The conversation felt like we were falling in love. I asked if she was hungry or thirsty, but she said no. She yawned widely, then apologized. “Oh, hell, baby,” I said. “I wasn’t even thinking, you’ve had a long day. I made up the spare room, it has its own bathroom. As for the rest … mi casa es su casa, you can have anything you want.” I carried her bag to the spare room, but when I turned to leave, she caught my hand and gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek. I hugged her tight, “see you in the morning, my room’s just next door.” Back in my own room, sat on the edge of the bed with a growing erection, “you fucking perv, she’s your daughter,” I said to myself. “And a fully grown, very sexy woman,” my lesser angel said in my head. My shirt was off and I had just started to pull my jeans down when I heard a tentative knock on my door. I opened to find Abbi had scrubbed the makeup from her face – she looked five years younger – and was standing in her barefeet, wearing just a long. Julie was dressed the same as always, in a smart blue business suit. Her red hair was piled up atop her head with just a few single strands floating loose beside her beautiful, youthful face. She hadn’t changed. She never would. He had himself to thank for that. ‘Drink?’ he offered her as he shuffled to his small kitchen. ‘I wish I could,’ she said, and sighed nostalgically. ‘There’s a lot of things I wish I could enjoy again.’ He poured himself a drink, an amber liquid inferno in a hazy glass. He downed it and winced as fire burned down his gullet. He poured a second and carried this to the room where Julie sat on the couch waiting for him, looking every bit the queen perched on her throne. He plopped himself down in a shabby recliner. The fabric at key points had long since worn out and tufts of soiled stuffing puffed out like dirty clouds curious about the goings on in room but not enough to actually venture completely into it. ‘Wasn’t all my fault, you know,’ he said. Julie.
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