Dear Bridget, I Want You(6)

“You’re a lucky woman. And I’m not referring to the twelve-hour shift.”

Bridget rolled her eyes. “Goodbye, Simon.”

“You have a good night. And try not to pass out anymore.” I was halfway out the door when a thought dawned on me. Turning back, I asked, “Is it body temperature or external temperature that makes you pass out?”

“Both, I guess. It’s usually the external temperature that makes my body temperature rise and then it hits me all at once.”

“So do you ever pass out while shagging?”

“Excuse me?”

I honestly thought she didn’t understand the term. “Shagging…you know…fucking.”

“I know what the term means. And even though it’s none of your business, no, I’ve never passed out while having sex.”

I dug into my pocket and pulled out a single. Holding it up, I walked over to the counter where the swear jars were and deposited the dollar into one.

“What’s that for?”

“Consider it a credit. You’re so fucking adorable the way your skin pinks up when I say fucking, I’m definitely going to say it again.”





Why didn’t I visit my BFF more often? During my lunch break the next day, I took a walk over to Calliope’s yoga studio, which was only a few blocks from the new hospital I worked in for my final rotation. I’d picked up a smoothie before heading over and sat in the back of the class watching a room full of women in tight yoga pants bend over. She smiled and motioned that she’d be a few more minutes, but I was pretty damn content where I was. I got to sit and give my dogs a rest and take in the view.

I mentally graded the rows of arses while I sucked on my strawberry banana smoothie with a double shot of energy boost enhancer. It was like the Olympics, only a fuck of a lot better than synchronized swimming. I liked a full derriere. From the right, I started my grading in the back row. There was a skinny seven with a nice shape, followed by a buxom eight in a pair of pink trainers, and a five who definitely needed to eat a little more pizza. When I got to the fourth rear end, I gave myself a brain freeze sucking on the straw while staring—now that’s a nice plump ten. Damn. I was in the wrong line of work.

Calliope finished up her class, hit some stupid gong, and walked to me wiping her forehead. “You’re such a pig, you know that?”

“What? I came to visit my BFF.”

“You looked like you were judging an ass contest the way you were staring.”

I smirked. “Number four, purple Nike leggings. She won. I’m going to give her the gold medal when she comes out from the locker room.”

Calliope elbowed me in the ribs. “Help me clean up while we talk. I have another class in fifteen minutes and need to collect all the balance blocks.”

I picked up a total of three of the silly styrofoam blocks and used those to juggle while she cleaned up the rest.

“So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Tell me about this woman, Bridget, I’m living with.”

She held up her hands. “Oh no. You can’t do that to Bridget.”

“Do what?”

“Remember what happened with Suzie McInerney, when we were fifteen? I don’t have a lot of friends here in the states yet. Bridget’s a good friend. You can’t screw her over.”

Suzie McInerney. Now that was a name I hadn’t heard in a long, long time. She’d been our mutual friend before the incident. Suzie was a year older and had the most fantastic set of tits I’d ever seen. One night when we were all hanging out in my parents’ basement, Calliope fell asleep early. Suzie let me feel her up. It was my first time copping a boob.

The following week, the same thing happened. Only it was Hazel Larson who let me feel hers while Calliope was snoring. Hers weren’t half as nice as Suzie’s, but Hazel let me feel them under the shirt, unlike Suzie. So, when Hazel told me that if I was her boyfriend, she might consider letting me touch her in other places, I didn’t think twice about asking her out. But apparently I should have. Because Suzie assumed I was already her boyfriend just because she let me play with her boobs over her shirt for twenty seconds. Needless to say, when Suzie found out I was going out with Hazel, she never spoke to me or Calliope again. They’d blamed Calliope since I was the BFF she’d always have hanging around whenever she hung out with her girlfriends. Women. I still didn’t understand them.

“I’m not planning on copping a feel. Bridget’s cute and all, but she’s got a kid—you know me and kids.” I wasn’t planning on having my own, so dating someone with a rugrat was definitely not on my agenda, either.