Kelly gets a tall glass of gin with crushed ice, is gonna need a second one to make a date with the plumber worth it. Carol is such a twat, probably rigged the damn thing. She smirks, that would mean Carol still thinks about their time under the bleachers. Kelly doesn’t doubt it, the ending was the queen bee’s fault anyways. Kelly just happened to rub it in her face by loudly hooking up with the first willing person in their spot, future plumber boy.
Think of the devil, and she will appear, ordering a martini. Carol clearly didn’t notice she’s standing next to her, or she’s being even more of a bitch than usual.
“Rigging a charity auction? That’s low, trashy,” Kelly fake whispers.
Two spots of color appear high in her cheeks, and she sneers. “Enjoy your date.”
“No, you enjoy yours.” Kelly laughs, “Panting after men half your age, what will your husband think? Oh, that’s right- he has his own collection of side pieces.”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Carol hisses, fake smile still in place for any onlookers. It’s almost impressive, almost scary, how easily she fits the mold of fake classy mayor’s wife. She might even believe it if it wasn’t for their past.
Kelly shrugs, “I’m free as a bird.”
“Oh, we all know how very free you are.”
She bats her eyelashes, “Is that jealousy I hear?”
“No,” Carol snaps.
“If you say so,” Kelly answers, finishing her drink, and leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “We both know I can still fuck you better than your limp dick husband. Five inches right?”
Carol reels back, barely stopping herself from slapping her, stiltedly reaching for a napkin instead. Kelly’s lips curl up, what an interesting nerve she touched there.
“Get out, now.”
Kelly stands, figures she should really complete this trip down memory lane with the disappointment anyways. “I’m goin’.”
Carol lets out a relieved breath that’s near comical. Kelly can’t help a last taunt, lips brushing against her earlobe.
“You know where I live when your vibrator gives out.”
Kelly leaves before she can manage a response, a pleased grin on her face. She hasn’t changed a bit after all these years. It might take a few days, even a week, but Carol will come to her door, begging prettily.
(The only question left is if it will be more enjoyable to wring every bit of pleasure out of her, or to slam the door in her face.)