Stitches

“No worries. I just don’t want gossips to hear your business. Sometimes the people who come here are real busybodies, you know?”

“Yeah, I know that.” I lower my glass to table with a thud and look across the table at her. “I don’t want to talk about Ashley.”

“We don’t have to,” she assures me. “Just know that we can, if you ever feel like it. Just because we’re lovers now doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.”

Lovers. That’s sure an odd thing to hear coming from her mouth.

By the time the first course arrives, Moira is tipsy. Cocktails seemed like a good idea to calm our nerves, but they made them strong and I didn’t consider what a lightweight Moira is.

When Moira gets tipsy, her sexuality comes out to play. Ordinarily she’s a lady in public—even if she enjoys being fucked from both ends by two men, apparently—but the alcohol melts away her inhibitions in grand fashion.

Smiling at me across the table as the server clears away her barely touched second course, she asks, “What’s the first sexual thought you ever had about me?”

The server pauses and stares down at her, and I can guess he’s having his first sexual thought about her right now. I stare at him until he catches my eye, then he flushes and hastens away from the table.

I look at Moira, the little minx, still sultry and playful. “I honestly can’t remember. There have been too many over the years.”

“Have you ever had a sex dream about me?”

“Oh, yeah. Many times.”

She grins, pleased by this information as she sips what’s left of her drink, just barely enough to cover the ice cubes. “I had some pretty dirty thoughts about you the night you spent in the guest room. When you asked me to help undress you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm hmm,” she verifies, nodding her head. “I shouldn’t have at that point. That was naughty of me.”

The playful way she says it gives me cause to shift in my seat. Now I’m thinking about the blue satin negligee she wore that night, how she didn’t have on any panties underneath. “You wouldn’t happen to be wearing anything like you wore that night underneath that dress, now, would you?”

Moira doesn’t blink. “I’m wearing a black lacy thong under this dress. Nothing else. Figured I’d save you a little time when you take it off me tonight.”

My cock jumps to life, hearing her say that—knowing it’s real. I really get to do that as soon as we get out of here.

Fuck, where is that waiter with the third course? She’s talking like this and I already promised her dessert.

Seb was right; we should’ve kep

t it simple tonight. I should’ve just taken her for a simple dinner and drinks—I do like the tempting shit that comes out of her mouth when she drinks.

“You know what? I think I just remembered the first time I had a dirty thought about you,” I tell her.

Her eyes dance with merriment and she clasps her hands together with exaggerated glee. “Tell me.”

“We were all hanging out and you had too much to drink. You were sitting on Seb’s lap and getting way too handsy. I was starting to get antsy so I went to the bathroom, mostly just to get away from you. When I came out, you were waiting in the hall to go in. You beamed a smile up at me and went to squeeze past me, but you tripped over my boot and fell right up against me. I swear to God, I felt my heart fall right out of my body. You just smiled up at me, went ‘whoops’ and sauntered right into the bathroom. You didn’t even shut the door—I had to do it real quick before you dropped those snug jeans you were wearing and really ruined my life.”

Moira laughs a little, shaking her head. “I’m such a slutty drunk.”

“You’re not slutty, you’re just relaxed… and okay, sure, a little more sexual, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I was worried that night, though. I was one part turned on, but also worried you might end up in a bad situation, doing shit like that.”

“I could’ve,” she says, but not with nearly enough soberness. Instead, her big blue eyes widen theatrically and she leans across the table. “You know what could’ve happened?”

Oh no, I can feel one of her dirty stories coming on.

I search the vicinity for the waiter. Come on, asshole, bring out the duck so we can get the fuck out of here.

“You could have been a real asshole. Maybe you liked the feeling of my body pushed up against yours. Maybe you liked it so much that instead of shutting the door and leaving me to my privacy, you followed me inside. Locked the door, so no one could walk in on us.”

I’m already visualizing her story, even if I would’ve never done that. The guy in her story is a creep, and I may not be perfect, but I wouldn’t corner my friend’s drunk girlfriend in a bathroom and come onto her. Still, I’m probably gonna like her depraved story. I always liked these fucking things, even if I couldn’t understand how they came out of a sweet girl like Moira.