Trust. Tell her everything:

You lean back, tilting your head so you’re staring at the ceiling and let out a deep breath.

“Ugh, alright, where to start.”

“Wherever you feel the most comfortable starting, though the beginning is probably a good place.”

“Right, yeah the beginning. Just let me preface, I know I was being an idiot and a bit of a creep. Please don’t judge me too harshly. I’m already pretty embarrassed.”

“Hey don’t worry about it, I’ve done some pretty fucked up stuff that you know about. If it helps, mom got me a bottle of vodka, might make it easier to talk.”

You slump further, “yes please. Also it’s really hot in here, can I borrow a t-shirt?”

“Sure, help yourself, I’ll go get the bottle from the freezer.” Krista says, patting your leg before hopping up and going for the vodka.

You hop up and walk over to her closet, looking as quickly as you can for a shirt. You want to make sure you’ve put it on before she gets back so she doesn’t see your bra.

But it’s taking a while, the hangers are all fancier clothes, and the first few drawers you open are just pants. You decide to move further back in her closet, pulling open a drawer you see an array of very girly bras and panties. You stare for a moment then close the drawer. You had seen Krista in just underwear a few times, but she almost exclusively wore boxers and a sports bra.

You shake the thought from your head and check a few more spots. Finally finding a drawer with three neatly folded piles of t-shirts.

Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs you quickly grab one without looking.

You strip off the sweater and pull the shirt on, the perk of Krista having a flat chest was that you both wore practically the same size. Downside of her being eight inches taller than you, she got longer shirts, and paired with the jeans it almost looked like you were some girl who had swiped her boyfriend’s shirt.

You step out of the closet, tossing your sweatshirt on the edge of Krista’s bed as she came in holding a bottle of vodka in one hand and a bag of chinese takeout in the other.

When she looked at you she burst into laughter, “nice shirt Rose, you really wanna see my collection I guess.”

“What?” you say looking down at the shirt you were wearing. What you had thought was just a black shirt, was actually a shirt that said “Gape me like one of your french girls” on it. “Oh my god, why do you even have this?”

“Hey you’re the one wearing it,” she laughed, “want me to get you something else?”