Giving Me Second Hope

I know Isabella for far too long, for one, she is wearing some rather oversized shirt, which is not mine, and one that I very doubt would be that of James. And for a second, that damn sugar rush that she is forcing into that body, that well…

"Isi, is there something that you are not telling me?"

"Clay, I think you need to come to sit down. Can I grab you a beer or something?"

"Somehow, I think I am going to need something far stronger than a beer right now. I think that overprized whiskey there will just do fine."

With that, I watch her move toward the cupboard; her shirt is just a slight bit over that perky ass that has become slightly perkier than before. Now, if I were not so goddamn curious, then I would have pinned her down on this very kitchen counter, but I seem to feel that we will be requiring a bed for this one.

So as she comes to sit across from me and to push a glass of chilled whiskey over to me, she casually has some oddly fres