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And it’s driving me nuts how much I want her. It’s fucking unfair.
Then again, what’s new…
***
So fucking weird, to be sitting at my tiny kitchenette table, Ryan beside me, while this hot girl is puttering about, opening my empty cupboards, sticking her head inside the small fridge, boiling water and putting my chipped mugs in a row.
I guess my mom used to do this sort of thing when I was little. Cook, I mean. Do stuff in the kitchen. Maybe? I can’t remember anything but yelling and stomping and things crashing against walls.
I rub at the back of my neck, trying to figure out what happened today, and how I ended up here, with the sexiest guy alive checking out my hovel, while the prettiest girl in the world is making us tea from the cheapest teabags available on the market.
If this is a fairytale, then I fully expect a fairy godmother to appear right about now to change me into a goddamn pumpkin.
Meanwhile, Brylee has apparently been talking, because Ryan is laughing quietly, and I like the sound of it. Deep and dark, and is there anything about this guy that isn’t sexy?
“… bought the jewel for my pussy,” she says, pouring the steaming water into the mugs. “What’s so funny?”
“You bought a jewel for your pussy,” he repeats, and fuck, that sends heat right to my dick. “A piercing?”
“Of course not.” She sends him a horrified look. “I’m against animal cruelty.”
“What are we talking about here?” I ask carefully.
“My cat.”
“You bought your cat a jewel.”
“Yes. A bumhole jewel. You know, to hide her bumhole.”
“You mean, her asshole?” I ask.
“Her cat hole,” Brylee says primly and dips the teabags into the mugs. “Do you want milk in your tea?”
“I dunno if I have any…”
But she’s already bending over the small fridge, opening it to check, and damn, her skirt rides up.
A lot.
Okay, this is no longer sweet. It’s getting hot.
Too damn hot. I might just—
“Bry.” It’s like sinking into lust, too deep to breathe. “Bry!”
She straightens. “No milk.”
“Yeah, I know. Listen…”
“But it’s okay, right?” she asks. “Without milk?”
She’s tugging on her skirt. Any other chick, I’d have thought she’s doing this on purpose, bending over like that, as if begging for a quick, hard fuck.
But not her. At least, I don’t think so. Her eyes are clear and bright as ever. She looks nervous, but I think it has more to do with the blond guy sitting across from her—the guy whose attention she’s been trying to get, than anything else.
“It’s fine. I don’t take milk. Isn’t that a thing the English do?” Certainly my parents never did. Have tea, that is. I can’t remember why I have any lying around. I don’t remember buying it.
“Is it? Oh. Well then—”
