In the anti, while Nash was getting ready for his next victim, Zayela was in a Walmart. The fluorescent lights in the store were a little too bright for the kind of things they sold.
Aisles of lace, silk, and elastic. Mannequins posed with their legs spread, hips cocked. Zayela kept her eyes forward, pretending she didn’t notice. She was already wishing she’d dragged a friend. The air back there felt thick, almost sticky, like it knew exactly what she was about to do.
She stopped by the bodysuit section.
Everything was either backless, see-through, or slit in ways that made her thighs feel warr. The black lacy number in front of her looked like it should co with a warning. She held it to her chest, squinting. No way in hell it’d fit, maybe if she stopped breathing for a week.
She flipped the tag, frowned at the letters.
"Need a hand, sweetheart?"
The voice ca from behind her. Zayela turned.
A girl with a half-zipped hoodie over a bralette, piercings in her lip and brow, and a natag half-peeled off her tank top: Clove. She looked about eighteen but already tired of the world. The kind of girl who’d tell you off and then share her vape.
"I... yeah, I can’t find my size. Everything’s either choking my chest or showing my ass."
Clove snorted.
"Yeah, no shit. You’re built like a glitch in the matrix. Lem guess... G-cup? H?"
"...I don’t know."
"You do," Clove said. "You just hate saying it. Don’t worry, guys eat it up."
Zayela flinched. Her fingers tightened around the hanger.
Clove didn’t bother noticing, or just didn’t give a damn. She yanked a set from the rack, black sh, gold hooks, the kind of thing you’d see in a music video and regret buying the next morning.
"This one’s got stretch. You’ll still be spilling out, but maybe that’s the point."
Zayela opened her mouth, then shut it again, like her brain hadn’t gotten the mo about playing it cool.
Clove grinned, barely.
"Kidding. Unless you want to spill, I don’t judge."
She handed it over and motioned toward the fitting rooms. Zayela carried it like it might explode.
Inside, she peeled off her hoodie, shorts, underwear, skin prickling, nerves on fire.
She slipped the sh over her hips, shoulders, chest.
It clung, not just tight, grabbing her, squeezing everything up and out, the fabric biting into her thighs, her ass nearly falling out the bottom.
Her tits pressed against the sh, nipples showing through like they were saying hi. She looked in the mirror and... Shit.
Her reflection was a porn ad. Lips parted, thighs gleaming, tits practically screaming for attention.
She looked like she wanted to be touched.
She stepped out, hugging her chest with one arm.
"It’s...too much, isn’t it?"
Clove tilted her head, chewing gum, eyes drifting down.
"Depends. What’s the plan? Trying to ruin soone’s husband or a breakball team?"
"I just... I want to look different."
Clove stared, popped her gum.
"Uh-huh."
She gave Zayela a once-over, not bothering to hide it.
"You keep picking shit that fras your ass and lifts your tits. That’s not confidence, babe. That’s bait."
"I didn’t... an to..."
"Sure you didn’t." Clove shrugged. "If you’re buying for a guy, just say so. I’ll show you sothing that’ll short-circuit his brain without making you look like a cam girl."
Zayela hesitated, eyes flicking to the floor.
"What...kind of things?"
Clove didn’t waste ti. Grabbed a bodysuit, held it up.
"Guys are simple. Show skin where they want to touch. Loose straps, high cuts, open back. Anything that jiggles when you walk, they’ll follow you like a puppy. Here, this one? Dick magnet. Tits out, couchie outlined, back open. Guaranteed to get peeled off before you even hit the bed."
Zayela’s face lit up, eyes wide, heart pounding sowhere in her throat.
Clove barely smirked, sizing her up.
"If you wanna get filthy, like, really get tossed around? You need fabric that moves. Silk, sh, shit that sticks when you’re wet. And babe, with those thighs? You’ll be dripping the second he gets his hands on you."
Zayela jerked back, almost dropping the hanger.
"What?!"
Clove just rolled her eyes, popping another piece of gum. She grabbed a red lace bikini, dangled it by the strings.
"This one? For when you want him eating you out from behind."
"Wha-what’s wrong with you?!"
Clove huffed, eyebrows shooting up.
"Do you want real advice or nah?"
Zayela scrambled for words.
"It’s not...he’s not...I’m not doing this for soone like that!"
Clove stared at her, deadpan.
"Oh my god. So you’re not tryna get railed? Then why are you standing in the freakin’ pleasure section holding a sh corset like it’s gonna baptize you?"
Zayela’s flustering could’ve powered the lights in the whole store.
"I just thought it looked nice..."
Clove squinted, chewing louder, like Zayela was so kind of weird riddle.
"Let get this straight. You walk in here, grab anything that screams ’fuck ’, ask what gets guys going, and now you’re pretending you’re not trying to get bent over like a Black Friday bitch?"
Zayela almost choked.
"I...I’m not... I didn’t an... Seriously, what’s your deal?!"
Clove rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck.
"Babe, I don’t care about your guy. He’s either gonna suffocate between those boobs or die mad. You’ve got a body that belongs in a comic book. Tits like airbags, ass thick enough to break a fall. Honestly, I’d charge rent if I were you."
Clove rolled her eyes, chewing louder.
"Babe, seriously, I don’t care who your dude is, he’s either gonna dive right in or just sit there, totally defeated. Your body’s wild, like straight-up cartoon physics. Those boobs? Absolute madness. I swear, you walk down the street and T-shirts are out here fighting for their lives. That ass? Girl, I could bounce a whole confession off it. You gotta wear stuff that does you justice, get those high-cut panties, let the world see what’s up. Push-up bra? Eh, you really don’t need it, your girls are already stealing the show. But you’re telling you’re gonna parade all that, get this poor guy’s hopes sky-high, rock hard, and then just... nope? Savage, babe. Just plain savage."
Zayela shook her head.
"It’s not like that. He’s...he’s my..."
She bit her tongue before it was too late.
She just stared at the rack of lingerie, brain scrambled.
How the hell was she supposed to explain this? There was zero chance she could say out loud that the guy floating around in her mind, the reason she wanted this stuff, was her cousin.
What was the actual hell? Even she wanted to slap herself for thinking it. Why was she even imagining him seeing her in this?
Ever since last night, he’d just... stuck in her head, like a song she was embarrassed to admit she like.
Clove snapped her fingers in Zayela’s face. "Yo, Earth to bitchy. You buying these or just drooling on the lace?"
Zayela blinked, biting her lip so hard it almost hurt.
"Yeah, yeah, I’ll take ’em," she mumbled, tossing the barely-there panties and the lacy bra onto the counter.
She needed to get it together.
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