They smell like him. Like his earthy soap and like something distinctly Brendon.
God, they smell good.
I let my eyelids flutter closed and let my head fill with dirty thoughts.
Him next to me.
Pulling my t-shirt over my head.
Unhooking my bra.
Sliding it off my shoulders.
Dragging his fingertips up my torso, between my breasts, around my nipples.
Pressing his lips to mine.
He thinks I'm sweet. Innocent.
Everyone does.
And I am.
I'm a virgin, sure. But I'm not naïve.
I know what I want.
It's him.
A knock on the door pulls me back to the moment.
"I'm heading to work. You gonna be okay alone?" Brendon asks from the hallway.
He explained it at lunch—he and Emma have a strict knock, enter only if invited policy.
"Yeah. I have to get started on my summer reading."
"Call me if you need anything."
"I'll be fine."
"Promise."
"Brendon—"
"If you'll be fine, it will be an easy promise to keep."
It's a compelling argument. Even if I have no intentions of calling him. No matter what I need. "Okay. I promise."
"See you tonight."
"You too."
His footsteps move down the hallway. Then the stairs.
I can just barely hear the front door shut.
Emma is at work—she works at a department store at the promenade.