body shots
We were baking brownies in your kitchen, waiting for your girlfriend to get off work, and the evening was easing into that hour when alcoholics tell themselves it’s time to start drinking. I folded chocolate chips into the batter and licked a little off the stirring spoon. I watched you eyeing me like expensive steak, and the June air between us became suffocating, heavy with sex. One of us said something suggestive and suddenly we were in your bed. You pulled my shirt over my shoulders urgently and poured chilled liquor down my torso, catching it in your mouth down by my hipbones. It was thrilling and ridiculous. But then your cell phone rang and we jumped up awkwardly, adjusting our clothes. I remember a trickle of cold vodka seeping into the waistband of my shorts as we slunk back into the kitchen.
