Fletcher.
I’m in Fletcher’s bedroom.
And he can come back and play, my sleepy vagina murmurs.
I smile to myself, try to tamp it down, fail, and then realize I’m alone.
Where is he? It’s too early for training. Is he mad that I fell asleep here?
I didn’t mean to. Truly. But he kept talking. And I like talking to him. So I—so I broke the rule, and I fell asleep here.
Hard, if I’m being honest. I have no clue what his mattress is made of, but it’s so comfortable, it’s probably illegal.
That’s very Fletcher.
I’m still smiling as I slide out of the bed and head to the bathroom, where I realize I don’t know where my clothes are.
I give half a thought to leaving the bedroom naked to hunt them down, but I can’t stay here naked all day, so I shouldn’t set the expectation that I can. Instead, I treat myself to a fresh T-shirt from Fletcher’s walk-in closet, which is surprisingly neatly organized compared to the scattered clothing and gear all over his bedroom floor.
And then I order myself not to inhale too deeply.
The shirt smells like him. That earthy, woodsy, tobacco-in-winter scent.
And I like it.
Of course I like it. He’s my friend, so I like things that remind me of him. And I like that I swim in the T-shirt too.
It’s good to have friends who are large enough to loan you T-shirts that can swallow you whole. There’s…comfort…or something…in that.
That’s what I’m telling myself as I slip out of the bedroom on the hunt for my pants, which are not in the bedroom where I swear I left them, and it takes me an eternity too long to realize what I’m seeing.
Sweet Pea is awake. She’s found my pants, and she’s pulling them along behind her across the living room and toward the kitchen.
Where someone appears to be cooking eggs at the stove.
And that someone is not Fletcher.
He’s older. Gray, receding hairline. Trim. Tall. Familiar jaw and nose.
But not Fletcher unless I’m living in some kind of alternate dimension where he’s some sort of shapeshifting thing that only reveals his true form after sex.
Possibly I need to read less.
The man spots me about the same moment that I spot him, and he freezes and gawks right back at me.
So, not Fletcher in a shapeshifted form.
I make a noise, and Sweet Pea drops my pants and comes running, barking and turning her long little body in circles like she can’t believe I’m here and she’s so excited and this is the best day ever.
My heart melts a little, and I want to get down on the floor and love all over her and show her I’m as excited to see her as she is to see me, but that’s not gonna happen.
Not while the older man fixing eggs is staring at me too.
Is this shirt covering my vagina?
Or am I flashing the beaver at him?
I do a subtle check, brushing the tips of my fingers against the bottom of the shirt, and verify that I am not, in fact, showing anything inappropriate.
