Page 136 of Those Three Little Words
I’m being weird?Me?
Uh, last I knew, she was crying and upset, and now, she’s acting as if nothing had happened. Where did she even go? A place that erases memory? IsMen in Blackreal?
Carefully, I take a seat, making sure to keep a good distance between us, just in case. And then she starts the show. She watches intently while I keep one eye on the TV and one eye on her.
Maybe this is a pregnancy thing, like a hormone switch. But she seems so cool and calm. It’s just . . . alarming.
I’m tempted to text Posey and ask him for advice, but I also don’t want her to think I’m texting about her since I never text while we watchOzark. So instead, I just sit there and watch, hoping that she’s right, that everything is going to be okay, while still keeping one eye on her . . . you know, in case thereisa knife under her shirt.
* * *
“Have you seen my lotion?”Penny says as she comes out of the bathroom after getting ready for bed.
I think God hates me. I really do. I did something wrong in this lifetime, and I’m being punished for it because standing right in front of me, in a skintight, white tank top—no bra—is Penny, and I can fucking see everything.
EVERYTHING!
The curve of her breasts.
Her areolas.
Her . . . nipples.
Not to mention, she’s wearing underwear that cuts high on her hip instead of shorts. Not quite sure where her pajama sets went, but this . . . uh, this is not what I’m used to. And under any other circumstance, I’d be welcoming the outfit, pulling her down on my lap and sucking on her taut little nipples through the thin fabric.
But I’m in a state of purgatory, where I can’t do anything like that. I just have to sit in my desires and never act on them.
“Oh, there it is, on my nightstand.” She chuckles. “The other day, I found it in the fridge. That’s pregnancy brain for you.”
Also, let it be known I’m still frightened with her easygoing attitude right now. Sure, there was no knife under her shirt, but that doesn’t mean she’s not planning an attack.
She pops open the lid and squirts some lotion in her hands. From where I stand, I can smell it, and God, it smells so good, like a delicious flower. She usually puts it on her hands before we go to bed, but tonight, she’s rubbing it over her shoulders. Does she know I fucking live for the smell of that lotion? That I so look forward to the smell of it at night that I actually bought myself a travel-size bottle.And I’m so pathetic that I rub it on my hands at night before I go to bed when I’m away.
I hope to fuck she doesn’t know that.
“I think I need to go buy new bras tomorrow.”
Gulp.
She lifts her shirt up, showing off her stomach, and rubs lotion on it.
“I think they’ve gotten bigger. What do you think?” She tugs on the fabric of the shirt, pulling down to reveal her breasts, but allowing the straps of her tank top to cover her nipples and only her nipples.
Holy . . . shit.
My dick grows hard. Difficult not to when she’s practically standing in front of me, naked, asking me to look at her tits.
And I do.
I fucking stare.
I beg and plead for the straps of her tank top to grow smaller, to slip up, to show me just a little of her nipples.
But then she releases the fabric, letting it bounce back into place, and she climbs on the bed, where she kneels. The outfit, her hair, her goddamn pose, she looks like a sexy pin-up model.
“Come here.” In some sort of a trance, I walk up to her just as she says, “Feel. I really think they’re bigger.”
Before I can respond, she lifts my hand and places it on her breast.
