Jennie
Seeing Lisa dripping wet was like entering the Garden of Eden. It was... fascinating - as close to perfection as I'll ever come. She was like a shaggy, wet god, her beauty so insurmountable that touching her would bring shame. I sigh and replay the image of her white shirt clinging to her defined chest again. Talk about a wet T-shirt contest - hell, I'd pay good money for that, and my lucky ass got to ogle for free. What a wonderful night it's been.
I giggle as I quickly admire her bathroom. It must be the guest bathroom, as it's immaculately clean, not a damp towel anywhere in sight. Though I wouldn't expect much less of the master bathroom... not with Lisa's suddenly apparent OCD. Lord, it's like she just hovers around here, her feet never touching the ground. There's nothing, anywhere, that's out of place.
I change quickly into Lisa's clothes. They smell like her - like her laundry detergent - and I stick my nose right in the fabric and take a huge whiff. It smells so good. I wonder if she'd miss these clothes, and just as I'm scheming ways to steal them I catch my reflection in the mirror and grimace. I look washed out in the bright lights, and my hair is a tangled mess. I thank the heavens that I don't wear makeup, because I could only imagine the humiliation of having raccoon eyes in front of Lisa. I search the drawers for a hairbrush or comb and, to my intense surprise, find a used pink brush full of long, knotted blonde hair.
I pick it up, glaring at it incredulously as if it were alive and could feel my palpable hostility.
So she allows her conquests to leave their nasty little grooming tools here? That's interesting - I wonder if this girl comes here often. She obviously got ready in her bathroom... and then I relax. Guest bathroom. Not her bathroom. But does that really make it any better? I throw it back in the drawer, and it clangs against the other items noisily. No.
A knock at the door causes me to jump. "Jennie, are you all right? Did you find the towels?"
I slam the drawer shut; I feel like a kid caught smuggling from a cookie jar. "Yes, I'm fine," I say, quickly raking my fingers through my tangled locks. "I'll be out in just a second."
"I'll be downstairs, okay?" he calls through the door.
"All right."
I spend a few more seconds making myself presentable. My fingers don't work well, but I'd rather drop dead than use that hairbrush. When I'm satisfied it's not going to look any better, I turn and gather up my clothes from where they lay on the floor, a dripping, runny mess. I move to tuck my bra into the middle so Lisa won't see, but then think better of it and leave it on full display atop the pile. It won't hurt to make her suffer a little more.
When I make it back downstairs, Lisa is already in the kitchen cleaning again. She turns as I enter and blatantly checks me out, from head to foot, in her clothes. She grins, and I roll my eyes.
"You'll never learn, will you?" I ask. She shrugs, nonplussed. I hold out my dripping clothes, my black bra the focus point of the pile, and say, "What do you want me to do with these?"
She makes a face and quickly nods towards the exit. "Throw them outside."
"Lisa! I will not!" I admonish.
"I'm just kidding, Jennie. Here." She takes them from me, and I watch, with amusement, as her gaze zones in on my bra. Then to my chest. Finally, my face; she swallows hard. "Um, I'm just going to put them in the dryer."
"Okay," I say sweetly.
"Be careful walking in here," she warns. "It's slippery."
"Uh huh."
She disappears, and I immediately begin cleaning up the kitchen where she left off. I suddenly realise, with a new-found clarity, just how powerful I am. I just saw Lisa Manoban at her damn near sexiest - wet and panting - and I resisted that shit. I must be secondary only to Jesus when it comes to self-control. I can motherfucking do this.
She's gone several minutes; I begin to worry for my bra, but before I can dwell she returns with several neatly folded towels. She lays two across the counter and begins wiping, pushing everything into the floor. I watch with amusement, lips pursed and arms crossed. Lisa sees my stance and raises her eyebrows.
"What?"
I quickly shrug, nonchalant. "Nothing. Is that the way you always clean?" I ask sceptically. The water that doesn't absorb into the towel is brushed off the counter; it hits the floor with a faint splash, followed quickly by broken egg shells and potato peels. Lisa smiles lightly and shrugs.
"I've never had such a large task before - I feel this may need some improvising.
She is being annoyingly nonchalant about the whole kitchen ordeal. She's struggling, that much is certain - but why hasn't she yelled or gotten angry? Is this still part of her ruse to get into my panties?
It must be.
"Yeah, well. It's mostly your fault."
She cocks an eyebrow but remains wisely silent, absorbed in her task.
The CD has long since stopped playing. Aside from the slosh of water beneath our feet, it's unnaturally quiet. I venture around the isle. "Mind if I put on some more music?"
Lisa looks up at me, incredulous. "Now you're asking?" she blurts. I'm taken aback as she quickly gives a half-smile; she's attempting to pass off her little outburst as part of our banter, but I'm no fool. Perhaps the CD thing was going a little too far. Oh, wait - she hasn't even seen what I've done to her collection yet. I gulp and scurry out of the kitchen despite her obvious displeasure of me messing with her stuff. Besides, I think we're beyond that minor informality at this point.
Her entertainment stand is still partially open, several CDs still stacked atop each other in front of the now unorganised pile. I quickly pop a random Beatles CD inside and search uselessly for the Oasis case. It's nowhere to be found; I eventually pop it into the empty Beatles case and close the door, hiding the evidence.
When I turn around I find Lisa leaning against the doorway to the living room, arms crossed, watching me. I jump, startled, and place a hand over my racing heart.
Lisa gestures towards the entertainment stand. "I saw you did a number to my CD collection as well."
I glance nervously behind me, then quickly compose myself and step forward, bypassing Lisa. "I don't know what you're talking about," I say confidently. Once in the kitchen I yell, "There's still a lot of cleaning to do. If you want my help you'll get busy."
I cringe a little. I sound like a complete bitch, having destroyed her kitchen and insist she help clean or else she'll be tackling the job alone. It's not in my nature; I clean up my own messes, I payback borrowed money and I ask for permission before touching things. I don't sneak into near-stranger's homes while they're away with evil schemes and plots. I'm a nice person. Yet here's Lisa, causing me to go against every grain of my being by making a shallow, stupid bet on me.
