GENRE: Women's fiction
The dim restaurant light and the candles’ glow let the freckles on Valery’s cleavage dance.
“How they might taste, those sassy freckles on that skin delicate like rice paper?” Emmy wonders and immediately drowns the question in a swig of Chablis. It joins the other rebellious Valery-regarding-questions grumbling in Emmy stomach, adding to the nausea that’s been tormenting her all evening. Emmy doesn’t understand why she keeps staring at Valery’s boobs, like a dog in front of a treat that’s out of reach. So far she’s never been interested in boobs other than her own.
Tom makes a corny joke and Valery throws her head back and laughs, loud and high-pitched. Emmy doesn’t like it when Valery drinks too much and gets like this, fake flashy and flirtatious. Who is she trying to impress? Tom, her husband for nine years? “The boys”, as Valery calls her friends Jack and Martin, who are visiting from Los Angeles and are engaged to each other? Certainly not Emmy, that’s for sure.
Disapprovingly Emmy gazes at Valery’s open mouth and feels ashamed, because all she can think of is that she would love to kiss those tantalizing lips, even though they are too small for her taste. Emmy has a thing for juicy lips, at least when it comes to men.
“Are you okay?” the too-small-lips suddenly inquire and the latent irritated tone startles Emmy. The question is aimed at her. “You’re oddly quiet today.”
Does that mean she usually talks too much? Emmy feels small and inferior, like so often in Valery’s company.