***FYI This is the second of three chapters that will be shared here on BC***

CHAPTER TWO

Gigi looked at me for a moment, confused more than anything else.

“Shit, did I forget to put the letter in there?”

I didn’t even know how to respond. What the hell kind of surprise was this?

“You… You want me to be…” I stumbled over my words.

“A bridesmaid!” Gigi leaped in to finish my thought. “For my wedding!”

I don’t know how, but I was able to snap out of my stunned disbelief and address her properly.

“Gigi, I… What are you talking about?” I lifted the letter from the box, revealing a whole assortment of goodies beneath it. A bottle of rosé, a cocktail shaker, a candle, assorted chocolates — every bit of it bursting with pink, glittery goodness.

“Colin, I just told you. My wedding’s on the books! This is my way of asking if you’d stand up with me on the big day.”

My head and heart were torn. I was beyond honored that she considered me such a close friend. And to be with her as she tied the knot with Kyle was a deeply humbling thought.

“I mean… I’d love to, but… As a bridesmaid?”

Gigi looked at me, finally recognizing my hesitancy. “Oh, well not a maid, silly! A bridesman. The box just says bridesmaid.”

“Oh…” I said. My heart rate sharply dropped. My nerves returned to normal. “Good, because, you know…”

Gigi sensed the mislabeled box triggered the flighty response she certainly wasn’t going for.

“Check this out,” she began, pulling up a photo collage on her phone and walking me through it. “Bridesmen are pretty common nowadays. Suits and ties match the colors of the bridesmaid dresses, you wear a boutonniere that pairs the girls’ flowers… It’s great!”

She swiped through a few pictures of multi-gender wedding parties and sure enough, they looked quite normal.

As I thought about it more, I remembered stories of acquaintances doing this exact thing. It’s not the 1900s after all. Girls can be close friends with guys. Why shouldn’t they stand up in each other’s weddings?

With the gender issue set aside, a new batch of overwhelming thoughts rushed in. From everything she’d said about her social life and from what I could tell, Gigi was a super popular girl. Out of all of Gigi’s friends, why me?

“I’m… so flattered, Gigi. Like, seriously. But…”

She smiled warmly. “So you’ll do it?”

Again, I was caught in a trance staring down at the glitzy bridesmaid — er, bridesman – box and five-word proposition letter. Why was it so hard just to say yes?

The longer I paused, the more Gigi’s smile started to fade. Her joy turned to concern, which rapidly turned into embarrassment — all for asking her work husband to join her wedding party. Fuck, I needed to say something.

“Gigi, I’m honored you’d want me. But… I feel like you have all these incredible, like, female friends who’d give you everything. Why muck it all up with a guy?”

She stared at me plainly. “Because you’re a really important part of my life too. I love my girls, but I want you because you’re not like them. You’d be such a good addition.”

I hung my head, fiddling with the bright pink cocktail shaker printed with the phrase ‘For the Girls!’. How ironic.

“Look, I understand if this feels out of nowhere, but I’m serious, Colin. I want you to be a bridesman,” she leaned in closer, then gestured widely to the office. “This job’s pretty soul-sucking. You know that as much as me. But hell if you haven’t made this shitty job easier to swallow…”

I couldn’t help but blush, pushing one of my long blonde locks out of my eyes. “I mean, you too.”

Gigi leaned forward to grab my hands. “How about this? My other three bridesmaids are coming to my house Saturday night for a cocktail night. Super chill. How about you come by and see if you fit in with the group. I mean, they’re awesome and you’re awesome, so you totally will — but see how that goes and make your decision then. Sound good?”

It was clear Gigi wanted to make sure I was comfortable. For as quirky and occasionally ditzy as she could be, her sincerity and thoughtfulness meant a lot.

The thought of being a bridesman — particularly my work wife’s bridesman — gave me a good bout of imposter syndrome. But taking it one step at a time couldn’t hurt.

“Drinks would be great,” I answered happily, returning the shaker and letter to the box and packing it away. “It’s a date.”

Gigi reached forward and booped my nose playfully. “That’s the work husband I know.”

Just as she did that, another paralegal stomped into the kitchen, pissy and poised to vent about an assignment he just got. Quickly, I shoved the bridesmaid box under the table and out of sight as Gigi and I let him rant.

Maybe I wasn’t ready for the whole world to know I was considering this. It’ll be weird enough smuggling a glittery pink box out of the office tonight. But I had to remind myself that, despite its appearance, her ask was merely a gesture of friendship. Even if it does feel like a hell of a step.

All I have on the books is a casual cocktail night to meet Gigi’s friends. A simple night where, at the very least, I’d make a few new friends. Nothing wrong with that, right?

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In LA, there’s no shortage of people who flash wealth like it’s their job. Fancy sports cars, designer clothes, and dinners with tabs that creep into the five figures are staples among that group. On the flip side, you find your humble millionaires. Basic cars, basic clothing — almost so under the radar that unless you put an x-ray to their bank account, you’d never know they were among the elite.

Gigi, I’d say, is somewhere in the middle.

I knew that Gigi not only worked in wildly expensive Calabasas, but she had a nice little apartment in town too with a wonderful five-minute commute to the office. In fact, she’s a born-and-bred Calabasian having attended a local, private high school, then to college at UCLA, only to come right back here to begin her career.

Tonight’s drinks, however, weren’t at her apartment or even at a nearby restaurant. The address she sent me was for a gated community in North Calabasas — the fanciest, bougiest area of the entire town.

‘It’s my parents’ place!’ she reminded me in a text. ‘Give the guard the code and my full name and he’ll let you in.’

I almost spit out my drink reading it. The guard? I knew she came from wealth, but a gated community in North Calabasas never crossed my mind. What kind of house were we talking?

For the entirety of my 45-minute drive from my Burbank apartment, I had swirling visions in my head of what her place could possibly look like. As if I wasn’t nervous enough meeting three of Gigi’s best friends while essentially auditioning to be a bridesman in her wedding, I now had to appear cool as a cucumber in the face of extreme family wealth.

I pulled up to her community’s gate as instructed, nervously reciting the code and Gigi’s name to the gruff, burly guard.

“Hmm,” he nodded, glancing just a tad judgmentally at my crappy, beige Mazda before ultimately handing me a piece of paper for my dashboard and saying, “Come on through.”

I followed the winding road up the hills of her community, passing progressively larger homes. But no, not just homes — mansions. There’s simply no other way to describe what had to be one of the priciest zip codes in the country.

When I finally reached her address, I wasn’t even certain I was there. The lawn itself was twice the size of my childhood home in suburban Chicago. There was a freaking fountain out front and a circular brick driveway, leading up to what I could only describe as the most extravagant house I’d ever seen.

The mansion was massive, towering over the treeline and somehow even dwarfing the other gigantic homes on the block. I could feel sweat bead on my neck and brow as I approached the door and readied my hand to knock on the behemoth front door. But then…

*CREAK*

The giant wood door opened before I even laid a hand on it. From the open space popped out a familiar, smiling face.

“Colin! Eeeee!” Gigi squealed, grabbing my hand and yanking me inside with such force that I nearly dropped the bottle of wine I’d brought as a gift.

“Welcome, welcome!” she leaned in for a hug as my eyes darted around the beautifully decorated cavern of a foyer. “Thank you for making the trip.”

“Heh, sure! Wouldn’t miss it.”

Her eyes traced to the bottle of wine. “Oh is this for me? Thank you!”

I obviously felt foolish presenting a $10 bottle of wine to a family who, by the looks of it, probably owned a vineyard. But Gigi seemed happy nonetheless.

After a bit of chit-chat, Gigi insisted she give me a brief tour of her home. Well, not her home, as she was quick to correct.

I found the space to be as marvelous as it was intimidating. Not only did it have the typical kitchen, living room, and dining room setup, but Gigi’s house had an abundance of single-use spaces like a billiard room, a craft room, and a conservatory. And that’s just the first floor.

Gigi suggested we make a quick visit to her equally sprawling basement — finished, of course — home to an impressively large sitting area, golf simulator, and most notably a wine cellar where dozens if not hundreds of wines were stacked and stored on gorgeous wooden shelves.

“We’re good on red… Let’s grab a white too so everyone’s happy.”

“Everyone?” I repeated. “The others are here?”

“Sure are! We’re just hanging around. Didn’t want to start drinking without ya!”

While I knew nothing about wine, I had a strong suspicion the white bottle she grabbed was at least ten times the price of what I brought. Nevertheless, she treated both bottles of equal importance.

Wine in hand, I followed Gigi back up to the first floor, then up the gaudy, foyer staircase and down the long, second-floor corridor. I genuinely can’t express how much this place felt like a real-life castle both in size and style. I mean, what kind of home has hallways as wide as my living room? And wall art worth as much as my car?

We approached the one open door at the end of the hallway — the only room with a light on. Girlish giggles emanated from inside.

I gulped. “Is that—”

“My friends? Yeah.” Gigi answered, though rolled her eyes. “They better not be messing up my stuff.”

I raised an eyebrow, a bit unclear where exactly we were headed until Gigi again yanked my hand and led me into what was not a lounge, a bar, or anywhere I’d expect to be making cocktails or drinking wine. No, it was her super-pink, super girly childhood bedroom.

“He’s here! Everyone, meet Colin. Colin, that’s Marie, Lizzie, and sitting on the floor rudely not paying attention, Amelia.”

I blinked for a couple of moments, motionless and accepting the strange fact I was in my adult coworker’s childhood bedroom plastered with dated One Direction and Justin Bieber posters. Though mostly, I was distracted by what Amelia, seated on the floor and leaning up against Gigi’s soft pink canopy bed, was doing holding a strange, metal tool.

“Colin?” Gigi nudged my arm. “You good?”

I guess I got caught staring a little too long, because the second Amelia picked her head up, a tiny smirk grew on her face.

“Well there you go, Gigi. Someone’s interested in your old flat iron.”

I finally snapped out of my trance and smiled for the three girls, hoping I wasn’t too impolite. But the damage may have already been done.

“I’m sorry, uh… a flat iron?”

Amelia held the blue metallic tool higher up. “A flat iron. You know, to straighten hair?”

I felt my throat turn dry, self-conscious that, already, I wasn’t fitting in. But that was nowhere near my biggest problem.

Amelia smirked again, tossing the tool between her hands. “You know, Colin, with how long your hair is, maybe it’d be fun to use it on you. Ever straightened your hair before?”

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One more sample chapter coming this week, but the entire book is available right now on Amazon!

Thanks everyone :)

-Jennifer

AMAZON LINK: https://www.amazon.com/Will-You-Be-Bridesmaid-Feminization-e...