Close Encounters Of The Emma Kind
More clones, more redheads, less coherence.
I wake up, surrounded by warmth and softness. “You’re pinching me,” Emma whispers in my ear. My eyes blink open, remembering where I fell asleep. My best friend’s bed. Her freckled face is right in front of mine, her green gaze barely an inch away. The squishy feeling in my hand is her right breast, which I’ve been unconsciously mauling. “Sorry,” I say, not meaning it in the least. She smiles, so do I. I ease up, but don’...