Hi all. This is another short tease from Bettina. I'm breaking it up into 250 word parts to draw it out - because I don't want to post anymore of Nikki's Wish, and I only have up to chapter three written of this "new" draft. I'm so sneaky that way. I think I may have forgotten to mention that this takes place in 1962, so if it sounds a little outdated, that's why. Enjoy!
The spatula is cramping my hand, and I want to give up now, just walk away and say the hell with it. Damned with whatever conclusion Jessica has drawn. But I don’t because the thing that’s jamming the drawer has made itself known.
“Actually, I think I have found something,” I say to her. I move the spatula around some more, but whatever is stuck in there won’t budge. I pull the spatula out and try to slip my hand in, but it only travels about six inches.
“Here, let me try.” She floats to my side, and picks up a pair of tongs. If I were a little less enamored, I may have snuck my hand onto the stack of bills sitting in the drawer next to me and had one wedged between my fingers when she wasn’t looking. But as it is, I’m intoxicated.
Jessica is, in a word, delectable. Her grandmother is Native American, Ojibwa, and the blend with her Caucasian side makes her skin the honey-ripe color of a Georgia peach. She never wears makeup, never poofs or rats her hair. Her beauty is au natural, and no matter what those cosmetics commercials imply, let me tell you that guys really dig that. Every shmuck I know wants to date Jessica Hughes. Every one of us imagines what it would be like to run his hands over that honey skin and tangle his fingers in those dark tresses. But no one dates Jessica Hughes. We dream of her, pant over her, talk about her when it’s just the guys. But Jessica is...untouchable.
Her father is a minister.