Eleanor's POV
The bass thrummed right through the floor and up my spine, a relentless beat that matched my racing heart. I sat stiffly between Mira and Roxy at a table, feeling like a neon sign in the dim, pulsing club.
Mira had, of course, made sure I stood out. The "underwire draped mini dress" she'd forced me into was red in color, and I was desperately trying to pull the hem down, convinced it was riding up to an indecent level.
"The dress is great, Mira, really," I said, my voice straining to be heard over the music. "It's just… a bit short."
Mira rolled her eyes, leaning in so I could hear her. "Eleanor, if your dress is really short, what do you call what other women are wearing here?"
I reluctantly dragged my gaze from our table. All around us, women were laughing, dancing, and drinking, their outfits leaving very little to the imagination.
