"And he had the worst breath you can imagine," Anna roared and pounced on her sister. She puckered her lips and kissed the air, advancing.
"Ew, stop it," Selma giggled, raising her hands to fend off the attack.
The two women were in their early forties but on a night like that, it was like they were kids again. All the lights in the house were off, save for an arrangement of candles on the coffee table. Two empty bottles of wine and one that was just shy of being half-full.
Dressed in cozy sweaters, long leggings, and warm socks, they looked even more alike than usual. They both had light-brown hair but Selma's went down to her shoulders and Anna's was cropped short in a pixie cut. Both had a round face and very curvy body that had gotten them jeered as chubby in high school but praised as thicc nowadays.
"Mwah, mwah, mwah, mwah!"
"No, Annie, no!" Selma snorted, trying her best to kick her sister away. She landed one knee in the boob and a foot on her thigh.
"What's the matter, girly? Don't you want to kiss me?" Anna rasped in a low growl that sounded more like a zombie than a human being.
"Please tell me you didn't."
At last, Anna relented. She rolled her eyes and threw herself back down on the couch. "Of course not, I'm not that desperate for dick."
"Uh-huh. That was what, a week ago? If he came around here right now, you'd call him Prince Charming and french his stinkbox."
"Ewwwww," Anna squealed and pulled a face of utter disgust. "Anyway, I think that brings us up to date with every date I had in the last month."
"Quite a list. Wasn't sure if we had enough wine for the entire thing."
"Are you calling me a slut?"
"No, a slut would have gotten laid. I don't know what you are but—"
"Horny!" Anna blurted out.
Selma snorted and scooped up her glass of wine. She downed it in two swigs.
"I'm surprised you're not out there getting laid, what with your limp-dick husband."
"Hey, lay off Pete!"
"Certainly not laying ON him. Nobody is."
"I don't need to have sex to have a satisfy—"
"BULL. SHIT," Anna roared. "If that were true, you wouldn't need me. And yet, here we are again. Alone. Just the two of us."
At the words, Selma actually blushed a shade of deep red. "Please... I'm trying to be good this time."
"Who wants to be good when you can be bad?" Anna asked, inching closer to her sister.
The sound of an engine approached the two-story home but neither of the women paid any attention to it. Not until the car's headlights swerved across the living room windows and nearly blinded them. The walls rumbled as the garage door opened and darkness returned.
"That's not Pete, is it?" Anna groaned loudly.
"Nah, it's Jordan. Guess his date didn't go well," Selma said, unable to suppress a note of sincere happiness.
Jordan was Selma's nineteen-year-old son. She happily and frequently told everyone who would listen that he was the best thing to ever happen to her and she meant it. At six-foot-two he was the tallest in the family, outgrowing even his dad. He had inherited his father's dirty-blonde hair and effortlessly-thin physique.
"How is my favorite nephew? I haven't seen him all day."
"In a real bad spot. Trapped in a web of misery. Enchanted by a witch."
The door to the garage opened.
"Come say hi to your aunt," Selma called out.
"Yeah, say hi!" Anna shouted.
"Hi Mom, hi Annie" Jordan shouted back from the hallway. There was another sound, something like a giggle. "I'm going up to my room."
"Now hold on just a—" Selma started but it was already too late.
Footsteps clamored up the stairs. Two distinct sets of shoes, one loud and one more like tippy-taps. Selma winced. The door to Jordan's bedroom slammed shut upstairs.
"I take it that was his...?" Anna prompted.
"Girlfriend. Yeah. Her name is Gwyn. Guinevere Estelle I'm-a-stupid-bitch McGregor," Selma snarled.
"Whoa, I'm detecting some less than pleasant undertones here."
"She's a snooty bitch and I hate her," Selma growled. She reached for the bottle and refilled her glass.
"What did she do to incur such wrath?"
"Ugh. She thinks she's an honest-to-God Irish princess because her grand-grand-grand-dad was from Ireland and he was—" Selma did air quotes, juggling the wine glass "—a lord. Well, she's spoiled like one. Spends all her money on shoes and refuses to walk a hundred feet without being driven. Can't clean, can't cook, can't do anything that might sully her highness' prim and proper manicure."
Anna giggled. "And Jordan's dating her?"
"Yeah, in total secret. Since Valentine's Day. Can you believe it? I don't know what the hell he sees in her."
"Maybe she's a killer in the sack."
"Please, she might sweat and that would ruin her makeup. Anyway, Jordan's not that kind of guy. He takes things slow and he's careful. It's only been a couple of months, I'm sure he hasn't—"
"Puh-leeze," Anna interrupted. "He's a nineteen-year-old man and a hottie to boot. They're probably doing it like bunnies. Mmm, sweaty, dirty fucking."
"Ew, no. You wouldn't say that if you had met her."
"We can go upstairs and knock," Anna suggested with a wicked grin.
"No way. Hold on, let me get the laptop. I'll show you her profile picture, you're gonna die laughing."
Selma gulped a big swig of wine before setting down the glass and pushing herself off the couch. On unsteady legs, she trudged to the kitchen, returning momentarily holding a lightweight laptop. She dropped back on the couch, next to Anna this time, and folded open the lid.
"I'll just pull up her... hey, what's this?" Selma asked in confusion.
Instead of the normal browser window, the screen displayed a video of a darkened bedroom, illuminated only by a light on the nightstand. Selma recognized the room immediately—it was Jordan's. The man himself was also in the picture, or rather his backside was, wearing the typical jeans and forest green sweater. Two delicate, white arms were wrapped around his torso.
"Oh, he was playing with the laptop earlier, he must have—"
"Is that live?" Anna interrupted.
