off my sensible ankle boots and start tugging on the boots that the only words to describe them are ‘sinfully sexy’. I have no clue how I am going to stay upright on them, especially on the dance floor, but at least I’ll look hot as I fall on my backside.

“So, can we make another stop before we hit the club?” I
glance over at Holly, gauging her response. For as laid back as she is most of the time, clubbing is something she takes
very
seriously.

“Depends
; what's up?” Her fingers tap out a beat on the steering wheel to what I could only assume was music playing in her mind. She always has been a bit of an odd duck and often says she has a jukebox running in her head at all times. It works for her so I don’t question it.

“I need to stop at
Dragonfly Arts.”

Her head
whips in my direction and I worry that she is going to run her car off the road. “Dragonfly Arts. You mean
the
Dragonfly Arts? As in the tattoo shop?”

I'm pretty sure this
is the last place she expects me to want to go. She has been trying to convince me to go there for years, wanting a friend to share her love of body modification. Every time she asked, I told her I’m not into that and I am scared of needles. Both are true to some extent, but the deeper truth is that Nick was against any sort of ink or piercings that weren't in the ears. If tonight is all about reclaiming me, I want to start it off right.

“Is there another Dragonfly Arts that I don’t know about? Yes, the tattoo shop
. I was thinking about getting my nose pierced. Nothing freaky, but I thought a little diamond stud would be cute.” I turn my head pointing to the spot I imagine they will pierce, as if my thoroughly modified friend won’t understand otherwise.

“Uh, sure. And this has to be done tonight?” Even as she
questions me, she is scrolling through her phone for the number to the shop.

“Yeah. I'll chicken out otherwise.”
There are times I hate the words that come out of my mouth. I spent almost ten years with Nick and allowed him to mold me into his idea of the perfect suburban housewife. Rather than being the strong, free-spirited twenty-six year old I know I am somewhere deep inside, I feel like a repressed schoolgirl most of the time. It isn’t fear of the piercing that would cause me to back out of doing something I wanted. It’s the internal dialogue telling me that real women don’t need to go to drastic measures to call attention to themselves. It is the dialogue of Nick’s voice that I need to erase permanently from my memory.

“Okay, but why now? You said you weren't into, and I quote,
‘all that freaky shit’.” Holly knows the answer to her question. She is a great friend for not throwing it in my face that she tried telling me when we were juniors in high school that Nick was a no-good piece of trash who wouldn’t know how to treat a woman if he was looking at a picture manual. She tried for a while to get me to leave him, but she eventually gave up. She never brought up the fact that I had slowly turned into a parrot, incapable of my own thoughts toward the end of our marriage.

Even though she
knows why I haven’t done it before, I don’t want to tell her it is partly a way for me to celebrate my newfound independence. She might have tried to get me to do it in the past, but she isn’t one who believes things like this are spur of the moment.

“Well, because tonight's about me, right? I didn't get one before because
Nick didn't like, to quote again, ‘all that freaky shit’.” I stare out the window, not wanting Holly to see the shame in my expressive eyes.

Her hand
slams against the steering wheel. “I fucking knew it! I knew you would have done it if not for him. That asshole.” She hits the send button on her phone and waits for someone to answer. “Hey, Dede. It's Holly.” She taps out an impatient beat on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I'm good. Look, I'm bringing someone in. Need to get a nose piercing. Need to be in and out as quick as possible.” She looks at me. “You're sure about this?”

“Yeah, I'm sure. Let's get it done. If I decide I don't like it, it's easy to take out, right?”

“Easy as pie. But I don't think you'll do that. I think you'll be smokin' with it.” She puts the phone back to her ear. “Yeah, we'll be there in twenty...yeah, Lila can do it. Thanks.”