Julie Olivia

While Fred and I meet at the front of the park with lazy smiles and travel mugs of coffee, Lorelei’s hands are free, and she’s running on nothing other than sheer sunshine. Or cocaine. I don’t know her life.

“Come on, y’all,” Bennett says. “He’s probably just lonely. Look at the guy.”
We all turn to stare at once.
“Yeah, he does have an old man feeding the pigeons kinda vibe,” Theo muses.
“Good,” Quinn and I say at the same time.

All I can think about is how Lorelei laughs.
And how she doesn’t laugh with me.
Not ever.

“What would you say if I told you I’m in trouble?”
“Where are we burying the body?”
“Quinn, I’m serious.”
“And I have a shovel.”

“How long have you been practicing yoga?” she asks.
“Practicing is a loose term.”
“No, you looked like a natural.”
She was watching me.
Hold it together.

“What do you want, Emory?” she asks.
But at the end of the day, I’m a selfish bastard.
“You.”

“Come with me to Employee Night tonight,” I say.
His mouth ticks up into a sly smile. “Are you asking me on a date, Lorelei?”
“Oh, definitely not,” I say. “What would our lawyers think?”

“Enough of that. Ready for Employee Night?”
“Only if you are.”
“With you? Always.”
I can’t resist the smile that spreads across my face. My heart flutters when he returns the gesture.
“Then, let’s go make fun of teenagers.”

I’ve heard men say their women taste like candy. Or fruits. Or something else ridiculous.
Why mask it with such flowery language?
Lorelei tastes like pussy. And I fucking love it.

“I knew there had to be a reason you were an engineer, Mr. Dawson.”
“Say that again.”
“Mr. Dawson.”
“Good girl. Eyes on me.”