The crop top was right there on the main aisle in the women’s section. Steve’s not entirely sure, like, why it exists, but he’s not disappointed about it. The rest of it came together pretty quickly (and cheaply) after that.
So anyway, that’s how he finds himself drinking jungle juice out of a red solo cup looking like the twenty-two-year-old-man version of Karen Smith, animal ears and too much skin, bada boom, costume. I’m a dog. Duh.
- Part 1 of been crawling
Steve’s brain goddamn near breaks when he answers the door.
Billy’s whole face lights up, big grin crinkling his eyes and dimpling his cheeks and he looks good, really fucking good, black button down with the top four buttons undone, jeans just the right kind of skinny, black boots. Sexy black boots. Steve’s mouth goes dry.
‘Steve fucking Harrington.’ Billy says it like the way he sighs at the first drag of a cigarette on the porch after Steve’s made him come.
- Part 2 of been crawling