“Like what?” Tiny asked curiously.
“Do you know what they call high heels?” Harper asked, not expecting him to know.
“Ah, yes,” Tiny sat back with a nod. “Good old FMs.”
“You knew about that?” he asked with surprise. “Do you know what FM stands for?”
Tiny nodded again, and then explained, “My best friend most of my adult life has been a female . . . and, come to think of it, she’s probably treated me more like a girlfriend than a guy friend,” he admitted with an unconcerned chuckle.
“Hmm.” Harper shook his head. “Well, I’ve never been treated like a girlfriend in all my life. It was a bit lowering.”
“Nah.” Tiny shook his head. “It’s a compliment. It means they don’t see you as sexually threatening. You’re a friend rather than a man friend.”
“And that’s a compliment?” Harper asked doubtfully.
“It is if you’re only interested in being a friend,” he reasoned, and then shrugged, and added, “But I suppose if your interests lie in a more sexual relationship, then it’s probably less flattering. Fortunately, I never had that kind of interest in my friend, Jackie. She’s more like a combination buddy and sister type for me.”
“Jackie? Vincent’s wife? The one who is flying in at the end of the week to help oversee your turn?” Harper asked. The big man had called Jackie last night to tell her he would be turning soon. Apparently, his friend had insisted on being there for it, so they’d had to set a date and time. The end of the week had been the decision.
“Yes.” Tiny smiled faintly, and then they both glanced toward the stairs as they heard a door open and the chatter and clatter of the girls returning. Harper smiled, finding himself oddly eager to see them again. The day just seemed brighter with the girls around.
“You look gorgeous.” Stephanie sighed where she lay on her bed, hugging her pillow.
Drina surveyed herself and thought that she looked like a prostitute on the loose.
“You do not,” Stephanie and Mirabeau said as one, making her scowl and turn to the older woman.
“It’s bad enough her reading me, but you too?” she asked with disgust.
Mirabeau grinned and shrugged. “You’re an open book at the moment. It’s hard not to.”
Drina scowled and turned back to the mirror to sigh at her reflection, but her mind was on the conversation that had taken place in this room earlier in the afternoon. Much to her surprise, once Drina and Stephanie had explained things, Mirabeau had decided they were doing the right thing and had offered to help.
Actually, that had been something of a relief. Drina had found it increasingly difficult not to feel guilty about the head game they were playing with Harper as the day had worn on. But Mirabeau’s assurance that it was probably the smartest move had made her feel a little better.
Now, however, she stared in the mirror at a woman she hardly recognized and wondered what the hell she was doing.
“This is the style nowadays,” Stephanie assured her, sitting up on the bed, her expression earnest.
“She’s right,” Mirabeau agreed. “This is what they wear at the bars and clubs.”
“So, everyone dresses like prostitutes now? What’s it called? Hooker Chic?” Drina asked dryly, tugging at the low neckline of the black dress she’d somehow been convinced to wear after all.
Mirabeau chuckled at her acerbic words. It was Stephanie who said, “Stop fussing with the neckline. It isn’t that low. You’re just used to more conservative clothes.”
Drina couldn’t argue that point. She’d always been self-conscious at what she considered a too generous chest and so tended toward high necklines or even turtlenecks.
Sighing, she started to turn away from the mirror and immediately paused to peer down at her high heels. “I won’t be able to dance in these.”
“Then kick them off before you step on the dance floor,” Mirabeau suggested. “I’ve seen women do that.”
“Is that the helicopter?” Stephanie asked, suddenly leaping off the bed and hurrying to the window as they became aware of a distant whir. Pulling the curtains aside, she peered out at the sky, and then gave an excited little hop. “It is!”
“Time to go,” Mirabeau said cheerfully, moving to open the bedroom door.
“I hope I don’t have to walk far in these,” Drina muttered, following her.
Releasing the curtains, Stephanie laughed and hurried after them, saying, “At least you won’t have to worry about blisters. The nanos will heal them as quickly as they form.”