Clyde.
I couldn't stop staring at her thick thighs, bare against the dim light spilling into the closet. My thoughts tangled as I fought to process everything. I didn't hate her-not at all. I just didn't know how to respond to a woman like Medora-a significantly older woman-expressing feelings I couldn't believe were real.
Don't get me wrong; Medora is beautiful, the kind of insane beauty that could launch a thousand ships. Her hourglass figure was enough to make anyone stare too long. But sometimes, it felt like all of this was a joke. How could a woman like her- gorgeous, experienced, and undeniably magnetic-be interested in me? She could have rich older men lining up at her door.
"I told you not to run from me," I said, my voice firmer than I intended.
She flinched, her back brushin
