Miranda sneaked a quick glance around the crowded nightclub. As she expected, not a soul was looking her way. She dug the underwire out from under her right breast and readjusted her blouse in a vain attempt to cover the generous amount of cleavage she had on display. Roxanne owed her. Big-time. Who cared if her best friend won the bet fair and square? Humiliation was not the objective, although Miranda had foreseen exactly how the night was going to go down and took the stupid wager anyway. The least Roxanne could have done was allow her to dress in clothes that were not so…streetwalkerish. She didn’t need to look cheap as well as desperate. “Another cosmopolitan?” The bartender gestured to her half-full glass. She waved her hand over the top and shouted over the pounding music, “No thanks. I’m good.” Two cocktails a night was her limit and she was currently nursing her third. Although why, she hadn’t a clue. The alcohol was only prolonging this torture. “Actually, can I have the check, please?”
