Page 52 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers
Instead of thinking about it, I tell my brother I’m excited for him and can’t wait to hear all about his trip when he gets home, and then I hang up.
I pull up Netflix, realizing I forgot to grab a wineglass, and groan. I should probably get up to get one, but I just sat down and I’m feeling like this couch and I are one about right now, so I unscrew the lid from the bottle and take a swig of the sweet white liquid. It’s not like I’m sharing it with anyone, anyway.
Cats don’t drink, and I don’t think going out right now is such a good idea, after what happened last time.
Yeah, I’m better off staying in tonight, for sure.
I flip through the movie choices and settle onHome Againwith Reese Witherspoon, because I’ve never seen it and Abby keeps raving about it because supposedly she’s an older woman with three boyfriends.
I can’t even handle one man. How in the hell would anyone handle three?
Once I’m full of pasta, I grab my bottle of wine and curl up underneath the soft, cozy throw blankets. The movies bleed into each other. One after the other.
I keep looking at my bag of clothes. I grab it, figuring now is as good a time as any to clip off tags and set out what I’m going to wear tomorrow. I pull out the clothes, one by one, and just when I think I’m done, I find the bras and underwear.
“Oh, that’s right!” I say, shaking my head. “I totally forgot about these.”
I probably should at least try some of this on to make sure it does fit. Maybe I should have done so at the store, but I hadn’t expected to run into Freddie, nor did I expect to get swept up into having coffee with him.
My mind dares to wander down dark pathways I know it shouldn’t as I remember his dark gaze, his voice breathing those two words that made my stomach flip.
Good girl.
I shove the thought away, locking it in the same place where I’ve abandoned my memories of kissing Rush. Deep inside my soul, where no light can shine.
“What do you think, Pickles?” I ask as I take a swig of my wine. “You want a fashion show?”
Pickles only stares at me with a judgmental look, his meow almost cautious. Like he’s telling me I need to be careful.
But there’s nothing dangerous about trying on clothes. So I take another swig of my wine, the liquid sloshing in the bottle as I set it down on the coffee table. I pull off my shirt and slip out of my jeans first, letting them fall to the floor.
The cool air of the living room kisses my skin, and I stand there for a moment, feeling strangely dizzy. I shake my head, dispelling the momentary lapse, and slip off my borrowed underwear.
Rush’s underwear.
I hold them up for a moment, looking at them once again. The tight band and the smooth fabric between my fingers. The little separator pocket, which makes me think of his cock.
I blush, tossing them aside. I donotneed to be thinking about Rush’s cock. Thatisdangerous, because thoughts like that make my damn stomach flip, and then I vaguely remember feeling his hardness against me as we kissed. I might be making it up, or it might have really happened, I’m not sure. But I know it’s best not to wander down that road. Especially now, when I’m drinking.
The last thing I want to do is end up sending my ex’s charismatic playboy brother a text asking him if it happened or not. That would be a disaster, and not to mention, the last time I was drinking around Rush…
I shake my head and unhook my bra, letting it fall to the ground. My breasts fall with that familiar sinking heaviness, relief palpable, and I groan. Nothing feels as good as taking off your bra at the end of the day, no matter what anyone says.
I slip the panties on, and they go on smooth. The fabric is a soft lace, but there’s a sheer layer between the lace and my skin, so it’s not itchy at all. I slide the matching bralette on over my head. I grab all the clothes and the half-empty bottle of wine, as well as my cell phone, and head down to the guest room to get a good look in the full-length mirror.
I dump everything out on the guest bed and saunter over to the mirror, and when I see myself, I almost have to do a double take.
The pale blue lace looks almost ethereal against my fair skin. The cut on the sides of my panties accentuates my hips as I slide my hands over my stomach.
Normally, I feel a little self-conscious over my stomach, especially as of late, but these panties are either made from wishes or the wine is easing me up because I think my stomach actually looksgood. And my breasts…
The bralette is snug and comfortable, but there’s a decent amount of lift so it doesn’t look like my damn boobs are sagging, like in most of the lightly lined bralettes I wear. In fact, there’s enough lift to give me ample cleavage even though it’s not a pushup.
I pull my hair out of its messy ponytail and let it fall in waves over my shoulder, the incandescent light of the guest room shining on me like I’m some angel, lighting up the strands of my fiery locks and turning them gold.
My freckles are more than noticeable, and my skin almost has a rosy hue to it from the contrast of blue and the lighting. My lips part for a moment, my blue eyes sparkling in the low light.
I look…
