Private Lessons

Chapter 2

Pov: Josie

-Jo. Wake up. -Soft. I'm glued to something warm and soft. I curl up closer. Josie. "She's moving away. I moan, extending my hand blindly and immediately slap her on the breasts. Happiness shakes me. Shit, yes, I love waking up with a girl. I love it when they are so soft and sleepy. I press my face against her waist, inhaling the sweet smell of her perfume.

"You smell very good, baby," she murmured.

"Josie.

That voice wakes me up all at once. I narrow my eyes to open them and I see Hope sitting on my bed. My heart stops for a second. She looks so bad. Her red dress falls off one shoulder and her lipstick is stained on her cheek. Her red hair falls around his face. Last night's memories come to my mind in an instant. I smile at her.

"Hello, Hopey, I'm sorry I touched your boob." I extend my arms. Do you want to spoon?" On second thought, maybe it's a bad idea. It is not the first time we share a bed, but usually she always wears pajamas and not a tight bodycon, which shows her soft naked legs.

"I feel like I'm dying," she says, blinking as I try to concentrate.

"Shit." Yes. Your first hangover, right?" I ask and she nods, rubbing her chest.

"My heart is going so fast," she whispers. The anger crosses me suddenly and viscously. I hug her.

"It's normal, baby. Anxiety from a hangover. Don't worry, Clarke is dead. Alyssa helped me bury his body.

She trembles in my arms. She looks so miserable that I can't stand it. I just want to get her out of here and distract her. Hope is so small. It fucks me up. Probably just touch the sixty-five subway. She is so angelic, with that silky reddish brown hair, her sharp chin and her little mouth as tiny as a rose bud. She dresses in small sweet dresses, pleated skirts and soft sweaters. Long socks. She is usually so studious, beautiful and tidy. I've never seen her like this, all stained and sexy.

She looked at her, half stunned while she pulls her hair back, exposing the curve of her throat. It's so close that I could lean forward and press my mouth there, against her soft skin. I shudder again, blinking back to reality. I need to get it together. Yes, she almost kissed me last night, but drunks kiss all the time. It was nothing. I clear my throat.

"It's okay, baby. Let's get some food. You'll feel better with a full stomach." She lifted her in her arms, wrapped her in the hockey team's jacket and took her to the kitchen. It looks like a garbage dump. I pick up some empty cans and leave them on a chair at the table, then I serve her a glass of orange juice. She takes everything in about a second, in the meantime, I examine the contents of the refrigerator. "Do you want eggs?"

"I can make my own breakfast. "I have cereal bars," she says as I start breaking eggs in a bowl.

"The cereal bars don't cure the hangover, honey. It will make you cry again.

She shuts up for a few seconds.

"Again?" she says as I pour the eggs into the frying pan.

"Don't you remember anything from last night?"

"Not much.

"You got really upset. You told me that you had never had an orgasm. "There are a few seconds of silence.

"Oh, my God," she whispers. Oh, my God.

I sprinkle a little pepper and look for the cheese in the fridge.

"It's okay. In the great scheme of things, it's not really a big secret. A good secret would be would be that you are a widow who poisoned her ex-husband, or something like that. Do you want white or brown toast, love?

She doesn't respond. I turn it around to look at her and my heart falls out. She is pale and trembling. She seems scared, as if she thought that something terrible is about to happen to her.

"No," she moans. No, no. Did I tell you?

Oh, shit. I run towards her and surround her with my arms.

"Breathe, Hope. It's okay. I'm sorry.

I remember what she told me last night. That she was broken. I didn't realize how much it was hurting her when I said that as if it were a game. She is very, very embarrassed. She pushes me away and puts her hands over her face.

"Shit." I'm sorry. This is so embarrassing.

"Why?" I stroked her shoulder. You haven't done anything wrong, honey, don't regret it." She just shook her head. A tear rolls down her cheek. I love Hope more than anything in the whole world. Seeing her cry makes me feel like my heart is breaking. I could help," I offer desperately. I can help you, if that's what you want. - The images that go through my mind, of what could really involve helping her. I swallow saliva. But love, please don't cry, it's okay, really, it's normal.

She stands up and pushes the chair back.

"I'm sorry. "Please forget it," she says.

"But...

"Please. Please. Just, let's not talk about it anymore.

"Hope, it's okay. Your courage as a woman is not defined by the ability to reach orgasm,for the love of God." I stretch out my hand to grab it. Talk to me.

She simply shook her head and left the kitchen, leaving me alone with a frying pan, burning eggs and a lot of questions.