Blonde Fuck

Dillon’s sister was nineteen and wild—two things I wasn’t. Jessica was broke. She didn’t respond immediately, and then she returned the kiss. I swerved out of the way to avoid at the same time, and a moment later, she reemerged, her eyes wide as she looked from me to my front door. I trailed kisses down her back, marveling at the flawless canvas as I painted it with my tongue and lips, tasting the saltiness of our combined sweat. I’m staying in Kansas.”

“Why?” I repeated. “That’s not what I mean.”

I wasn’t sure what she was getting at. I wasn’t about to buy a house anytime soon, but I did well enough for myself. How the hell could she be confused at any part of my reaction? “Oh,” I called out.