~~~
Randal passed out at exactly two o’seven AM. I know this because he did so in the exact center of my bed. I’d let him go first to the bathroom-- seeing that I had no desire to be seen teetering bowlegged to the bathroom. No. Once he was safely behind the closed bathroom door I crawled from bed, slipped on my robe and gingerly made my way to the small water closet between the kitchen and the sitting room.
When I’d had the complete overhaul done on the house, never in a million years had I imagined that having a beautifully-ornate mirror installed above the small custom-made sink, would turn out to be one of the worst decisions I could have made… When our little sex spree began I was a decent, well-kempt, woman approaching her mid-thirties. Five hours later the reflection staring back at me, through said ornate mirror, resembled a cheap-- the cheapest, prostitute in Amsterdam’s Red Light District. The mascara I’d been wearing had become streaked and was nearly touching my hairline. My lips, above and below the waist, were swollen, not to mention sore, and I currently have bruises on my hips that could only be the result of me-- if I recall correctly, yelping out the commands of faster and harder. The braid I’d put my hair into was still intact but askew and it looked like I’d been in a fight because I wa-- still am, in fact, missing an earring.
When I’d gotten back to the room, having gracelessly freshened up with toilet paper and hand soap, Randal was already spread out and covering most of my queen-sized bed while fiddling with the touch screen of his phone. I did my best to hide my surprise that he was going to be sleeping here as I walked warily to my closet to switch the robe I was wearing for a night gown. I quickly knotted my hair back into a bun and moved over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge of my side to set an alarm. I thought that maybe he’d take the hint but the moment I shifted into a laying position, Randal pulled my body into his, spooning my back to his barely flaccid front, as if this-- we’re, a thing.
Almost instantly his breathing began to quicken and deepen which, to my great relief, wasn't accompanied by any snoring. That’s at least one thing working in his favor, although, he did make me pancakes... I’d gotten out of the shower only to find Randal stirring up pancake batter, which I found amazing since I don’t actually keep flour in the house. Once we’d finally sat down to eat, I’d been worried about eating any more than two-- with the hour fast approaching midnight, but seeing as I rode him in every direction including sideways, a few extra calories should have been the least of my worries…
Twenty-seven... What am I supposed to do with that?! Six years ago, at twenty-seven, I had already been together two years with the man that I thought I was going to marry. We were together for a little more than five years which, partially, played a role in my, ultimate, decision to move back to Florida. That was just over three years ago and well, last night-- or rather, this morning is the first time, in three years, that my purchase of a queen instead of king-sized mattress has ever been an issue.
As soon as I think it’s safe to move without waking him, I gently shift out of Randal’s grasp, hoping to put at least a semblance of order back into this filthy little night.
~~~
I wake to find Breanna gone from my arms. Lighting the display on my phone it reads 6:11 which means that, as usual, I’ve beaten by alarm to the punch by all of four minutes. I remember drifting off sometime around two which means that this was probably the shortest nights of sleep that I’ve had since being back in Monsoon County. Even though I have my own space, having reclaimed the garage apartment that Gramps had built for me once I’d graduated high school, I like to get shit done. Asses and elbows all the way. Although, I can say that every second of lost sleep-- of breathing in Breanna, had been well worth it.
Making my way, naked, to the bathroom, I begin to relieve myself while taking a better look around-- something I hadn’t done much of last night. Breanna’s bathroom looks much like you’d expect a single woman’s bathroom to look, but more accurately resembling something you’d see on the pages of some trendy magazine. A room, even larger than her bedroom holds an, oversized, oval shaped tub, lined with air jets, that has rustic tan and cream colored stones for a backsplash. The same stones flow into a walk-in shower, also oval shaped, with a curving frosted glass door... The very shower that, last night, we’d managed to let run cold, but only after I’d finished watching Breanna undress, one silk thigh-high at a time…
--
Dressed in nothing but a sheer black thong while sitting primly on an old-fashioned vanity stool, Breanna watches me, as I watch her, through a lighted mirror set behind a glass topped vanity laid out with expensive creams and perfumes. She carefully brushes her hair, removing any kinks along the way, and in actions that I’m not quite conscious of, she puts her hair into a single braid while carefully taking her time to pin it into a bun near the nape of her neck. My eyes, however, can’t see beyond the reflection of the dark and perfectly erect, dime-sized, nipples that I can practically hear summon my lips.
Rising from the small chair, Breanna stands much shorter than she did in the kitchen-- her heels having been discarded beside the entrance of the master bath. Now at chin level and her eyes glowing the same shade as a stein of stout, Breanna guides me, using my dick as a joystick, into the shower. Between the amusement dancing in her eyes when she steps back to turn on the sprays of water and me, literally, ready to erupt for a second time, I honestly can’t say who’s enjoying this more… That is until she shimmies out of her panties and begins lathering me up.
Speaking very few words, Breanna moves around me with the precision of a pit team member. Her smooth caramel skin shielding shoulders slightly contorted as she reaches around me touching places on my body that I hadn’t known hands could, nor should, ever comfortably be. The arch of her spine leading to sexy dual dimples on her lower back, right down to the curve of a heart shaped ass.
“When were you last…?” Breanna’s almond shaped eyes look to mine, wide with question, and I’m met with the hunger of a homeless person. Hunger, not for the meal that we have yet to share but for the dick angrily twitching mere inches from her face.
“Tested... May 16th... I’m clean.” I breath, finishing her sentence-- only anxiously able to respond with the most important details. Now, I don’t know if Breanna is able to sense my nervous energy or simply doesn’t care that much but the moment I utter these words she promptly sucks my dick between her soft, chocolate calla lily, lips. Seeming satisfied with the first taste, she briefly releases me and urges me backward, resting me on a smooth and shallow stone-covered ledge. Reaching for me, again with her mouth, she traces a circle with the tip of her tongue around the head of my dick making it jerk and tap against her full, pinker, lower lip. Pleased with my reaction, Breanna licks me from base to tip before plunging her mouth over me until my erection meets the back of her throat. While one of her hands strokes to the hilt, in sync with her lips, the other gropes and grazes the hair beneath my sack. I close my eyes to slow the climax rising within me, only to gradually feel my dick nestle repeatedly between her tonsils. With my every breath, I edge closer to my release, balling my hands into fists to keep from clutching her head and taking over. My eyes cling shut in an attempt to hold out for as long as I possibly can but just when I think I’ve reached the pinnacle of stimulation I open my eyes to find Breanna’s wide brown eyes staring up at me.
With one hand still wrapped around the base of my shaft, she slips her other down and between her thighs. The bobbing of her head never falters but she begins to moan around my dick and that’s all the trigger I need. I try to find my voice to warn her of my release but Breanna is ahead of it. Suddenly, her hand is no longer needed to compensate for what her mouth had been missing in depth. Enveloping me deep into her throat, she warms me from head to hilt. For several lengthy seconds the only thing I see is a shock of darkness and in three, unexpectedly immense, spurts Breanna has me riding on empty. With one final swirl of her tongue she proceeds to lick and kiss her way up my body.
“Breanna… Bre-an-na.” I quietly chant her name, unable to conjure any other words to speak.
Now standing at her full height-- maybe five-four or five-five, she continues to, unapologetically, finger herself while straddling one of my thighs. My dick is down for the count but my mouth can’t resist latching onto one of her plump chestnut nipples. Breanna wantonly presses her tit into my face and I devour one mound after the other, tugging and sucking, in turn, until her entire body begins to quake.
When the final aftershock of Breanna’s climax clears her body, she drapes against me as if in surrender. Bare chest to breast, I drink her in and hold her up until her breathing and mine are in total sync.
“I’m starved,” Breanna says, breaking the moment-- my unfortunate sense of humor breaking it even further.
“I could tell.” I say flippantly and while my body shakes with quiet laughter, Breanna stills at my comment. Her hand that was seconds ago petting a soft course through my hair, now, pushing at the stoned tiled wall behind me. Gently but firmly, my arms tighten around her back and waist to keep her from pulling away… The distant look in her eyes as good as telling me that my invitation to dinner is on the verge of being knocked off the table.
“Hey.” I speak softly, moving to stand with her, but she won’t look at me.
“Breanna...” I breathe her name and her gaze snaps to me-- her eyes completely devoid of the warmth that I’m use to.
“Randal.” She bites out, folding her arms beneath her breasts as she all but stomps her foot in obvious outrage. A grin, that I have no control over, begins to form on my face. I know that I shouldn’t be smiling. I’m certain, in fact, that I’m about to be shown the door, but in just the past hour and a half, this woman has shown me every sincere emotion known to man and it's at this very instant that I know… Breanna is everything I want.
“What’s for dinner?” I say, still grinning from ear to ear finding it impossible to take my eyes off the full pout of her lips.
“Not a damn thi--” Breanna begins to speak but I seal her lips with a kiss. Neither kissing me back or pushing me away, she drops her arms to her sides and simply stands there allowing my lips to move over hers. Turning us both, I pin her back against the stone wall and can now feel that the temperature of the water has begun to drop. With my revived hard-on pressed into her hip, I continue to kiss her lips, making my way down her jawline, around her neck and back up again. As stubborn as she is beautiful, the heavy rise and fall of her breasts is the only indication she gives me that I’m having any effect on her at all. Only when my palms begin to roam over her back, hips and ass do I hear small whimpers simmer in her throat. Breanna’s lips finally start to match the movement of mine but I know that if I plan to ever see this woman again, I’m going to have to prove myself to her.
“Water’s getting cold.” Speaking softly at her ear, I feel Breanna’s entire body shudder against mine. I attempt to spin us both beneath the cooling sprays of water but Breanna stops me in my tracks as she, wordlessly, reaches to turn on two extra knobs causing warm water to shoot at us from different points on the wall. Shutting off the overhead shower she grabs a frilly yellow sponge from a hook and lathers it with soap.
Caught in yet another vortex of awe, I watch Breanna reach, unabashed, for her ankles and begin to work suds up the length of her body. As can be expected, my warped gaze focuses on the one spot, the gap between her thighs, that she seems to be avoiding. Without thinking, I step up behind her slipping a flat hand across her soapy breasts and down past her belly until my palm comes to rest over her sex. While the soap is slick under my touch, it’s only when I nestle a single finger into her perfectly trimmed slit that I find the warmest and silkiest slice of heaven. With water dousing the knuckles of my hand, I follow all of the cues that her body gives me in the hope of getting her off as smoothly as I had in the kitchen. Whether it’s one minute or ten, it’s not long-- never can it be long enough, before Breanna’s pelvis begins to rock in my grasp and my hand is flooded with her orgasm.
Breanna’s body slumps in my arms, but only for the brief moment it takes for her to compose herself. A composure that she seems to reserve strictly for me. Normally, she’s enchanting-- the easy and warm way that she interacts with Marge from the bakery and the genuinely sweet concern that shows in her eyes when she asks Gramps about Gram… She’s like an amusement park princess and it just now occurs to me that we’ve never, before tonight, had a conversation about anything more interesting than the weather.
“I’ll be out in a sec. You can grab another beer if you wa-- well, maybe not since you have to drive…” She states vaguely. Uncertain. My welcome getting shorter by the second.
“I’ll put some food together for us in just a few minutes… There’s a fresh towel on the rack, there.” Breanna speaks nodding quickly in the direction of a single towel rack before closing her eyes and pointing her chin to the ceiling with an air of finality.
My eyes follow the streams of water cascading off of her back and hips. The way her arms wrap protectively around her body-- probably because I’m still in her presence. I know right away that Breanna is writing me off. Whether she cooks dinner for me or not, I know that I’ve been dismissed and that, after tonight, she intends for me to be nothing more than a minuscule notch on her bedpost...
--
After a quick scrub of my face and making use of the unopened toothbrush that Breanna had, knowingly, laying on the counter for me, I walk back into the bedroom, now, noticing that my clothes have been folded and placed on the white leather bench that sits at the foot of her bed. My boots placed neatly underneath. I’d honestly imagined going commando, at least until lunch, but all of my clothes, with the exception of my jeans, have been freshly washed. Apparently, Breanna is also as efficient as she is beautiful and aside for the occasional stick she has wedged up her ass, she happens to make for pretty good company.
The moment I open the bedroom door I’m hit with the scent of brewing coffee. Through a partially raised kitchen shade, I can see that the sun has just begun to creep into the sky and, of course, there’s not a single thing out of place. Last night we sat side by side eating pancakes-- with raspberry jam, at her kitchen island which quite naturally advanced to me licking what remained of a nearly expired can of Reddi Wip out of Breanna’s belly button, on top of her kitchen island...
In search of Breanna, I first peek into the closed door beside her bedroom finding nothing more than the dim silhouettes of a desk and a high backed desk chair with a full wall of floor to ceiling bookshelves set behind them. Without lingering, I move into her living room and the sight I find there is not only breathtaking but unsettling.
Slumped and asleep on a gray corner sofa, is Breanna looking nothing short of exhausted. With a dust mop laying beside the couch, where it looks to have fallen from her grasp, Breanna is crookedly sprawled across three cushions with one foot still on the floor. With the exception of her face being smooshed against a yellow and white striped throw pillow-- and the tiny puddle of drool escaping a corner of her mouth, Breanna, at rest and unfiltered, is the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen. However, the more disturbing truth of the matter is that, apparently, she’d rather do housework and clean through the night before choosing to sleep next me...
Offended or not, I could easily take a seat and continue to watch this woman sleep but since I need to get her to Pete’s for a tow as well as open the store, both by seven o’clock, that’s not exactly a luxury that I have. Reaching down, I graze her cheek with the back of my hand-- without causing her body to stir so much as an inch. If I didn’t know any better I’d suspect that she was hungover but I imagine that, right now, the state she's in can be from none other than damn good sex.
She’s wearing a silky floral nightgown that exposes her equally silky brown skin right down to the center of her back. Knowing that we need to get a move on, I give into my urge to touch her. Dropping to a knee beside the couch, I run my hand down her back while calling out her name.
“Yes?” She mumbles, flipping to her back revealing the dark edge of an areola and a pert nipple hidden behind a thin layer of satin that my mind’s eye wills to set free. I speak again in another attempt to rouse her, resting my hand on her knee.
“We need to get moving, Hon.” Honey. Visions of my flesh penetrating, nearly, every honey brown point of entry on her body will stay with me for a lifetime.
Slowly, Breanna’s eyes begin to blink open and while her first instinct is to smile, realization seems to dawn as she flinches from my grasp, dissolving her joy into genuine anguish.
“Good morning.” She mutters out while shifting to an upright position and although disgust is not quite the right word to describe her tone, it's clear that she's not exactly happy to see me.
“Good mornin’ Sunshine. Sleep well?” I ask with a smirk-- rising to make my way to the coffee pot. I know I'm an asshole for even asking but since she’s already treating me like the plague, eh, fuck it.
“I did, thank you-- help yourself to some coffee…” Breanna speaks sweetly but her words are laced with saccharine… Fortunately, she disappears behind her bedroom door before I can comment on it. I had a good time last night and I'm relatively certain that she enjoyed herself as well… But what in the hell?!
Ten minutes later Breanna reemerges from her room fully dressed, looking dewy fresh and even well rested. Her hair is in a sleek familiar bun at the nape of her neck and she wearing a canary yellow sweater set on top of a stark black pair of skinny jeans. A pair of tan suede, high heeled, ankle boots catch and hold my attention as she struts into the room.
“Thanks for waiting on me. Just give me one sec to grab a cup of coffee.” The only thing that registers, as my eyes make their way up from her ankles to her ass, is the word coffee.
“Here.” And when Breanna turns to face me, I immediately remember why she’s the only thing that makes sense to me right now...
~~~
Holding out one of my to-go cups to me, Randal stands there staring at me-- something like a kid might peer through storefront window filled of toys. For several seconds too long, I can only stare back at him.
“Thank you.” I’m not really sure what to make of this little moment we’re having but, then again, I’m not really given much time to think on it.
“Y’re welcome. Ready to hit it?” Abruptly, as if coming to his senses, Randal turns and makes a beeline for the front door. Quickly slipping my laptop into my messenger work bag, I follow close behind.
--
Except for the sound of Randal’s truck’s engine we drive in silence until we pull into the already buzzing lot of Pete’s Auto Shop. Before I can even look over to thank him for the ride, Randal hops out and strides with intent toward one of the open service ports of the shop. With a friendly greeting to who I’ve come to know as Pete Jr., Randal begins to speak in a hushed voice that makes it impossible for me to know what is being said between the two men. When I’m finally close, Randal turns and explains to me, “what’s about to happen...”
“Jimmy, there, is gonna use the flatbed to tow you from the store back to here. It’ll be well into the afternoon before they’ll be able to get a battery, but with the best of luck it’ll be today. Jim’ll drop you off wherever you want so you don’t have to sit around here all day.” Flipping open his wallet, Randal slips what I think is a business card into the front pocket of my bag. However, I don’t get a good look as he steps in and pulls me closer, hugging me, with his hand on the small of my back.
“I’ll be at the store until seven. Call me if you need anything.” Lacing one of his thighs between the two of mine, Randal kisses the corner of my mouth before turning and heading back to his truck. Recklessly, I watch Randal’s retreat only to have him turn back and catch me watching. Sadly, his wide grin and effortless swagger only captivate me further and it’s not until I hear someone calling out Ms. Baker that I come to my senses.
~~~
An entire week passes before I see Breanna again. I even suspect that she did her groceries elsewhere just to avoid seeing me. It wasn’t until two o’clock this afternoon that Breanna clicked her way into the store, on black stiletto boots, wearing a pair of fitted jeans and an oversized sweater. Her hair, down.
Between ringing up and bagging other customer’s groceries, I watch as she progresses aisle by aisle through the store. From carting bunches of kale out of produce and boxes of noodles from the pasta aisle, she even stops by Marge’s counter taking away a pastry box before heading for the freezer section. When she’s finally makes it to the checkout area, lingering-- waiting at the rack of greeting cards, until there is no one left in line, Breanna casually strolls up and begins to empty her cart onto the counter.
“How have you been?” She asks, in a meager attempt at nonchalance. Without making full eye contact she begins rummaging through her purse for what I imagine-- she wants me to believe, is her wallet. However, based on the order of her home including the well-organized ‘junk’ drawer in her kitchen, her wallet is very unlikely out of place.
“Excellent… I missed you this week.” I can tell that I’ve caught her off guard. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had our whole conversation already planned out.
“Yes… Well, uh… I did some overtime at the museum… New exhibition, you know…” I don’t know, but she really doesn't have any reason to lie to me, so I take what she says at face value. Just as she starts to speak again another customer begins to load their groceries onto the counter.
“I’m putting some food together. A Sunday dinner of sorts. You know. I mean. If you’re not doing anything else... You should stop by.” I smile already bagging a few of her items.
“Tomorrow for dinner?” My first thought is to wonder if I should bring something… Wine maybe? Second thought-- What are the friends of Breanna Baker like?!
“Uh, actually, I’m headed home to cook right now, but tomorrow’s fine, if tomorrow is better for you...?” I tap the card reader reminding her to swipe her debit-- not to make this any more awkward than it already is.
“I’ll see what I can do. About what time?” Breanna, who’s begun to help me bag, looks nervously over at me.
“Seven… Thirty?”
“That should work. I’ll try to get out of here as soon as I can.” Over the last several months, my Saturday nights have consisted of me doing inventory for sometimes more than two hours after closing. A night of actual human interaction will be a welcome change…
--
Pulling up to Breanna’s place I see her ancient but pristine Jaguar backed into the driveway. It’s beyond me as to why she doesn’t have a newer vehicle when it seems that she can afford it, but either way the Jag seems to suit her. Its coming up on eight o’clock and I can hear soft music-- jazz, coming from the back of the house.
Slipping the bottle of wine from the paper bag in the passenger seat I make my way up her drive and around the side of her house. There’s a white picket fence that runs from the edge of the house to the edge of the garage and then around the entire backyard. Aesthetically, it may be white and adorned with lattice work but it was definitely built for privacy being that it’s at least six feet tall. Just able to peer over the top-- like Wilson from that TV show Home Improvement, I can see four lanterns illuminating a low-set wooden deck. There’s not a soul to be seen but the deck’s table is covered with a yellow tablecloth and there’s a centerpiece of purple hydrangeas. Looking back toward the front of the house I just now come to notice that, with the exception of my Tahoe, there are no extra cars parked out front. Not wanting to stand here all night and suddenly quite eager to see what awaits me inside, I make my way back around to the front door. There’s no bell but instead an old fashioned pewter knocker that is yet another detail that makes Breanna’s place seem like some, well kept, secret Moony County oasis.
--
“Hi… Everything’s ready except for one last batch of rolls. ” Dressed simply in a black wife beater and jeans, Breanna greets me with a broad welcoming smile while stepping aside to let me in. I’m not really sure what’s prompted this particularly cordial behavior, but I do hope and dread, in equal parts, that this night takes the same turn our last encounter had. Breanna’s smile never fades as she latches the door behind me and guides me in the direction of the kitchen.
“I thought it would be nice to eat outside so I’m just going to grab my sweater.” I simply nod watching as she disappears into her bedroom-- my mind blown at the fact that she’s speaking to me as if we’re old friends instead of the one-night stand we were a week ago. After all of ten seconds Breanna rejoins me in the kitchen.
“Hungry? She asks smiling over at me and I can’t help but to reciprocate her smile. Barefoot and in the same pair of dark jeans and loose fitting sweater from earlier, Breanna takes a peek into the oven. There’s a roasted chicken resting on the stove top beside two pots warming on low heat and a large glass dish with what looks like macaroni and cheese on the center island.
“I am... Oh, I brought this along too...” I smile, stepping forward to hand over the most expensive bottle of Sauvignon Blanc I could find at the Co-op.
“Thank you… Come, let’s eat.” Breanna seems so relaxed and at ease that, for now, I don’t ask why it is that I’m the only one here…
~~~
I honestly wasn’t quite sure if Randal would even show up. I was hoping that he would but there was really no guarantee as to whether or not my one one-night stand, from a week ago, would be a willing dinner guest. My car had been fixed by four o’clock the same day giving me time enough to drive up to see and stay with my mom for the night-- all of which, I’m sure was the result of Randal’s little pow-wow with Pete Jr..
As the months and now a year has gone by since my father’s passing, my mom has become more and more self-sufficient. Where loneliness and retirement usually take a negative toll on most people, my mom started doing yoga and taking cruises with her fellow sorors. So, this morning while my sixty-two year old mother was headed off to the Mediterranean, I woke with a nauseating chip on my shoulder. One that I’ve had all week and am currently attempting to rid myself of...
“That was delicious! I think those are the best rolls I’ve ever eaten…” Randal leans back in his chair rubbing his stomach like one of my uncles at a family reunion.
“They’re my mom’s recipe, otherwise I’m not much of a baker-- but I hope you saved room for dessert. I picked up one of Marge’s pecan pies.” I say standing to gather our empty plates before making my way to the kitchen.
“Pecan pie’s my favorite.” After loading the last few dishes into the dishwasher I turn, startled, to find Randal standing a single foot behind me holding the now empty roll pan.
“I know.” I take a small step back even though there’s no place to go with the dishwasher door still swung open.
“You know?” I’d asked Marge what Randal would like-- confiding with her that I wanted to thank him for helping me to get the tow and my car fixed so quickly...
“I wanted to do something nice for you…” Randal steps even closer to me, seeming to buy my story even less than Marge had at the time.
“So you bought me a pie, huh?” He has the best lips. Like two perfectly sculpted pieces of pink bubblegum that I’d love to suck between my teeth right now…
“Do it.” My eye snap up to meet the glimmer of Randal's periwinkle blue irises, just now making me realize that I wasn’t actually looking him in the eye.
“This was just meant to be dinner...” A thank you… Right, Breanna?
“Nothin’ wrong with a nightcap.” Before I have a chance to respond, Randal tugs me by the waist and immediately slips his tongue between my already parted lips. It would be nice if I don’t react like some harlot in heat, but I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t thought of this man each and every time I took a bath-- a record of five times, this week… So, without hesitation, I wrap my legs around his waist as he lifts and carries me to my bedroom.
~~~
It’s one o’clock in the morning and I’m scrambling eggs in Breanna’s kitchen while she’s still in the shower. I’d been preparing myself to leave when Breanna sweetly, and nakedly, yanked at my boxers asking me to make her breakfast. So, after another round of making her my breakfast, I headed for the kitchen. Just as I’m placing a pan on the stove to heat, I hear a loud banging on the front door.
“Bree!!! You got ten seconds or I’m gonna pee on your front stoop.” I hear a feminine voice holler out from the other side of the door.
I open the door to find a small, barefooted, woman clutching a single key as she steps down from the seat of one of Breanna’s patio chairs-- very clearly about to let herself into Breanna’s house.
“Can I help you?” The petite woman standing in front of me has big brown curly hair the meets me before her freckled face does and is wearing a mini red dress that leaves very little to the imagination. Despite how surprised I am to see her standing at the door, she seems very little concerned about the random guy opening her friend’s front door.
“I’m sure you could help me plenty but Bree’s not all that keen on ménage à trois so we better hold off for the moment.” Pushing past me, she heads straight for the toilet leaving a pair of strappy red heels behind on the doorstep. Before closing the door I scoop up her shoes and head to throw on my wife beater so that I’m not just wearing jeans. I can hear a hair dryer going in the bathroom indicating that Breanna is, now, out of the shower. Once I’m back to the kitchen our new guest is already pouring herself what looks to be a second glass of water and moving to take a seat on one of the kitchen stools.
“So yooou’re Randy… I always wondered why Bree shopped at that Mom n’ Pop place…” My daddy was Randy. Even when he was knocking on forty...
“Randal Cummings…” Just as I’m reaching out to shake her hand the bedroom door opens.
“Julia Baldwin, but my good fr’ins call me Jules.” With a southern twang even thicker than when we began, Julia sticks out her well-manicured hand as if she expects me to kiss it. Fortunately, Breanna is now able to intervene.
“Enchanté, I’m sure. Now put a nickel ‘tween ‘em Jules. What are you even doing here, I thought you had a date.” Walking casually to the cabinets, in her silky nightgown and bathrobe, Breanna snags two glasses and pours water for each of us.
“That friend of his that showed up?-- turned out to be compleeete bum. I mean, he wasn’t even wearin’ a belt and that old pair of loafers he had on looked like they had been passed down through genner-a-shunss... Ridiculous. Too bad it looks like I missed the party here, huhn? I will take some eggs though.” Jules speaks suggestively, and in a single breath, while leaning into Breanna who’s now taken a seat on the stool beside her.
“Nice try-- but you know full well that I don’t get down like that.” Uh? Helloo… Suddenly, I feel like a forgotten fly on the wall.
“I’ve been trying to get this one to party with me for years. She’s always looking for Mr. Right, instead of the Misters Right Now.” Breanna playfully rolls her eye in Jules’ direction while standing and moving to the refrigerator.
“We can’t all be so adventurous-- and if a man knows what he’s doing, there isn't a need for more than one penis...” Oooh... Well, shit.
“And before you even ask-- all I have is turkey bacon so, if all you’re going to do is complain, don’t eat any.” Now, it's Jules’ turn to roll her eyes.
“What's the point of cookin’ and eatin’ bacon shaped lunch meat that tastes nothin’ like bacon?!” Jules says, heading for the refrigerator. Breanna comes to stand beside me at the stove and begins to place pieces of the turkey bacon on paper towels to microwave.
“Hey… What hap-- where’s my can of whipped cream?” Jules asks bending shamelessly into the fridge. Breanna and I look wide-eyed at each other like two cats that ate a canary.
“It expired…” Is all that Breanna says while deviously grinning at me. That anguish and distress that showed on her face a week ago? Gone-- only to be replaced by undisguised joy...