“Goodnight, Corrie. You have a good sleep. Please don’t puke on my brother’s bed.”
I leave the door open, head to the washroom, and quickly brush my teeth. I pull off the sexy booties, and my feet silently thank me. I slip out of my leather skirt and peel off my t-shirt. I unclasp my push-up bra and my breasts thank me too. The air is chilly and my nipples harden. I slide under the cool sheets in nothing but my undies.
I stare up at the stick-on stars on my ceiling and the old posters on my wall. This room is full of memories: Marilyn barging into my room at all hours, always wanting to borrow something; nail polish, jeans, shoes. She and I have always been exactly the same size. Memories of Mandy and I chatting, playing cards on the bed, watching movies on my laptop, and talking about crushes. But mostly, this room reminds me of Blake: cuddling on the bed, making out on the bed, watchingThe Sopranosin secret (Blake’s parents had the whole series on DVD but we were forbidden to watch it), playing Scrabble (Blake has always been good with words). He’d even paint my toes and brush my hair sometimes.
He’s all I’ve been thinking about all night, ever since I sat on his lap. Before then, I was consumed with thoughts of Peter, with ‘the plan’. But once I got lost in Blake’s eyes, I was a goner.
I know he’s not thinking about me right now. He’s probably doing that blonde every which way. My hand travels slowly along the curve of my stomach. I’m still wired – I can’t fall asleep. I can’t stop thinking about his hand on my thigh, about the way he looked at me, like he wanted to take me right there in that booth.
God, I’d have you in nothing but those shoes.
My fingers dance over my breasts. I stroke them softly, rubbing the peeks under the pads of my fingers. I close my eyes and imagine Blake. He’s the one touching me. I imagine his lips on my skin, my hands in his hair. I spread my legs, and my hand travels to the band of my panties. I dig in with nothing on my mind but him.
