"Pygmalion?" Ian asks.

"Huh?" Rachel pulls out of the parking lot and makes a sharp left, headed for my place.

"Shaw play. You Yanks know it as My Fair Lady."

"Do they teach you anything modern over there?" I joke.

"Frankenstein," Rachel p.r.o.nounces, changing lanes. "What this is like."

"More like f.u.c.kenstein," I point out. "Fire up the pitchforks, villagers, she's on the loose."

I roar like Frankenstein, arms outstretched and thrusting my hips rapidly to lend to the visual.

Ian laughs.

Rachel radiates disgust as she glances back at Ally through the rearview mirror. "Seriously?"

"Aside from the fact that f.u.c.kenstein is the doctor's name-," Ally begins thoughtfully.

"Doubly appropriate," Ian chips in.

"The loose part sounds nice for a change. See, humans are one of the few monogamous species. Maybe that's just emotional longing and other species have it right. That biologically speaking, multiple partners are natural."

"I'll stay unnatural with you, love," Ian says sweetly to Rachel.

"You're already getting the milk for free, cowboy," I point out. "You don't have to b.u.t.ter up the cow."

Rachel grins saucily at Ian. "b.u.t.ter."

"Distinct possibilities," he agrees, sounding intrigued.

Ally gives a small shiver of disgust before getting back to the subject. "But beyond that, for humans and animals alike, relationships involve a power dynamic where one person ends up getting hurt."

Rachel pulls into my driveway and we pile out.

"That's not true," Ian says.

"Just wait," Ally replies.

I unlock the front door for everyone to enter.

"Okay sunshine," Rachel cuts in, clearly exasperated. "You want to get out there and make guys fall over themselves for you then leave them broken and wanting in their beds, fine. But call it what it is. Dumpee's revenge."

"Biology," Ally retorts.

"Who wants a drink?" I ask, hoping to cut off WWIII.

"Several, I think," Rachel mutters. She hands Ian the car keys.

Rach swats the top of Ally's head as she pa.s.ses and Ally gives her the finger. Their way of making everything fine between them again.

"What exactly does one drink with veggie pizza?" Rachel asks as we stare at the booze in the fridge.

"White wine," Ian decides. "Sorted. Now let's eat."

"Good choice," I reply. I nick one of my dad's bottles of Champagne-type stuff and set it on the counter.

Rachel flips the pizza box open and I snag the biggest piece before Ally can. No way she'll let me have it after what I'm about to say. "Tomorrow Ally is going for a makeover."

I time this bombsh.e.l.l just as Ally takes a bite of pizza so as to induce maximum choking.

She wraps her arms around herself. "I'm not a total troll."

I blink in surprise. "I didn't say you were." Not that I'd thought about it one way or the other.

Rachel picks up the bottle to open it and studies her cousin.

"You could use a good hair cut," she decides.

Ally focuses intently on picking at her pizza. "Wow."

I can tell she's feeling totally defensive and picked on so I nudge her. She glances up at me, annoyed, and I grin and nudge her again.

She nudges me back and I know she's cool now. Mostly.

Rachel tilts the bottle slightly. "I'm just saying. A hair cut wouldn't kill you. Maybe even some new clothes that have shape and look like something worn in this century. To improve on all the greatness hidden behind the hemp."

"I'm not wearing ma.s.s-marketed clothes that exploit the planet."

"Who's telling you to? Sustainable fashion has come a long way, baby. Even vintage is based on recycling. You're just hiding your lack of fashion sense behind an activist agenda."

Ally looks like she's about to protest, then shrugs. "Yeah, pretty much a zero on the fashion front."

Rachel grins at Ally as she grasps the cork. Ian braces himself.

"You need to shiny up. Men respond well to visual clues," I explain.

"Much like dogs," she replies.

"Exactly. It also helps that guys have a s.e.x thought roughly every ten seconds."

"That's an urban myth. Sorry to disillusion you." Ally shakes her head at me.

Rachel pulls the cork out. The force of it not only sends the cork flying with a loud bang into my kitchen ceiling, it knocks Rachel off balance.

She drops the bottle, which shatters on the tile floor, spewing foamy liquid everywhere.

"A swing and a miss," Ian says.

As Ally scoops up a rag from the counter, I punch her.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Ten seconds," I reply.

"You had a s.e.x thought?" Rachel asks, gingerly picking up gla.s.s pieces with Ian.

"Sure. Cork popping, foam explosion..."

"You're sad," Ally tells me, as I shoo Rach out of the way to sweep up the mess.

"It's not like it takes much," I reply. "We're guys. Back me up here, Ian."

Ian shakes his head. "I'm Switzerland on this one."

"p.u.s.s.y," I retort, dumping the shards in the garbage and putting away the broom and dustpan.

I punch Ally again.

"No, I'm not," Ian says. "But my girlfriend is holding a very jagged shard of gla.s.s."

Rachel glances down at the piece in her hand, laughs and tosses it out. She retrieves another bottle of fizzy alcohol from the fridge.

Ian takes it from her and pops the cork. "No way, spitfire." He pours us all a gla.s.s.

I punch Ally one last time.

Just because.

Chapter eight.

My slightly drunk, happy haze lasts well into the night. I'm full of cheesy pizza goodness.

Ian and Rachel have left, leaving me and Sam.

I have to pee so I go into the bathroom, thinking about makeovers. Which leads me to Brazilians, which are icky but also the total opposite of the Pubizon jungle I've got going.

I've always been proud of my "natural woman" self but if I'm to believe the media, I should be naked as the day I was born down there.

Are all girls getting clear-cut or is it just media hype and a few annoyingly visible celebrities?

Are guys going to take one look at me and start laughing? I don't think I could take that.

I wash my hands then lean over for a better look. Not too bad. I mean, I do trim. And I could again before it becomes open to the public.

I poke the spongy ma.s.s. It's cool for it to look this way, right? Although, inspecting it a little closer, I realize that even from my up here angle, something doesn't look right.

"What'cha doing?" Sam calls out from the hallway.

"Just a sec," I mumble, horror setting in as the overall shape becomes clear. The front is way too short. And then as it gets closer to my body, it gets longer.

I've seen this style before.

"Oh my G.o.d!" I wail. "I've got a vullet!"

I pull up my pants and fling the door open.

"A what?" he asks.

"A vullet. A v.a.g.i.n.al mullet. Party in the back, business in the front."

"No. Don't want that visual."

He hurries away, me following hot on his heels.

"You have to help me."

"Waaaay beyond the bounds of friendship, Brain."

"Shut up. Do I need a Brazilian?"

"That's between you and your lady parts."

"But you've seen more of them than I have. What's normal?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

He tries to barricade himself in his room but I jam my shoulder in so he can't shut the door.

"Because if it's going to save me from full frontal humiliation, then I guess I'll get one. But I'd rather my garden of delights not look like a smooth kiddie playground."

I shove the door open and wait.

Sam scowls at me. "Then role play. Jailbait and the pedo."

"So inappropriate." I head back to the living room, Sam keeping pace.

"But forcing me up against your..." he waggles his fingers, "is cool?"

"Yes, Obi Wan. If you're going to help a girl out, then you need to man up and tell me if I need to wax."

"You don't need to wax." He puts on a yokel accent. "Cause them there boys at the gator ra.s.slin' farm, love themselves a good ole vullet."