Back home

Emily didn’t rush.

She stood slowly, licking one last trace from her lip, her breath steady now, the throb between her thighs insistent but tucked away—later. Her bare breasts still glistened faintly, dotted with streaks of drying release across her chest and sternum. She wiped what she could with the balled-up track tank still lying nearby.

It smelled like him. Young sweat. Grass. Sun.

She pulled it on.

The cotton was warm from his body. Loose. Oversized. The deep-cut arm holes hung low enough to flash the curve of her ribs, the outer swell of both breasts, and, occasionally, the full side of one nipple if she lifted her arms. The front clung to the dried mess until she adjusted the collar to sit lower.

No bra.

No backup.

But her skin was flushed, her heart steady, her mouth still tingling.

And she made it back to the car without another soul crossing her path.

-0-

She pulled into the driveway just past three thirty.

The heat still clung to the air in waves. The house was quiet.

Until the front door opened.

Tasha stood in the frame, eyes squinting slightly against the light, a mug in one hand. She looked like she hadn’t moved from the couch in the last hour—sweats, ponytail, bare feet.

Then she saw Emily.

Her eyes swept once.

And stopped.

Not at the face. Not at the knees. Not at the shoes.

But at the shirt.

A white high school track team tank, clearly not hers. Loose, darkened with sweat, and clinging in places. The black sports bra Emily had left in earlier? Gone. This new top hung low enough under the arms to show not just the side of one breast but the glisten of recent sweat still outlining where a bra should’ve been.

Tasha raised a brow.

“...That’s not the bra you left in.”

Emily stepped inside, keys jangling into the dish again. She didn’t answer at first. Just toed off her shoes and stretched, letting the tank ride a little higher, the arm hole flash a little wider.

Tasha’s eyes didn’t miss it.

“Emily,” she said, slower now, brow arching further, “who the hell’s shirt is that?”

Emily turned, sweat still clinging to the back of her neck, chest heaving softly beneath the thin cotton. The hem swayed against her thighs.

She smiled.

“Long story.”