Presley

“London is colder than Seattle, right?” I ask Bianca. She’s lounging across her bed next to an impressive pile of sweaters in all shapes and colors. I leave for England with Dominic this afternoon, and in my distracted state, I’ve procrastinated packing the necessities. Like clothes. And toiletries. Which means I’ve emptied my suitcase and duffel bag onto her bed so she can help me pack.

Bianca pulls out her phone and scrolls briefly. “The weather app says it will be rainy. That doesn’t necessarily mean cold, though. Sixties during the day and fifties at night.”

“Hmm, all right. So maybe something a little breathable. Like this?” I hold up my favorite, a peach-colored cardigan in a clunky knit.

Bianca squints at it. “I don’t think that’s gonna be breathable enough.”

“Really? I like it,” I say, examining the texture between thumb and finger. I wore this cardigan through most of my time at Brown. It’s been through some of the best and worst times of my life, from late-night essay-writing to early mornings at my favorite coffee shop.

“Presley,” Bianca says, sitting up with a huff. “You don’t need sweaters. You need lingerie.”

“What?” I practically snort.

strictly for business? I’m just reading between the lines.” She wiggles

there only for business doesn’t mean I

. it’s lingerie. I know you have

for something for her latest sexcapade. Naturally, I ended up in a dressing room as well. I remember turning around, looking at myself in the mirror, admiring the way the lacy pink bodysuit hugged my slight curves. Although it took me a minute to get used to it, I liked how it looked on me. The sheer silk

worn those,”

ago, Pres. It’s now or never,” she says, peeking inside

from where I stored it. I open it, and

Wow, you really

had

“What about now?”

on my lip. I can very clearly imagine the look on Dominic’s face if he were to undress me and find this underneath. The way his eyes would grow dark and his lips would

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