The Pritchett Sisters (Part 1)
If you asked anyone about the Pritchett girls, bet anything they’d start with the story of Billy Madison.
…Billy Madison was a pig.
There was quite a fuss: some shameless staring and whispering, even a bit of finger-pointing, as Leanne Forester took her leave; the dead weight of Billy Madison’s semi-conscious body, lumbered on her shoulders.
Leanne had strolled into Harvey’s place, that Friday night, dressed with bad intentions; in something clinging, and low cut. A silky, red number that accentuated all the finer slopes and bends of her womanly curves, but that it wouldn’t be too much trouble getting her out of. With enough of her bared, the colored lights had glowed against her cinnamon skin, making her as brilliant as anything to be worshipped, and she glided across the bar— the rumors of her mama’s cavorting with a native confirmed by her quietly graceful stride. She threaded through the haze of cigarette smoke, past clinking bottles and the off-key jukebox crooning, before she settled herself on the barstool beside Billy, and ordered a whiskey. Neat.
“Look here, Leanne, I don’t want no trouble,” Billy started, not bothering to turn on his stool. Instead, he looked down into his glass and intently considered the opaque, brown liquid with a frown; he gave it a swirl and took another hearty sip and then winced from the pain it caused.
Leanne made an amused sound and turned her stool to face him. “Seems to me like trouble is exactly what you’re looking for, Billy.”
Billy snorted. After all, she knew how Rae could be, didn’t she? And Rae, well, she’d certainly given as good as she’d got. He finally turned to face Leanne, demonstrating the swollen split in his lip. “I ain’t give that girl nothing she ain’t gave me back.”
Lee pouted in exaggerated sympathy, before tossing back her shot of whiskey. Once the smooth liquor had cleared her throat, she’d leaned forward, allowing the strap of her dress down over the curve of her shoulder.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she cooed, reaching over and running her thumb over the sore split; she laughed when Billy’s eyes widened to comic proportions, clearly surprised. “But that there’s a consequence of dealing with young girls, instead of a woman.”
Billy’s eyes stayed wide as they followed the trajectory of that strap, with a frankness that would’ve made any other woman blush. Then they roamed over the hills of Lee’s breasts, which were full and plentiful and openly displayed for his enjoyment; they were covered in the same smooth, supple skin the rest of her was packaged in; skin he was sure would be soft to the touch. Billy felt his hands tingling with the need to touch her, and his breath escaped his lungs in a soft, wanting sigh.
Lee knew what it meant when he shifted, uncomfortably. When she let her hand brush his thigh, and felt the muscle go rigid. She looked up at him then, through the cluster of her dark lashes, with those devastating hazel eyes, more green than anything, and she watched his resolve and better judgement abandon him. And she smiled.
Billy would have liked to believe he could have resisted her, had he been clear-headed. But, the combination of Harvey’s whiskey and Leanne’s nearness... well, that was powerful, a kind of intoxication Billy hadn’t ever experienced. Certainly nothing he could be expected to withstand. And truthfully, it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before. Hell! He’d thought about each of the Pritchett girls at some time or other. Separately, and together! He didn’t think he’d met the man who hadn’t. It didn’t mean he cared for Rae any less. At least… he didn’t think so.
“Where’d you go, Sugar?” Leanne asked, using a single finger to bring him back to there, and then. She was leaning into him, close enough that he got a whiff of that cinnamon skin; it smelled like vanilla and a number of other sweet things meant to muddle a man’s mind. He had almost been so hypnotized by it, that he hadn’t registered where Leanne’s other hand had gotten to. But then he felt it. He felt her! She was stroking the outer part of his leg, kneading his thigh. Even through his britches, he could feel the rake of her nails against his skin, and he felt his body’s eager response, felt himself straining against his fly.
She smiled at him then, with an innocent sweetness, as his gaze met hers. And she didn’t take her eyes from him, as she called over her shoulder, ordering them another round.
And he knew, just as sure as she did, that she had him.
Yup. He was a goner.
