“You don’t want to tell me?” I try to drag my eyes from her chest, but it’s impossible.
“What kind of girls do you watch touch themselves?”
“Hot ones.”
“Okay, same answer. Hot guys.”
“Big tits.”
“It’s porn. They all have big tits.”
“Yeah, but—” I bite my tongue. I can’t take that back.
I certainly can’t spring it on her when she needs a ride home.
When she can’t run the fuck away from me if she’s terrified of how often I think of her.
“Twenty minutes, okay?” Her gaze flits to my crotch then it’s back on my eyes.
Or maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe I’m one of those guys who thinks every hot chick wants to fuck him. Maybe I’m completely out of touch with reality.
I nod okay, buy a cold brew at the Nordstrom coffee shop, pace around the mall as I drink.
I’m not into coffee the way some of my friends are, but I do love cold brew.
It’s rich, strong, chocolaty.
Full of caffeine.
Not that I need the perkiness today.
I need the ice cooling me off.
I need the liquid running through my veins.
I need the caffeine constricting my blood vessels.
Or the opposite. Fuck knows how the science works.
I give Skye an extra five minutes, then I head to the store.
The sales woman nods hey, does nothing to stop me from walking straight to the dressing room.
Maybe she has a thing for tattooed guys in sunglasses.
Maybe she doesn’t care about her minimum wage job.
Maybe she likes listening to customers fuck.
Not that we’re going to fuck.
Just—that idea is in my head.
I swallow another sip. When it fails to cool me down, I pop the lid, suck on an ice cube.
“Forest?” Her voice is soft. “Is that you?”
I bite the ice cube in half. Swallow the pieces. “Yeah.”
“Can you zip me?”
“Sure.” I move to the sound of her voice. The third stall on the right.
The dressing room is like the rest of the store. Retro cute. Pastel colors. Classic patterns.
The walls are pink polka dots. The stalls are a complementary shade of teal.
It’s adorable, yeah, but it’s not Skye.
A lock unclicks. Her door falls open.
She’s standing there in bare feet, in a pretty pink dress, her back exposed.
My fingers brush her skin.
She lets out a soft sigh.
Fuck, not what I’m doing.
I pull the zipper up. Step back. Give her room.
Her gaze goes to the mirror. “What do you think?”
It’s a cute dress. A-line, I think. High neckline. Plenty of skirt. Tight on her tits. Loose around her waist. “Mrs. Davis will have a hard time calling you a slut.”
“Will she though?” Skye asks.
I can’t help but laugh. “Hard justifying it.”
She nods fair. Rises to her tiptoes. Spins.
Her dress spins with her. It rises enough I see a flash of her panties.
Black lace.
From that lingerie company? Or something that’s all hers? That she wears to feel sexy?
That she takes off before she fucks herself?
Wears as she fucks herself?
Maybe her vibrator is too much pressure. Maybe she has to keep her panties on.
Maybe I can pin her to the wall, pull her panties aside, lick her until she’s screaming my name.
Skye stops, facing me. Looks me in the eyes. “How bad is it?”
“Bad?”
“Not me?”
“Isn’t that what you’re going for?” Look at her eyes, Forest. Stop looking at her ass. Stop thinking about the taste of her cunt.
“I don’t know.” She smooths the dress. “Part of me wants to show up in something really low-cut. So Mrs. Davis faints. But then I think about my mom and how she’ll hear about it for months.”
“Would she mind?”
“Not exactly. But… I don’t want to put more on her than I have to. I’m already living in her house. Eating her food.”
“Keeping your room a mess?”
“It’s my room.” She brushes her hair behind her ear. “It’s more the uh… other rooms. I try to clean up. I do. And I cook when they’re working.”
“You’re a good daughter.”
“I do okay.”
“You look beautiful.” I manage to bring my gaze all the way to her bare neck. She’s darker than I am, but her skin is still so light compared to her dark hair. The contrast is all her. And it’s fucking hot. “Not like Skye, but still beautiful.”
“Like Mack?”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re nothing like Mack.”
“Nothing?”
“Okay, you both like clothes. And talking about tattoos. But beyond that—” I brush a stray hair from her cheek. “You’re Skye. You’re smart. Funny. Tenacious.”
“I’m tenacious?”
“You haven’t given up on me.”
She stifles a laugh. “That makes me tenacious?”
I shake my head. “The way you work on your blog. Your following. You kept doing it even when it wasn’t going the way you wanted. You never backed down. Or gave into bullshit.”
“Maybe.”
“You…”
“I should try on this one.” She motions to a black dress with white polka dots.
It’s cute, but it’s not her. I nod sure.
She lets the door close, but she doesn’t lock it.