nothing but air. You’re here with me even when you’re far away. Everything smells of you. Everything tastes of you. My crappy food tastes like caviar, seasoned with memories of you. You know the one thing I miss the most? Licking drops of champagne from your lips, from your belly button, from your pussy. Baby, even the most expensive champagne has nothing on you.
“Wow, this is getting pretty graphic.” After two more erotically charged letters, I let out a breath. “I don’t know if I can do this. I feel so guilty.”
“We’re reading for a reason. We have to find out who these people are. It’s too late to stop now.” Chelsea grins. “For God’s sake. You already know how her nether regions taste. How much more personal can it get?”
I slap Chelsea on the arm and we leaf through more letters. Some we read completely, and others we only glance over.
I shake my head and place my palms on my glowing cheeks. “We’ve read their deepest secrets and we’re still no closer to knowing who they are. We need something to start with… a last name.” So far, the letters we’ve read are all addressed to someone named Jennifer and signed with the initials J.D., but without the envelopes, we’re stuck.
“Lucky for us, I can’t resist a mystery.” Chelsea’s short, chipped nail taps one of the letters. “I think I found something to occupy me tomorrow.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you were up to your neck in lectures and presentations. How will you find time to hunt down the name of a stranger among ten thousand students? Who knows how many Jennifers there are?”
“Then I’ll find out who J.D. is.” Chelsea jumps to her feet. She glances at her watch and frowns. “If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s this: I always have time for a good mystery. It shouldn’t take me long to figure out who the lovebirds are. For now I need a good night’s rest. It’s way past midnight.” A yawn assails her as she shuffles to her bed. “I’ll finish unpacking tomorrow.”
“Good idea.” I return to my bed as well, and finish making it. Then I go to the bathroom to wash my face and change into my pajamas—if an oversized plain t-shirt can be called that.
Less than thirty minutes later, the lights are out. By the time my eyes drift shut, a faint tingle is still dancing on my spine.
Chapter Three
I wake to find Chelsea already gone. A white pushup bra is draped over one of her unpacked bags.
I pull back the sheer curtain to allow the sun’s glow to enter. On my way to the bathroom, I eye the letters. Some are still scattered on the couch the way we left them last night. Goosebumps scatter across my skin as I remember the erotic words shared between the two lovers.
I complete my morning routine of brushing my teeth, taking a cold shower to wake me up, and detangling my hair, then get dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. All the while I force myself not to think about the letters.
After unpacking the rest of my stuff and putting everything in its place, a mix of ’80s hits blaring in the background, I gather up the letters to tie them with their ribbon. Big mistake. The desire to read one more is stronger than my guilt over invading someone else’s privacy any further. I pull out one of the letters, but then my phone rings.
I know it’s my mother again, so I don’t pick up. I’ve even stopped reading her texts. After the way we left things when I moved away from Boston, there’s nothing left to say to each other. We always had a strained relationship, but the fight we had before we parted set a new record.
The moment I stepped out the door with my packed suitcases, she shouted at me, “You’re making a huge mistake! Your looks won’t last forever, you know. If you let them fade, you’ll be left with nothing.”
“See, Mom,” I’d retorted as I walked toward the waiting taxi. “That’s exactly why I’m choosing to do something else with my life. I don’t want to
“Wow, this is getting pretty graphic.” After two more erotically charged letters, I let out a breath. “I don’t know if I can do this. I feel so guilty.”
“We’re reading for a reason. We have to find out who these people are. It’s too late to stop now.” Chelsea grins. “For God’s sake. You already know how her nether regions taste. How much more personal can it get?”
I slap Chelsea on the arm and we leaf through more letters. Some we read completely, and others we only glance over.
I shake my head and place my palms on my glowing cheeks. “We’ve read their deepest secrets and we’re still no closer to knowing who they are. We need something to start with… a last name.” So far, the letters we’ve read are all addressed to someone named Jennifer and signed with the initials J.D., but without the envelopes, we’re stuck.
“Lucky for us, I can’t resist a mystery.” Chelsea’s short, chipped nail taps one of the letters. “I think I found something to occupy me tomorrow.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you were up to your neck in lectures and presentations. How will you find time to hunt down the name of a stranger among ten thousand students? Who knows how many Jennifers there are?”
“Then I’ll find out who J.D. is.” Chelsea jumps to her feet. She glances at her watch and frowns. “If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s this: I always have time for a good mystery. It shouldn’t take me long to figure out who the lovebirds are. For now I need a good night’s rest. It’s way past midnight.” A yawn assails her as she shuffles to her bed. “I’ll finish unpacking tomorrow.”
“Good idea.” I return to my bed as well, and finish making it. Then I go to the bathroom to wash my face and change into my pajamas—if an oversized plain t-shirt can be called that.
Less than thirty minutes later, the lights are out. By the time my eyes drift shut, a faint tingle is still dancing on my spine.
Chapter Three
I wake to find Chelsea already gone. A white pushup bra is draped over one of her unpacked bags.
I pull back the sheer curtain to allow the sun’s glow to enter. On my way to the bathroom, I eye the letters. Some are still scattered on the couch the way we left them last night. Goosebumps scatter across my skin as I remember the erotic words shared between the two lovers.
I complete my morning routine of brushing my teeth, taking a cold shower to wake me up, and detangling my hair, then get dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. All the while I force myself not to think about the letters.
After unpacking the rest of my stuff and putting everything in its place, a mix of ’80s hits blaring in the background, I gather up the letters to tie them with their ribbon. Big mistake. The desire to read one more is stronger than my guilt over invading someone else’s privacy any further. I pull out one of the letters, but then my phone rings.
I know it’s my mother again, so I don’t pick up. I’ve even stopped reading her texts. After the way we left things when I moved away from Boston, there’s nothing left to say to each other. We always had a strained relationship, but the fight we had before we parted set a new record.
The moment I stepped out the door with my packed suitcases, she shouted at me, “You’re making a huge mistake! Your looks won’t last forever, you know. If you let them fade, you’ll be left with nothing.”
“See, Mom,” I’d retorted as I walked toward the waiting taxi. “That’s exactly why I’m choosing to do something else with my life. I don’t want to
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