Fifty Two

Isabella

Rita gives me a mischievous look. I wave her off, fighting back my smile.

"So?" she asks, raising her hands to implore me to talk.

"Have you just sent him away?" she asks in disbelief.

"No, he's still there. He is waiting for me to get ready," I respond. She screams quietly.

"Fuck you bitch. The way he looked at you, I knew right away he would be between your legs before the day ended," she whispers.

"Shut up, Rita!" I scold her but smile thereafter.