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“How was it?” I ask, taking off the condom.
She stares up at the ceiling. Then, turning to me, she grabs her pillow and slams it against me. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“Your first time with breath play?” I inquire.
“Breath what?”
Standing, I pull my pants up and stare at her. “How was your orgasm?”
She bristles. “Intense.”
I grin to myself. “It’s called breath play.”
She looks askance in thought.
“Was it quiet enough for you?” I ask.
Her face is already flushed, but her blush deepens, making her even prettier.
I watch her pull her sweats back up. “What are you doing next weekend?” The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to really think about them.
“Nothing in particular,” she replies. “I have an exam to study for in my statistics class.”
“Want to go to Phuket?”
“Um, okay.”
I shrug into my jacket. “We’ll apply for your visa first thing tomorrow. You have your passport?”
“Passport? Phuket’s a restaurant, right?”
I laugh. “Not the Phuket I’m referring to.”
She stares at me agog, then narrows her eyes, probably thinking that I’m joking. “No, I can’t go to Phuket. I don’t have a passport.”
I think through whom I know who could expedite a passport for me, or at least get me a counterfeit one. I’ll talk to Cheryl.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say and open the bedroom door.
She follows me into the hall. “You’re not serious?”
I shouldn’t be. This is one of the strangest things I’ve ever done. There are a dozen women I could take to Andrea’s wedding who would make more sense than Bridget Moore. I stop at the threshold and look her over in her hoodie and sweats. Suspecting she doesn’t have a wardrobe for the occasion, I say, “You’ll need to go shopping.”
She continues to look puzzled and in doubt.
I cup her jaw, tilt her chin, and claim her mouth, not for a goodbye kiss but a thorough tasting. Reluctantly, I manage to separate myself before my desire heats up too much.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I tell her, then open the door.
She stares after me as I descend the stairs. It feels strange having asked Bridget Moore to the wedding, but I actually can’t think of anyone else who would be better. She’ll be a fish out of water among the wedding guests, but Cheryl’s attending the wedding, so I’ll enlist her aid in making Bridget presentable.
I walk out of the building and breathe in the crisp night air. The more I think about spending time with Bridget, the less strange it feels. In fact, it feels good.
It feels…right.
* * *
