One Bride for Five Brothers

I chew on my lip, wondering about this. It actually doesn't seem like a bad plan. Certainly better than trying to come up with an explanation of who I am.

And after all, I did just promise myself to be honest. What's more honest than that? Isn’t a picture supposed to be worth a thousand words?

Glancing around, I make sure nobody's looking at me and then activate the camera app on my phone, making sure the flash is on. I stuff the camera between my knees and point directly at my crotch, snapping three pictures off, one right after another.

The pictures are kind of funny, with the flash creating dramatic lighting effects. My thighs are nearly white, spread open with the pale blue panties between. I can even see the fabric of my skirt at the top of the picture.

On second thought, I open the filter app and crop the photo, adjusting the highlights and saturation until it looks even more artful, like I might've even done this sort of thing before. After a few seconds, I'm satisfied with the picture in a kind of abstract way. It isn't until I click Send and shoot it through the Internet to August’s inbox that I realize what I've just done. I totally sent a nude picture, on purpose, to August Berner.

My belly clenches. I feel that wave of longing, that singular desire for him to see me. He's going to see part of me nobody else ever saw before. Any second now, August is going to know something about me no other man ever has.

Chapter 31

August

Ron flips between TV stations, trying to catch both the hockey and football games at once. He's always been really into sports. I try to fake interest, but I'm not sure I'm entirely convincing. Luckily, he doesn't expect a lot from me except to sit next to him and pretend to be interested. He just needs somebody to make it seem like he's not doing this by himself.

Finishing my beer, I scowl at the bottom of the dark brown bottle. Somehow, this is not doing it for me. The beers are going down too fast, and having no effect. I feel insatiably thirsty. Despite my better instincts, I think the Instagram messages are getting to me. It’s probably just some phony plot, but still I’m on edge. My stomach growls.

“Hey… got anything stronger?”

Ron thumbs the remote, aiming it high above his head. He quirks one eyebrow at me. “Stronger?” he repeats.

I shrug. “Still got that bottle of scotch?”

“Scotch… no, that's gone. I think there’s some tequila and maybe a bottle of vodka in the freezer. Maybe ask Dahlia to make you something when she gets back?”

I shift on the sofa, uncomfortable and edgy. I feel like I'm definitely going to try to stay away from Dahlia today. This thirst probably extends beyond just finding things to drink.

“No… never mind. It was just a thought.”

“It’s no trouble,” he says vaguely, squinting at the TV directory, rolling down through the listings to find whatever it is he's looking for. “She should be back with Bunny any minute now anyway. I think they're picking up Chinese.”

“Yeah… okay, maybe later,” I answer, just so I don't seem like I'm avoiding the question. He's not really paying any attention to me anyway, just trying to get the game he wants to watch.

I should probably go home. I keep imagining that my phone is going off in my pocket, but when I check it, there's nothing. Or sometimes there's something. But I'm all on high alert over this thing. Ron is bound to pick up on it sooner or later.

All day long, I have been getting intermittent texts. First thing this morning, she sent a snap of her panties, apparently photographed just seconds earlier. If it's Trina, she has expanded her ideas about lingerie. She always had strong thoughts about cotton in panties, and the evils of the clothing industry with regard to feminine health. That meant she always wore cotton panties. She never wore polyester, nylon, silk, not even lace which I would assume would be about as ‘breathable’ as you could get. She said that having something cute to look at wasn't worth bottling up her lady bits all day, risking a yeast infection or whatever.

These panties are definitely different. I want to look at them again, but I don't need to, I can still see them clearly in my mind. Shiny and blue, creased down the center so I could just see the hint of the separation of her lips. Just enough to imagine that she was wet, that she was actually slippery and ready for me already. A brilliant tease, considering how much time she spent convincing me that wanting to touch her lingerie was something of an abnormal fetish on my part.

Then I didn't hear from her for a few hours, until later in the day. She asked if I liked her story from earlier in the morning. The one where she talked about undressing me, getting her hands on me. I told her right away that I did like it. Then I wondered if maybe I should've been more calculating in my response.

What am I supposed to do? I don’t really understand what kind of game this is. If it's Trina, maybe she's testing me to see if I'll pay more attention to her this time? Showing me her panties to show that maybe she's willing to compromise as well?

But if it's not Trina… then I don't even know. What's the game? Just randomly sending texts back and forth with a stranger? For what purpose?

Almost on cue, my phone buzzes. I'm sure I'm really feeling it this time, so I slide it nonchalantly out of my pocket, noticing that Ron is completely enthralled by the football game on TV.

Now you send me a picture, it says.

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I squirm slightly.

Why should I do that?

…