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“You're not getting rid of me that easily,” I sit up because I felt my bottom getting warm in the puddle, and if I were to stand up, the cool breeze would have felt terrible.
“I thought you didn't want to see me anymore,” she mutters, and I look at her long hair, reaching her waist, as it peeks out from under the hood and sways in the gentle autumn breeze.
“I don't want to see you at my place anymore,” I explain, and I see her biting her lip with her front teeth, slightly longer than the others, like a bunny.
“Why?” She starts walking towards the slide stairs.
“Because Masse is an idiot, and it would be best for you to stay away from him,” I don't look at her anymore, staring blankly ahead.
I can feel myself blushing.
I hear a noise behind me, and before I can fully regain my senses, Rebecca goes down the slide. Just before we collide, I manage to dodge her, but I trip and end up under her, trying to catch her and protect her from harm.
“What's going on inside your head, Rebecca?!” I exclaim and open my eyes, looking at her gentle face as she forms a smile.
“You...” she whispers, her words almost a secret, and her eyes lower to my chest, then to the place where she's sitting on me. “My head is full of you.”
I don't know if I have butterflies in my stomach or if the warmth between her thighs is heating up my abdomen and giving me these impulses, but my palms stick to her cold thighs, and before I realize it, my fingers slip under the cool linen fabric. Her lips part slightly, and a sharp moan escapes through her pink and round lips. I feel myself growing harder beneath her, and my hands continue their curious journey, traveling towards her rounded buttocks. When the tips of my fingers reach the edge of her underwear, I stop and grab her wrists.
She's fifteen, she's a child, she's my childhood friend, and it's wrong.
“Rebecca...” I manage to utter her name amidst my desperate gasps for air.
“Yes?” she responds, completely absorbed in the intensity of the moment, her dilated pupils and blooming rosy cheeks catching my eye.
Here she is again! She has that devastating look of “Rebecca-The-Dummy,” which sends shivers down my spine.
“I'm hungry,” I force myself to think about food, hoping that the situation in my pants doesn't escalate and she doesn’t notice and thinks I'm some obsessed weirdo.
“Well... there's a supermarket nearby.”
“Alright. Let's go,” I stand up and, before I can think about how I'll enter the supermarket having a boner.
I take her hand and pull her towards the entrance.
We step inside, and I breathe a sigh of relief. My pants are holding up well, but I can't let my guard down. I tug on my oversized hoodie, hoping it will be long enough to cover any suspicious bulges.
“Do we still need to hold hands in here?” Rebecca asks me, gently stroking the back of my hand with her thumb.
I flinch and take back by hand. I'm not sure if she did it intentionally, but it's best not to let her do that again.
The warmth of her palm felt so good that I didn't even realize I was clinging to her like a needy child.
“I wanted to make sure you didn't get hit by a car when we crossed the road. With how spacey you are, I can't take any risks,” I adjust my tone and adopt my “Don't talk to me, I'm too cool” attitude, but Rebecca keeps on talking.
“So, you care about me?” she asks.
What's gotten into her tonight? She caught me vulnerable, and now she's trying to seduce me, or is she just playing with me?
“Here, hold this,” I hand her the shopping basket, but then change my mind and take it back, striding through the aisles.
My weird gesture works, and Rebecca doesn't ask me anything else.
After tossing a few items into the basket, most of which I hadn't even paid attention to because what happened at the park had shaken me more than the beating from my dad, we finally reach the checkout.
“That'll be 25£,” the cashier says.
“What?! That's more than my monthly allowance. I'll take a few things out. I'm sorry,” Rebecca apologizes to the cashier and starts removing the Snickers bars, about ten of them, and the bags of Cheetos, around five.
