Cheeky

№ 23. 50 Shades of Biscotti

I sat in the small compact car, the engine idling with a low pur while I fidgeted with the radio incessantly. Every station was a mess of static and I eventually gave up with a huff and slumped back. George let me borrow the car but I convinced him not to tag along.

Since that night, I had become cautious. I didn't answer every call of his, and I certainly tried to lessen the makeout sessions - that one might've been too tough. But he was so sweet, so good to me. He was intuitive and apparently I was transparent. I loved to hear the sound of his throaty chuckle and the brush of his lips against the nape of my neck; the way his rough hands felt when he gathered me into his arms. How a mere cocky grin could suddenly make me lose all sanity was beyond my comprehension. He was so good to me and it frightened me.

Jeremy had been sweet, but that was how  he acted with everyone. He was a people person; I never was. They just gravitated towards him and he pleased them whenever and in whichever way possible. Some occassions called for his penis. I grimaced and shook my head to dissolve the uncomfortable thoughts, turning back to gaze out the window. 

I scanned through the throngs of people that stood, some waiting, some chasing down their wailing children, and others chatting away on their phones. I put the car in drive and coasted slowly, trying to pick apart the crowd until finally my gaze landed on a girl; about six feet tall, dressed in canvas slip on shoes with a swishy, pale blue dress and curled auburn tresses which hung just past her shoulders. A tattoo of her mother's name, Alice, was drawn in cursive and framed by red roses on her left shoulder.

"Emma," I breathed.

As if able to hear my sigh, Emma turned and our eyes connected immediately. A grin far too large for her delicate features stretched past her lips as she pushed through the crowd towards me. I hopped out of the car and slammed the door behind myself, jogging towards her until the both of us dropped everything and grabbed on to each other.

Vanilla and coconut; that was Emma's perfume. It filled my nose with a comfort I had missed dearly as she crushed me against her chest, burying my face in her hair. I clung to her as well, matching the same frantic manner as we stood, laughing like idiots. Remembering each other, what the other felt like,  and just how much time had gone by.

"Oh Jesus, you're here. You're finally here," I exhaled as we finally pulled apart and took a good look at each other.

She smiled and batted her eyelashes,  "Can't get rid of me now."

"Oh too bad, I was planning on it."

She punched my shoulder and picked up one worn duffel bag, "Oh shut up. Now help me with my luggage."

I grabbed the other suitcase left and trailed as she opened the trunk to the car,  "Wow, a few months without me and you're saucier than ever."

"Well since you were gone, I only had Tim to hangout with."

I nodded slowly, understanding perfectly. Tim was our mutual flamboyant, gay friend. Just one evening with him and suddenly a girl would end up with a scorching case of bad decisions and a horrible hangover. Of course not every stylish and dramatic man batted for the other team. However where we were raised, it wasn't something out of the ordinary. 

Since Mom had moved her wedding so early, Emma decided to fly over and help plan the big soiree. Plus, we needed to get fit for our bridesmaids dresses. I still had no clue as to what Mom had chosen or what hideous color we would be forced to wear, so I crossed my fingers and prayed to god for anything but sequins. But with my luck, I'd probably be dressed as a peacock for her wedding.

Emma and I grew up together, and since she practically lived in my house, it was like I had a sister and Mom got a second daughter. Emma was never very close with her parents. After her mother passed in Emma's last year of junior high, her Dad moved on and remarried,  which never settled quite well with her. But in recent months, she told me that things were getting better.