Page 75 of Before Now

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Elvin toys with a strand of my hair from behind, and I feel his face right over my shoulder. “She dresses up for us, practically begs for a hard fuck. She checks all the boxes for a hot little slam piece.”

I throw all my weight back into Elvin, catching him off guard and forcing him back a step. Marlo backs off too, chuckling while giving me an up-down. Then he just leaves. I whip around, already putting distance between me and Elvin. He smiles, tilts his head.

“Next time you need a ride, call me.” His voice lowers, the hush returning, but this time it matches his words. “I can keep a secret too.”

I blink after him as he waltzes away. Suddenly I’m alone in the kitchen. I don’t stay, not tempting a replay of whatever the fuck just happened. I steel myself and rush upstairs. By the time I lock my bedroom door and secure every pillow at the bottom, I’ve surfed the waves through terrified to numb to confused to fucking livid.

The seams of the dress rip as I tear it off of me, and I smash it down into the trashcan in my bathroom.

I crank on the shower, setting the water near scalding before stepping under the spray. My lower lip trembles while my skin burns. No other way to cleanse a memory like that from your soul other than scorching it off.

By the time I finish, my whole body has tinted pink. I return to my bedroom in only a thong. I crash down on my bed, rolling onto my back and staring at the coffered ceiling without putting anything else on. There isn’t a point. They just proved the clothes never mattered.

21

FOSTER

I endup on the streets of Prague at two in the morning.

After fucking with Chase—I add an adorable heart border to my message because he only deserves the best—I need a full reset.

Most of the times I’ve walked around this late while in Europe have centered around a bar or club or party. None of them allowed me a chance to notice the contrasts, but the city doesn’t disappoint. Shadows cast by streetlights rather than the sun are softer around the edges. The sounds that are typically masked with voices and bustling emerge.

When I get to Wenceslas Square, the foot traffic picks up, but nowhere near how it was during the day. A couple pubs remain open, and a few muffled bass beats mix together from the clubs. I dodge people spilling out of one, drunk and happy. I follow a flicker of flames to a food vendor, taking advantage of the nightlife. The fire’s behind glass while a spit rotates above it to baketrdelník. The chimney cakes spin, and the scent of caramelized sugar brings people leaving the clubs in.

I sign intoWandererbefore I head toward Old Town in the off chance I can get paid for my little excursion. They announced the updated options for tours yesterday with a pop-up. I had a bite during the day. Lydia Song in Oregon wanted to see Lennon Wall. I laughed when I pieced that near-rhyme together mid-tour.

The buzz beneath my skin has somewhat settled by the time I get to the square. I’m not far from the vague destination I thought of when leaving the flat, though, so I keep going.

It only takes about ten minutes for Charles Bridge to come into view. I smile. Exactly what I wanted. Not a damn soul is on the bridge when I walk to the middle and stop. It almost feels eerie, like no one else exists.

Except someone does, and as I watch the water, my favoriteWanderernotification hits my phone.

SaintR wants to wander!

The only one I’ll willingly share my bridge with.

She requested right where I am. I accept the tour, then I lean back against the railing and show her the view.

Our tours together have only changed in how they feel. The connection between us has a heartbeat now as I let her explore the world through my eyes. But we still rarely use the messages, and I stay quiet so she can hear what she would if she were standing next to me.

Most of the time.

“Hi,” I say, panning the abandoned bridge.

A red dot appears seconds later.

SAINTR:Hey.

That’s it. I stand in the center and return to watching the water, shifting her view every so often. After a while, I finish crossing the river. She ends the tour, and I snag my earbuds out of my hoodie pocket. I slip them in as she calls. When I answer, I flip the camera from the Longhorns logo on my chest to the cobblestone street.

And I get the immaculate view of her tits. I close my eyes and exhale through my nose, fucking tormented I can’t suck those pretty pink nipples into my mouth.

“I hate you.”

“Now who’s the liar?” she rasps. “Is this better?”

I peek an eye open and groan. “Fuck you, Remi. And fuck that mouth.”

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