I hear Frannie’s soft, even breath as she sleeps in the bed next to mine. I hadn’t told her, even though usually I tell Frannie everything. Frannie knows practically every thought I’ve ever had. But not this one. This one’s too embarrassing. Too scandalous. How could I have done that? Outside the window, the moon glows full, shining its blue light onto the walls of our bedroom. He’d seen me. He’d seen me do what I’d done. He heard me moan and cry out. He watched me pleasure myself. Naked. Aroused and abandoned. He watched me touch my breasts and dip my own fingers into my aching, slippery core. Who was he? His eyes, so riveted. His dark, wild hair with its tips bleached reddish-gold by the sun. His tanned face and wide, sculpted shoulders. His taut stomach and the way his jeans hung so low on his hips. God.
