When?
This morning. Then at every opportunity since.
No response yet. Trace rearranged the skimpy pink thing several times, finally thinking she found the leg holes. Made of the softest, airy pink silk blend, it might not be terribly uncomfortable. Soft and a little stretchy, anyway.
So… are you two… together? I’m fine with that. Great, actually. But you sound hesitant.
She snorted a laugh and paused with the getup halfway up her legs.It’s a text, you can’t hear me.
Ha. You know what I mean.
I don’t know if it’s a thing yet and I didn’t want you to be surprised, so I’m telling you. But pretend you don’t know anything.Because I don’t even know what to think, and I’m not ready to think.
She hiked up the getup and slid her arms in. Hmm. For a thing without under-wires or much fabric in the boob area, it did pull the girls together nicely.
Have you had sex?
Oh boy. Some kids got “the talk” around pubertal onset. It had never been a secret in her house, nor had it been a taboo subject, but it also had not been widely advertised or discussed in detail. At that, the ship had sailed into deep water before her parents realized they’d better make sure she was prepared.
Trace looked at her reflection, eyes wide as she realized the boobs weren’t the most daring part of the pink thing. With her panties on, as she hadn’t paid for it yet, she hadn’t initially realized until she looked closer… why did they even sell stuff without a crotch in it? Like, wasn’t that the point? Well, she knew what the point was, but…
She silenced a squeak and quickly pushed her way out of the getup. Safely out of the contraption that would give her mother a heart attack, she texted back,Not yet. ‘Yet’ being the key word.
I’d say don’t break his heart, but I don’t want yours broken either. Or your dad’s or mine! Be careful. He’s a nice boy.
Trace went to hang the getup back on the hanger, then glared down at the soft fabric draping over her hand. Careful. Safe. She hadn’t been careful or safe this morning, and no one had ever kissed her like that. She’d never kissed anyone like that.
She got back into her own clothes, grabbed her favorites from the try-on pile without trying them on and strolled out.
Freya lifted an eyebrow, waiting.
“I figured it out,” she said with an impish grin, waggled her eyebrows a few times, and headed to the checkout.
TheotherswavedColeover as they headed out for a walk on the beach. He waved them off and watched them walk away. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he turned and crossed the street.
He ducked into a coffee shop that overlooked the same parking lot as the restaurant. Cute place. Steel rebar and beams, raw wood coated in lacquer. Saturated with northwest vibes.
The cashier was friendly to the crowd seeking the caffeine hit as the sky darkened after its brief reprieve. He watched. Listened. Benign chatter.
When he reached the front of the line, he ordered an americano in a to-go cup. Instead of calling for Cole, the barista called the name he’d given her. The name he’d gone by when he’d last seen that face. Well, the face he thought he’d seen across the parking lot.
Probably paranoia.
“Extra hot americano for… Antoine?” He nodded and took the cup, thanking her with a French lilt to his voice.
No one seemed particularly interested, so that was a plus. He insulated the barely sub-boiling brew with another cup, a sleeve, and shoved a plug into the lid. Holding it carefully, he walked into the drizzle of the late morning.
The game was simple. And he didn’t have the time for the full match. Skipping past the preamble, the dancing around and watching each other, he wandered toward the last place he’d seen the guy. No one there. Not surprising.
If he was plotting an ambush, he’d lure his target someplace isolated. No cameras. No witnesses. Plenty of shadows. One exit.
There. Not exactly a metropolis, but the hotel down the way had a two-story parking garage. A tall shadow caught his eye, and quickly disappeared. The baseball cap was hung on a concrete post.
He cradled the coffee as he casually wandered.
Just shy of whistling a jaunty tune, he walked like the other tourists. As if heading to his car.
Saving his energy, he sauntered up the ramp toward the second story. No elevator. No cameras. Simple. Perfect.
