The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove by Lauren Kate Read Free Book Online Page A

or leave it?”
    “Um, is that a tail?” I asked, half-appalled, half-intrigued.
    “Just so you know,” said the wild redheaded shop owner, clearing her throat behind the cash register, “we also have that in purple.”
    “Only certain women can wear purple.” Kate grinned at me. “Like Nat.” Then she clutched the red catsuit to her chest and gave me a devilish wink. “I think I’ll take this baby for a test drive.”
    When she ducked into the dressing room, I laughed and shook my head. As the daughter of the wealthiest litigator in Charleston, Kate had a certain leg up on a lot of the other girls at Palmetto—the girls who just had “enough” money.
    Kate’s mother was certifiably insane (if those country club walls could talk), but because of her husband’s untouchable bank balance, everyone called her “eccentric” instead of “crazy.” Like there were just certain words that didn’t apply to billionaires. So Kate, unlike most girls, could get away with piercing her tongue, adding a new tattoo to her arsenal every year . . . and wearing sequined, feathered spandex—all without ever risking being called a tramp. Maybe that was why I liked her: She lived like someone with no fear.
    Having climbed up from the opposite end of the money spectrum, I ran my hand along a row of leather bustiers and felt renewed pride that my own costume was the opposite of everything in this store. I was just dipping into a fantasy of Mike and I, all dressed up and gliding through the party tonight, when someone stepped around the corner and held out the skanky catsuit in purple.
    “Thought you might want to try this on,” Justin Balmer purred.
    The woodsy notes of his aftershave overtook me. And I thought nothing could out-stink the sensual jasmine aroma-therapy candle that the Weird Sister was burning by the cash register. Eau de J.B. wasn’t an empirically bad smell; maybe it was the proximity to him that turned my stomach.
    I was trying not to look at the catsuit—or the way his blond hair fell over his eyes—so I focused on his sweatshirt. It was the same Palmetto varsity football sweatshirt that Mike lent me for the games.
    “What do you say?” J.B asked, fingering the feathers on the back of the catsuit. A surprising shivery feeling spread through my chest.
    “But you saw it first,” I said coolly. “I couldn’t deprive you of the perfect Mardi Gras costume.”
    “Who’s said anything about a costume?” he said. “I just think this might accentuate some of your best features.”
    “You mean my growing boredom with your advances?” I said, sidling past him in the lingerie-cramped aisle.
    J.B. put his hands on my shoulders, masseur-style, and breathed into my neck. “So what does the Princess have up her sleeve for tonight’s costume?” he whispered.
    I spun around. “That’s for the Prince to know, and you to obsess over.”
    A frustrated grunt from Kate in the dressing room made both of us jump back. I’d completely forgotten she was still back there trying on the catsuit.
    “How’s it going?” I called into the curtain, praying she hadn’t heard J.B.
    “Bye-bye butt feathers,” she called, sounding oblivious. “Anything else out there worth stuffing myself into for Baxter’s benefit?”
    J.B. raised an eyebrow at me. With a magician’s flourish, he lifted the first thing in arm’s reach off the rack and held it up for my approval. It was a gaudy hot-pink satin corset. If Kate wanted to catch Baxter’s eye, this would probably do the trick.
    J.B. flung the hanger over the door of the dressing room and, without thinking, I added, “Why don’t you try this one ? ”
    J.B. raised his fist at me, in recognition of our teamwork. As if the two of us would actually fist bump over anything. I rejected him but still stood there, frozen to my spot.
    After a pause, J.B. lowered his fist and sighed. A tuft of blond hair blew up from his forehead. The green lettering on the sweatshirt matched his