It was the moment of truth, as Reagan fumbled to button her cousin's black denim Levi's. She held her breath. The button closed. She exhaled.
That...wasn't totally uncomfortable!
"Hell yes!" Reagan cheered. She tested the give and space of the fabric as she glanced at the affect of the borrowed jeans on her booty. She'd be lying to herself in saying they were a perfect fit; Reagan's bouncy booty was wider than Chel's by a considerable margin so the fit was more taunt than she would have preferred. The jeans originally being purchased for a chunky, tubby-tummied plus size like Chel (well, before she had gained more than a few pounds) gave just enough slack for Reagan's predicament.
See, Reagan had a slight tummy and her great wobbly buttocks, which stretched out the give from the other side, as on Chel the jeans were had been roomy for her belly flab and relatively smaller rear. The conservative mindset would have used the barely fitting inherited jeans as a wake up call to not chub up even further. That was currently the farthest thought from Reagan's mind as she was ecstatic for having fitting jeans so her big night wouldn't be ruined.
"Thanks a ton Chel," Reagan stepped out to model in front of her cousin. "I think it makes my booty pop. Don't you?"
"Sure, cuz. You look fab." Ixchel didn't have the same concerns about fashion that the twins did, but at least she was happy with the exchange. Drumming her fingers along the troublesome belly within her hoodie, Chel bit her lip from the regret of having outgrown the jeans, Yeah, Reagan was getting fat too, but she had the attention demanding phat booty that would put a hip-hop backup dancer to shame.
As her elation from a decent pair of jeans subsided, Reagan noticed the shift in her cousin's mood. "Tell you what, Chel, you did me a solid." She left to retrieve her wasted jeans from her room, taking a turn at her mirror as she did so. Reagan had a different shirt to hide her belly but Chel's old jeans ended up being a solid replacement. It was pretty cool of her cousin to loan her these jeans, and Chel was rarely one of the housemates to drive Reagan crazy. The two had vastly different interests but keeping chill was a plus in Reagan's book.
"Here," Regan offered a stack of outgrown jeans. This also distanced the outgrown jeans from Reagan's concerns about getting too bootilicous. "Seems like it's only fair I trade you some of my old jeans."
"Uh, thanks I suppose?" Ixchel didn't sound too sure on the idea. "Remember how you're wearing the jeans I outgrew a month ago? What makes you so sure I'll fit into yours?"
"Just try it!" Reagan offered. "I'd rather see if you fit into them than have Phoebe dress like me again."
Chel took a proffered pair of pants, stepping into her closet in turn. She supposed Reagan was trying to be nice but Chel had always hated clothes shopping. What with three siblings, a step-brother, and dozens of cousins plus growing up as a chubby kid, she'd had plenty of childhood embarrassments being pinched into new clothes or not fitting in hand-me downs for too long.
Reagan's claim on swapping pants was a tad optimistic it turned out. In the privacy of her closet, Ixchel fondled the roll of her protruding belly. "Well, I suppose they fit provided I button them under my stomach..."
"See, loaners for you to borrow."
At least her hoodie was baggy enough to make her belly hang not as obvious. Ixchel considered the other offerings. "Did you seriously pop the buttons on most of these?"
"So what," Reagan avoided the topic. "You can sew 'em back on. Actually, I had three duplicates of these bitches." Reagan looked to her acid wash, faded blue denims that would nearly white. Chel had a passing knowledge on practical sewing among her many talents, having altered clothes for some of the residents in the past. "Couldn't you like, make a larger pair for yourself out of two of them?"
Ixchel had a thoughtful look. "That might work...thanks Reagan."
"Awesome!" Reagan continued with her oddly found generosity with her cousin. "Because you're hitting the town with me tonight."
"What?" Chel dropped the jeans she was measuring. "Clubbing? Thanks but no thanks, Reagan, that's not my scene."
"Come on," Reagan ribbed her. "When's the last time you met anybody new? Or had a date?"
"That's really none of your business," Chel replied, betrayed by her scrunchy face that hinted at another self-depreciating pity party.
Such was the challenge of dragging the most introverted house mate into the night life scene. "Ya know, Chel, you've got this whole nerdy chic thing going on that's really popular right now. And the brains and humor to back it up. There's gotta be somebody lucky to meet you."
Ixchel remained unconvinced, however her silence suggested she was thinking about it.
"Tell you what, we'll go to Prime Play instead," Reagan suggested. Compared to the horrid kiddie grounds of Chuck-E-Cheese or family appealing Dave & Buster's, Prime Play was a nightclub with a dedicated arcade. Given the age limit for the bar and dance floor, there wouldn't be any kids around the joint. Perfect for the resurgence of adult targeting games like House of the Dead or Time Crisis and staples like b-ball hoops and fooseball. Plus they had decent snacks, another temptation towards Ixchel's favorites along with the video games.
"They've got pool," Reagan played her trump card.
Ixchel finally made up her mind. "Okay. You're going down." While not a pool shark, Ixchel's analytical, mathematical mind made her a whizz at playing the angles for her favorite parlor game. That there was no space to fit one in the townhouse with sacrificing half of the den space was one of the drawbacks of living at 8422 Fordham Ave.
"Excellent," Reagan said, ready to party. Come to think of it heading to Prime Play might help with her primary scheme that had landed her in this mess.
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