“Chill, girl.”

“’Kay,” the redhead says, sitting up against the headboard, still holding the light blue sheets to her chest. “But who are you?”

“Simon,” you say, smiling at the girl. “One of Paul’s many, many friends. And you?”

“Theresa,” she smiles. “Paul’s one and only sister.”

“Really? He never told me he had a sister.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Theresa laughs. “He never tells any of his friends that I exist. Probably thinks he’s protecting me or something. Where’d Paul go anyway?”

“To get some orange juice,” you say. “I fucked up this morning and missed a midterm, so now I’m gonna fuckin’ fail the class. I wanted somthin’ ta drink and your brother Paulie got’s some vodka, so I was gonna git good and plastered.”

“What do you need the orange juice for?” the redhead asks, curiosity written across her face.

“To mix with the vodka, silly!” you grin. Suddenly, an odd thought occurs to you. If Theresa’s Paul’s sister, why was she sleeping in his bed?

“I’ve got a question for you,” you say to the girl. “And I want you to answer honestly. Where did Paul sleep last night?”

“On the floor,” Theresa giggles. “What? Did you think Paul and I would sleep together? Gross!”

“Just making sure,” you smirk. “’Sides, you’re kinda cute.”

“Thanks,” she smiles demurely, a dimple blossoming on her left cheek. “But I have too many freckles. And a burn real easy, too. The problems of being a pale, redhead.”

“I don’t believe you,” you scoff. “You’re freckles are what define you as cute.”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I showed you,” Theresa sniffs.

“Then show me,” you arch an eyebrow. With a sigh, the girl releases the bed sheet, revealing dark freckles stretching from her neck to the aureole on her breasts, paling along the length of pale creamy skin.

“See?” the redhead frowns. “I’m ugly.”

“Nah,” you say, leaning closer to her pert, perky bosom, eying her stiffening, pink nipples. “In fact,” you kiss her left nipple, “you’re absolutely,” you kiss her right nipple, “ravishing.” You pull her head down to yours and kiss her softly on the lips.

“Really?” she smiles, small tears welling in her dark blue eyes.

“Truly,” you smile back, running your fingers along her swelling breasts. “I can prove it. But first I need to know a bit more about you and again, answer honestly. How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” she purrs, aroused by the deft touch of your fingers on the smooth skin of her breasts. “Now show me your proof.”