My fingers released the hem of her dress as her book connected with my battered knuckles.Mrs. Schmidt stepped out onto the porch and her eyes took in ...he tableau. Rebecca sitting with her bare feet on my lap. The hem of her dress lifted to just above her knees. Me rubbing my battered knuckles and Rebecca holding her paperback as if it were a weapon. All Mrs. Schmidt said was, “Don’t you both look comfortable.”Rebecca started to sit up but Mrs. Schmidt stopped her. “Don’t be silly, there isn’t. I thought of the brown pants he had worn yesterday. On most people, anything but jeans looks bad but on him, the fabric would cling to him, giving me a full view of his perfect ass. And the shirt he was wearing? It was amazing. I thin, plain white t-shirt that was essentially see through. I remembered the way he talked to me over the past week, talking as if we were old friends, joking with me. It all seemed to come so easily, to him at least. The entire time I was thinking about my luck and. More

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