Twenty-Nine
If only they could keep up the FaceTiming for this part of the date. But Tristan didn’t ever have enough privacy for anything like that. At his parents’ high-rise, he slept on the couch in the living room. The condo was tiny and his mother had very good hearing. Anything X-rated and out loud was out of the question.
But texting worked just fine.
Are you naked yet? He texted when he’d given her enough time to drive home. He’d pictured her every step of the way—rounding the steep bluff where the wild strawberries grew, passing between the snow-loaded spruce groves near the hospital. Then parking next to her little cabin, running inside, and hopefully ripping her clothes off.
After a few moments she answered. Yes. I’m under the covers and they’re kind of scratchy on my n*****s
