Drained: The Lucid by E.L. Blaisdell, Nica Curt Read Free Book Online

relaxed back into her mattress. “You could wear a burlap sack, and people would worship the ground you walk on. James especially.”
    Heather turned her attention to the mirror on the back of the bathroom door, and her frown lines deepened. She always stressed about the silliest things in Riley’s opinion. The benefit of having someone love you to the point of blind devotion should be not having to worry about materialistic surfaces.
    “C’mon.” Riley smirked as she pulled back the top covers invitingly. “Enough parading around in that thing. Get into bed.”
    Heather shook her head at Riley’s devious smile. She peeled off the silk material and draped it on an empty dresser before disappearing into the walk-in closet. After a few minutes she re-emerged in an oversized T-shirt that reached the tops of her knees.
    “That’s a good look for you,” Riley observed. “Very Eighties Popstar. All you’re missing is a side ponytail.”
    Heather eyeballed her friend. “I wouldn’t tease too much, Ms. Lumberjack.”
    “Hey!” Her gaze dropped to her own pajamas. “It’s comfortable!”
    “If your marks could only see you now.” Heather rolled her eyes and slid into bed beside her friend. “The irresistible Riley Carter in flannel.”
    “I’m showing my Texas pride,” Riley noted, slipping into the far-too familiar southern drawl.
    “What is this?” Heather examined the items on the bed. “No glasses?”
    “Glasses are for the weak, bottles are for the gods,” Riley deadpanned at the question. She popped the cork on the moscato and took a drink straight from the bottle as if to prove her point. They never needed anything proper on girls’ night.
    “And bowls are a burden, for spoons are meant for sorbet cartons.” Heather laughed and shook her head. She sat up straighter in bed and her T-shirt slipped off one shoulder.
    “And bottles of whipped cream are exclusively for mouths,” Riley agreed. Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “On second thought …” She vigorously shook the can of whipped cream, and before Heather realized what was happening, Riley had sprayed a giant dollop onto her exposed shoulder.
    She gaped at the mess. “You did not just do that.”
    Riley dipped her head and sucked up the light topping as quickly as it had appeared.
    “Thanks for not using your tongue.” Heather wrinkled her nose.
    Pale green eyes lit up. She grinned and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Any time.”
    “Pervert.”
    Plaid-covered legs resituated on the mattress before she grabbed the remote control. In the other hand, she held her newly discovered weapon: a bottle of whipped cream.
    They browsed the new movie category for a while, but neither could agree on a film. It wasn’t too long before Riley ignored the options altogether. Her resulting decision ended up being a movie that she knew they would both watch—Cary Grant and Irene Dunne in My Favorite Wife. A classic romantic comedy could never be a bad choice.
    As the dramatic music swelled to signal the start of the movie, the two friends wiggled closer in bed.  
    “You certainly know how to throw a party,” Heather noted as she dug her spoon into the carton’s contents. “Speaking of which, do you think the wine is a good idea?” She eyed the chilled bottle propped between them.
    “I’ll be fine, H,” Riley assured. “It’s a light moscato. And I’ll let you control the bottle.”
     
     
    Thirty minutes into the film, the moscato had been forgotten, the sorbet and whipped cream were nearly gone, and Cary Grant had still not told his new bride that his first wife had come back from the dead. Riley picked up the remote and lowered the volume. “Do you think this is all our lives will ever be?”
    Heather’s brow furrowed in confusion.
    “Don’t you feel like our lives are on repeat every few years?” Riley continued. “We do everything, have everything, travel the world … and yet, don’t you feel like we’re