Miles hugged me at the door like I was still twelve and hadn’t just come on his best friend’s c**k.
“You look wrecked,” he said. “Finals?”
“Something like that.”
Julian arrived twenty minutes later with beer and the same face he used on a lecture stage. He clapped Miles on the shoulder. He said my garlic bread smelled good. He sat across from me at the table I’d grown up at and put his shoe against my bare ankle under the wood.
I served pasta with nothing under my skirt and two loads cooling between my legs. Every time I sat down I felt him leak. Miles talked about the flight, the job, a girl in Chicago. Julian asked the right questions. His foot climbed my calf, then my inner thigh, and rested against my naked cunt while I passed the parmesan.
I almost dropped the bowl.
“You okay, T
