Close To My Chest

Tobacco and bourbon heavy on his breath and a hand gently tilting my chin up to meet his stubbled lips, he kisses me softly. He was the sweet, passionate type you lose yourself to if you get high enough, but I keep my eyes open, focused. This is nothing more than a rescue mission; a second attempt to correct the mistake I made.

My friend sits on the faded couch inhaling his vape and blowing out smoke like a steam engine. He sparks a new conversation, burning through topics; work, music, politics, et cetera.

That's right, buddy, keep him talking.

My name is mentioned, and he looks at me, grinning wide, curious, expectant. He wants another kiss. I don't refuse, I just grab the bourbon, down the rest of his drink and excuse myself.

"Be right back." I lie.

I slip inside, scurry down the hall to his bedroom and get to work. Blankets are thrown, socks and undies tossed out of the drawers until I see my darling prize. Rich blue lace and silk, brilliant pearls stitched along the hem. He was never meant to see it.

I stash my bra in my jacket and I run.

Mission accomplished.