January 17, 2019
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I take a moment to add up the facts, only the facts.
Lulu is here.
She’s living in New York.
I’m living in New York.
I’m about to add in one more fact, but I can’t in good conscience go there.
Besides, my heart is pounding too fast.
It’s from the incident, I tell myself.
It’s from the adrenaline rush.
It’s not from feelings.
I don’t feel a thing.
I leave the men’s room, take a drink from the water fountain, and wipe my hand across my mouth.
When I look up, she’s there.
With outstretched arms, she spins in a circle, waiting for an appraisal of her new outfit.
Her new, jaw-dropping, sexy-as-sin, might-as-well-throw-in-the-towel-and-raise-the-white-flag-of-surrender outfit.
What the hell was I thinking?
I clearly wasn’t using my brain at all. Because she’s even more alluring in this garb.
She’s only wearing the chef jacket and heels.
“Are you…?” I gesture to the outfit, the end of my words making my meaning clear? Are you naked under that?
She rolls her eyes. “Please. I have on my alpaca panties.”
Her eyes twinkle. “I couldn’t resist. There was a sale on cute animal print undies with faces, you know, right here.” She gestures to her pelvis. “A six pack of giraffes, zebras, dolphins, and llamas too.” She casts her eyes down. “Wait. I have on the llama ones. I always get them confused.”
“Alpacas have shorter ears. Llama ears are banana length.”
She snaps her fingers. “Yes. Exactly. I’m wearing the big-eared animal undies, so it’s totally fine.”
Great. Now I’m thinking of her in underwear. In fucking llama underwear. Precisely the visual I’ve assembled way too many times without help, thank you very much. Minus the llamas, of course.
She tugs at the hem of the jacket, revealing the bare flesh of her thigh.
“Lulu.” It comes out like a warning.
She laughs at me. “Relax. I’m tiny; this jacket is huge. It’s like a short dress on me.”
“A very short dress.”
“I can handle a short dress. I’ve worn shorter.”
“Shorter as in ass-cheek length, Lulu?”
Her eyebrows wiggle. Her eyes—green and not so green—sparkle. “Yes. I’ve worn ass-cheek length, Leo. But I’m still decent. And you’re still my hero.”
She leans closer, rises on tippy toes, and moves her lips close, closer, closest. She dusts those lips across my cheek, and it’s like she’s an arsonist.
In one swift move, I’m on fire.
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