Jennie
Manoban. Lisa Manoban. As in the relative of Mina Manoban, as in Mina soon-to-be-Mina Bhuwakul. As in Mina, bride-to-be in my current project, Manoban.
I drop the letter, leap to my feet (nearly overturning the lamp in the process), and snatch up my clothes. I can't find my panties in time, so I hike my pants up my legs, shove my arms through my shirt, and hop from one foot to the other as I pop into my heels.
"Hey, so, I've got to run!" I call out. "But thanks for... you know. Everything."
I stumble towards the door and nearly run straight into Lisa. Christ, her muscles are a problem. She looks like a Greek God in nothing but fitted black pants. It's enough to make me cry with frustration to know I got this close to unzipping those pants to get to the package underneath. When she sees me caught in a tornado of my own clothes, her eyebrows hike up her forehead. "But I just opened the bottle." she says, with a glass of wine in hand.
"Ah, great." It's just what I need, to be honest. I take the glass of wine from her, tilt it to my lips, and drain it. It's smooth, probably expensive, but I barely taste it. When I hand the empty glass back to her, Lisa looks a mix of worried and impressed.
"Well." I'm not quite sure where to go from here. The standard response would be to go in for a goodbye kiss, one of those lingering see-you-never-ever acts. Seeing as she did me the courtesy of putting her lips everywhere, I take a shot at it, but I chicken out at the last second, my newfound knowledge putting a cork in any further attempts at intimacy. I pucker up, miss her lips, and press an awkward kiss to the tip of her nose instead.
"Thanks again." I stammer. "For the wine and... that thing you did with your tongue... you've got great abs... keep up the good work."
Lisa looks, if possible, even more confused. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, totally. See you around." Her eyes flicker over mine with genuine concern. I don't have the fortitude to try to explain our twisted situation to her, so I take the coward's way out.
I bolt. I grab my bag and fly out the door, down the hall, and don't stop until I'm in the elevator and the twin metal doors slide closed.
The fluorescent light flickers, and I see my own shame reflected back at me in the mirrored walls. I'm in complete disarray, my makeup smudged, my hair insane, and my clothes crookedly buttoned. My eyes are Scream Queen wide and I'm panting like I've just outrun the Grim Reaper.
"Okay." I catch my breath, close my eyes, and find a quiet place inside my head. "Pull yourself together, Jennie."
After all, my mind reminds me, you just had dirty, filthy sex with the bride's sibling right before the most important wedding of your career. I mean, really.
What can go wrong?
