Roseanne.
Hyeri: Did you bang her yet?
Roseanne: Goodnight, Hyeri.
Hyeri: You only live once, you know. this is a story you could tell your kids one day.
Roseanne: What the fuck kind of stories do you plan on telling your children?
I assess my matching bra and panties in the mirror of Lisa's bathroom. A set I splurged on. A silvery silk that I'm obsessed with. I contemplate taking them off and just slipping into the matching dusty pink sweatpants and sweatshirt that's folded on the counter beside me.
I'm overthinking this.
If I keep the lingerie on, what does it mean? Does it mean anything? If I go out there and pull out a different bra and panties, I'll just draw attention to myself. And if I'm being honest, none of my other sets are any better. I'm an absolute whore for fancy lingerie.
Long months spent in a hospital gown have made me appreciate all things that make me feel pretty. Sexy. Even the angry red scar down the center of my chest doesn't take away from that for me anymore. I've outgrown that insecurity.
But is going naked underneath the sweatsuit any better? Yes. It's more casual. More comfortable for sure.
I pull my bra down and am about to flip it around to undo the clasps when I catch sight of my breasts in the mirror.
Full and pale. And peaked with rock-hard nipples.
"Fuck my life," I mutter, pulling the bra back up and replacing the straps.
Bra it is because I'm not facing Lisa Manoban with full headlights.
I slip on the sweatsuit and neatly fold my other clothes before making my way back into the basic hotel room.
The basic hotel room with one queen-size bed. And a queen-size bed has never looked quite so small as it does right at this moment. Deep down, I know I can't let Lisa sleep on the floor. Not with the current state of her body. It wouldn't be fair.
I'm still chilled from sitting in my ice-cold room, and I shiver when I catch sight of her standing at the doorway talking to someone. her broad shoulders do nothing but pronounce the taper of her waist, which does nothing but pronounce her nice ass.
Letting my eyes trail over Lisa Manoban is like spending time at an amusement park. Each part is better than the last. When she turns to face me with takeout boxes in her large hands, my mind flashes to how they might feel on my bare skin. Big, warm, and calloused.
She looks nothing like the women I've grown accustomed to spending time with. They're all pale and smooth-well manicured. Some have been fans of literal manicures.
Lisa is weathered, her t-shirt tan line from last summer still faintly noticeable. And when she smiles, the skin beside her eyes crinkles in the most genuine way.
her work-hewn hands would feel like heaven sliding over my skin.
I shiver again, but this time I don't think it's because I'm cold.
"Food?" she asks, knocking me right out of my treacherous thoughts. "Uh," I reply, scrambling to come up with something to say that doesn't involve me wondering out loud how it would feel to be man-handled by her. "I'm good."
She quirks a brow, like she doesn't believe me, and strides over to the bed. Food in hand, she perches on the end of the mattress before flicking on the TV. The channels flip until she lands on some type of gladiator show where people work their way through an extreme obstacle course and do their best not to die.
"You just gonna stand there, Princess?"
My mouth opens and closes silently. I am seriously not firing on all cylinders right now.
"Have you eaten?" She opens the white box.
"No." I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. I already feel like I'm imposing in her space, so I can't waltz in here and steal her food on top of that.
