Mimi
When I texted Raiden that I’d go out with him, I wish I would’ve just asked him to come over here for some Netflix and Chill. I check my reflection in the mirror once more as I step into my little black dress. I’d be more comfy in stretch pants and a hoodie, but I can get through this. I can be a social butterfly! The Lyft pulls up outside of my building, and the exact same moment—SNAP!—my zipper breaks.
“Shit!” I yell into the mirror as a roll of flesh pushes out from what was supposed to be my perfect date night dress. Two years and ten pounds ago, it was. The Lyft’s horn blares as I throw my closet door open. My eyes scan the rack; there has to be a close second place outfit in here somewhere. Working at the library, I rarely worry about shopping. Comfort shoes and comfort clothes are my go-to, but therehasto be something in here.
My eyes land on the leopard top. The one I bought on a whim. The one that’s just a little too low cut for my liking, making it the one I never wear. The buzzer sounds. Looks like I don’t have a choice.
I shimmy out of my dress and into my skinny jeans and thethis-is-too-sexy-for-a-first-dateblouse. But when in Rome…I reach under each boob and hoist it up so that my cleavage could put a porn star to shame. I’m sure the girls will settle in eventually.
After slipping on my black booties, I rush to the door and open it just before Raiden’s knuckles knock the wood. His head jerks back in shock, but it’s momentary. His eyes trail down to my chest, my breathing accentuating the rise and fall of my ample cleavage.
“Mimi, wow.” He presses his freshly shaved cheek against mine. “You look amazing.” The warmth of his skin against my cheek sends a wave of wetness into my panties. Combine that with his fresh, fragrant cologne and it takes every ounce of will not to pull him to me so I can press my aching center up against him.
“Thanks,” I say, disappointed when it’s time to pull away from him.
“Shall we?”
I lock up, and he insists I head down the stairs first. In my periphery, I catch a glimpse of Raiden staring at my ass. The tip of his tongue brushes his lower lip. A wave of heat washes over me as I grip the bannister extra tight and pray that I make it down the stairs okay. Three inches feel like stilts considering I’ve been donning clogs for the past year.
We don’t say much until we’re in the cab. “Where are we headed?” I ask, bringing my hair forward to try and camouflage my breasts.
“A little soirée I’d promised to attend for a space I renovated,” he says. “In Bushwick.”
“Ugh,” I say before I can stop myself.
“You don’t like Bushwick?” His eyebrows raise, challenging me. I think he’s teasing, but the truth is that IhateBushwick. It’s a too-cool-for-school hipster hood without any trees. And it’s always busy. Lots of artistic folks dressing crazy for crazy’s sake. I always feel out of place in that neighborhood.
“It’s fine,” I lie, and paint a smile on my face. “As long as there’s booze.”
“I’m not entertaining enough?”
“I’ll let you know after my first drink.”
“You’re something else, you know that?”
“Is that a compliment?” I tease.
Raiden slides his fingers in between mine, sending a wave of warmth between my legs. “It most certainly is.” I lick my lips. I’ve never wanted to have sex in the back of a cab until tonight. He rests our intertwined hands on my thigh, so close to my dripping wetness. Can he feel the heat resonating from between my legs?
“You’re from here?” I ask.
“No, Connecticut. But I’ve lived in Brooklyn for twelve years.”
“That counts for something.”
“You?”
“Two years in March. Originally from Ohio.”
“Go Bucks!” He pumps one hand in the air. My eyes narrow, smile fading a bit.
“I don’t follow.”
“Football.”
“That’s why.”
“I love going to games,” he says. “The energy of the crowd. There’s nothing like it. You ever been?”