She hops with interest. “Really?”
“He’ssogood, too. He played me a song on his guitar and he sang. Oh, my god! Hesang!He has the most beautiful voice, Brenda!”
“More beautiful than yours?” she teases.
I slap her shoulder. “Oh, stop. And, no. Of course not,” I add, brushing a bit of non-existent lint off my shoulder.
“Then what happened?” Brenda asks. “Did you guys...you know?”
“Tish!”
We flinch and spin around to look at Bruno. “Yes?” I ask him.
He glares at me from the window. “Stop corrupting Brenda,” he says.
I scoff. “I am not corrupting Brenda. She’s an adult.”
“She’s eighteen.”
“Eighteen?!”I spin around to look at her. “We took you to a bar!”
“You never asked my age!” she says, recoiling slightly. “Neither did they, come to think…”
“Tish,”Bruno says again.
“What?” I ask, swiveling back to him.
“So, did you?”
“Did I what?”
He arches his brow, needing to hear more of my story despite his protests.
“Y—” I pause, reaching out to cover Brenda’s virgin ears. “Yes,” I answer. “We did it. A lot. Last nightandthis morning.”
Bruno nods. “Nice.”
“Oh, no.” I hum with delight, my palms still pressed against Brenda’s head. “Not justnice. Getting your pussy eaten before breakfast is so much more thannice,my friend.”
Bruno smirks. “Please tell me more.”
I inhale to do just that.
“Tish!”
I choke on it. Releasing Brenda, I spin on my heels, coming face-to-face with?—
“Mom!”I say in surprise. “Hi!”
My mother approaches the counter with a grin. She’s wearing a closed brown jacket and black leather boots — both borrowed frommycloset, but I won’t bust her on it. My mother and I constantly borrow clothes from each other without asking.
“Good morning, my beautiful spawn,” she says, bobbing her head at Bruno over my shoulder, her auburn hair resting high in a messy ponytail. “Hello, Bruno, Brenda.”
“Hi, Tanya,” Brenda says, rubbing her crushed earlobes.
Bruno beams. “Hi, Ms. Travis. Having a good morning?”
“Oh, I’m having a wonderful morning,” Mom says. “You?”