"Of course, honey," she said. "Eric and Jordan are always welcome here." Her exclusion of my father just pissed me off. I wished she'd show respect to me, to my family, to anyone really.Then another pressure started swirling around my skull; it felt familiar and alien all at once. Soon I felt a feeling of release, like whatever was building in my head decided to expel itself out of the front of my skull. Cindy put her hand to her head, looking woozy. "Ooo," she said, giggling, steadying herself on the couch. "Guess I had a little too much to drink last night." She blushed. "Oh, you must think horribly of me, Eric," she said, sitting on the couch next to me. "Look at me, drunk in the middle of the workday." She smiled her plastic smile at me, but it seemed to have a little more warmth. She put her hand on my knee. "You don't, do you?" Her eyes looked glazed over, plastic like a doll.I looked at her, bewildered for a moment. I'd seen her do worse, she'd almost flaunted it when she and. While pouring through the tens of pointless spams and messages from co-workers, there it was, a message from you. My heart skipped, as it always does when I see your name on my screen. My mind anticipated the possibilities of what you sent; another story, a possible rendezvous? Everything else took a back seat as I clicked on your name and the screen enlarged to your email. There was simply one line written. "Check the inside pocket of your bag." The inside of my bag? I pulled the flap open and peered inside where you said to look. Tucked in the far recesses of my satchel was a pair of your red lace panties. The same ones you wore the last time we were together. The memories of that tryst wash over me like a series of photographs in a gallery, flicking through my brain over and over. It makes me hard recalling the images of you in the hot tub, on the bed, feeling your body against mine. Holding you so close and tight, the line of where you end and I begin blur together in some erotic.
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