You shrug and walk back to the living room, lying back down on the sofa and picking back up from where you'd DVR-paused the show you were watching.
You're immersed for a while until you hear high heels tapping on the tile floor. You look up to see the sight that almost takes your breath away just about every time -- your gorgeous blonde sister, fully made up to go out, a skimpy minidress clinging to her curvaceous body.
You have to keep reminding yourself that this is your sister. It was bad enough a few years ago when you went through puberty and really started to notice her, but she's just kept blossoming as she's grown, to the point where she's practically a wet dream come to life. Hell, you've masturbated while thinking about her, with appropriate amounts of guilt.
"Uh, hey, Dan," she says.
You lift yourself off the buttery leather. She doesn't often deign to talk to you.
"Tell Mom and Dad I'm, uh, going to the mall." Oddly, she doesn't quite seem to have the usual I'm-beautiful-and-know-it persona that you remember, and she's looking around almost as if she doesn't recognize the place, like the furniture's been moved around or something.
"You're kidding, right?" you ask. "Mom's in Paris all week, and Dad doesn't really care what you do now that you're 18."
"Huh," she says, as if it's the first time she's heard that concept. "Okay, yeah, right. Well, I'll see you later, I guess."
"See ya," you say.
She starts walking off, and call after her, "Susan, aren't you driving your Beemer?"
"Beemer -- yeah. What? Why?"
"Well, didn't you leave it in the garage when you came home from your friend's house?" you ask.
"Oh, yeah, the garage," she says. "Which I'm guessing is this way." She starts walking in the other direction, almost collides with the maid, looks like she's seen a ghost, and practically scurries off.
"What's wrong with your sister?" Francesca asks.
"Who knows?" you retort. Ugh, now this 40-something maid in which you have no interest is in your brain. You try to remember how good Susan looked in that minidress. And, wait a minute, you remember that notebook she'd been carrying when she got back from her friend's house...
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