She finishes the noodles in record time and stretches, arms overhead, chest out, like a cat in the sun. Those big breasts sway, and my cock jerks heavily in my pants. Then she catches me looking, and her face gets serious.
“Do you always stare at people like that?” she asks.
I shrug. “Just the ones I can’t figure out.”
She laughs, a bright ring. “I’m not that complicated, Hunter.”
She says my name like she owns it.
I set my wine down. “Why’d you change into nothing for our midnight snack?”
She tilts her head, considering. “Because you like it. And because I like that you like it.” Then, softer: “Is that okay?”
A normal man would lie. I don’t bother. “Yes,” I say. “It’s perfect. I love having nude women wander around my house, and if you want to stay this way the entire month, I’m more than happy to accommodate, sweetheart. Of course, I have a housekeeper and a cleaner, but I’ll let you know when they’re scheduled to come.”
She giggles and then glances around the kitchen, at the expensive appliances and the waterfall island, then back at me. “We wouldn’t want to give them an unexpected surprise, that’s for sure. But was your childhood this fancy?”
I almost laugh. “No. My mom cleaned houses for a living. If we had a little extra fun money, it was a good month.”
She looks at me, open and curious. “What about your dad?”
I tense. “Not in the picture. But I do have a stepfather.”
The pause is loaded because of course, my stepfather is her biological dad. But Daisy has no idea. “I think mine was around most of the time,” she says, voice so small I barely hear her. “But it’s all fuzzy. Like someone else’s memories.”
She stares into her wine for a long moment. I want to reach across the table, take her hand, tell her that I know everything. I know all about her past life. But I don’t.
Instead, I ask, “What do you remember?”
She looks up, surprised at the question. “I dunno. Not much. Sometimes I get flashes. Like, smells, or sounds. Once I remembered a birthday cake—white, with pink frosting. But then it was gone.” She shrugs. “What about you?”
I don’t know what she means. “What about me?”
“Do you ever forget?” Her eyes are weirdly sharp. “Do you ever wake up and not know where you are?”
I shake my head. “Not since college.”
She giggles, and the tension snaps. “Did you party a lot?”
“I worked and played lacrosse,” I say. “I was pretty busy with that, and girls.”
She makes a mock-horrified face. “You? Girls?”
I grin. “Yeah, and I worked as a barback at The Pourhouse too. I probably served a hundred girls like you every weekend, so I got laid a lot.”
She leans forward, elbows on the table, tits pressed together. “And did you bring them all home? Introduce them to your parents?”
I laugh. “Naw, because I went to college far from my hometown. So they were only introduced to my futon at the dorm.”
She giggles, then goes quiet.
I can tell she’s thinking hard, so I wait.
After a while, Daisy says, “I like being in water. Pools. Baths. I feel safer there.” She bites her lip. “Is that weird? It’s like a long-lost memory somehow.”
“No,” I say. “Most people like water.”
She frowns, unconvinced. “Not like that. It’s more… I dunno. Sometimes I think I lived in a pool.”
