“You’re not wearing that, are you?”

Ryan looked down at her dress and frowned. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Nothing ... if you’re going to a funeral.”

“Black is classic.”

“Black is boring. And I’ve seen nuns flash more cleavage.”

Ryan’s frown deepened. “Why would I want to flash my cleavage?”

Betty gaped at her in disbelief. “How are we even friends?”

“I often wonder that myself.”

“When was the last time you got some, anyway?”

Ryan didn’t answer right away. It had been a while.

Unlike Betty, who probably thought about sex more often than most men, Ryan was more interested in a relationship than a hook-up. Perhaps her views were considered old fashioned by many—Betty had actually used the word antediluvian—but if she was going to share her body with someone, she wanted it to mean something.

“I can’t help it if I have high standards.” Ryan sniffed defensively.

“Yes, you can. And your standards aren’t just high, they’re unrealistic. There’s not a man on this earth who can live up to them.” Betty’s voice softened. “Real guys aren’t like those golden-hearted alpha males you like to read about, Ry. There are no intergalactic princes scouring the universe, looking for their fated princesses. Just relax and have a little fun, okay?”

Could she help it if she was a romantic at heart? If she wanted a man who was both strong and protective, yet reasonable and supportive? Someone who would love her more than anything and never stray? A real, living, breathing soul mate?

She sighed. Betty was probably right. Guys like that didn’t exist, and if they did, they were so few and far between she could be wearing granny panties over her adult diapers before she found one.

Maybe it was time to face facts. She was a thirty-two-year-old police detective who eschewed traditionally feminine activities like cooking and shopping. She wasn’t adept at social niceties and had a tendency to speak plainly, both of which put a lot of people off. She knew a dozen ways to effectively incapacitate and subdue a perp, and held the record for most accurate kill shots at the academy range for the last three years running. Unsurprisingly, most guys were threatened by that.

It would take a special man to embrace her for who and what she truly was, a special man who probably didn’t exist outside her romantic ideal drawn from the worlds of romantic fiction, sci-fi, and fantasy.

Maybe Betty had a point. Maybe, just for tonight, she could unclench a little and have some fun without thinking about tomorrow.

“All right,” she exhaled in surrender. “Tell me what to do.”

Betty’s eyes lit up. “Really?!?”

Ryan nodded, hoping she wouldn’t regret this, knowing she probably would. “Really. But only because it’s your birthday.”

Betty squealed then appraised Ryan with a critical eye. “Right. We’ve got a lot of work to do. Better skip the restaurant and order in.”

Two hours later, Ryan was seriously questioning the sanity of her plan.

“Stop scowling. You look gorgeous.”

“Fishnet stockings were designed by Satan. No rational human being would do this.”

Ryan didn’t care how sexy they were supposed to look; the damn things were a total pain in the ass to put on. After multiple attempts, several glasses of wine, and repeated chants of encouragement from Betty, she had finally managed to get the black threads up her legs without breaking any. It didn’t help that they reminded her of Jose and his crab entourage. Regardless, Betty insisted they were a necessary part of her transformation.

Ryan gave herself a critical once over in the full-length mirror. Transformation was too mild a word for what Betty had done. Gone was her sensible, classic black dress, replaced by a clingy blue swath of fabric that left nothing to the imagination.

On the plus side, no one would ever recognize her.

“I hope it’s not cold in there,” she muttered.

“Are you kidding?” Betty laughed. “Guys love nips. Combined with a nice set of boobs, they’re like instant and irresistible tractor beams, and honey, even Mr. Spock would want a piece of you.”

Ryan rolled her eyes at the old Star Trek reference. Like her, Betty was a closet sci-fi geek.

“Besides,” Betty continued, “that dress really brings out the turquoise in your eyes.”

Ryan had to admit, she did look pretty good. Seven years of Krav Maga a couple times a week had its benefits. Strong is the new skinny.

The dress molded to her curvy form, stretched over her ample breasts, clung to her less than flat belly, and accentuated her round hips. Sky-high stilettos made her curvy legs look a mile long. Her blonde hair had been brushed to a lustrous shine and extended halfway down her back. Which reminded her – she needed to schedule a trim soon. Since she normally wore her hair pulled back or in a bun, regular trips to the hair salon weren’t a priority.

Her face hadn’t been spared a makeover either. Betty had had a field day with that, proudly bringing out a small suitcase filled with powders, creams, lotions, and liners. As a result, Ryan’s skin was smooth and even, her lips full and red, and her unusual blue-green eyes outlined in dark kohl and framed in thick, inky lashes. It was a far cry from her usual quick swipe of mascara and lip gloss.

“Where am I supposed to carry my gun?” she asked.

Betty shook her head. “No gun. You’re officially off duty tonight.”

“But I feel naked without my gun.”

Betty smirked. “Well, you could always use your cooch as a hidey-hole.”

Ryan exhaled. “Right, no gun.” She could go one night without it, right? Besides, if it came down to it, she could handle herself.

“Thank you for this, Ry. I know it’s out of your comfort zone, but we’re going to have a great time tonight; you’ll see. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even find your prince.”

It was a nice thought, but Ryan wasn’t going to hold her breath.

“Hey, slow down there,” Ryan called out as Betty moved to the door quickly, anxious to be on their way.

Putting one foot in front of the other wasn’t something that typically required much thought, but walking in sky-high stilettos required significant concentration. Maybe that was why those glamorous types often appeared so bubble-headed, she mused. They were focusing too hard on trying not to break their necks to think of anything else.

On the plus side, the shoes would make fine weapons in a pinch.

Ryan offered up a silent prayer that she wouldn’t have to run for any reason and took a deep breath. This wasn’t about her; this was about Betty. As uncomfortable as she was dressed up like this, it was worth it to see the smile on Betty’s face. She was going to have a good time, even if it killed her.

And in these shoes, she thought miserably, it just might.