Disclaimer: All mine.
Note: This was thrown down while I cleaned my room. It's quite short, but, eh. At least it's original.
He isn't sure there is an appropriate card for this kind of occasion. I'm beary sorry, but I'd like to fuck your teenage daughter! Maybe a little teddy bear wearing lingerie? Somehow that strikes him as wildly hilarious, but he suspects it's mostly due to the panic rising from the pit of his stomach to coil up his spine. What the hell is he doing going to pick her up in front of her own home? She's barely sixteen, and they'd met at his twenty-fifth birthday party. It was convenient that Lucy was only an acquaintance of that party's host, or else there would be many more awkward questions and fewer stolen kisses in the bedrooms of best friends and and the bathrooms of cheap restaurants they pass on the way up to his house in the Catskills. And the thought of not having her cuddled up closer to him under layers of blankets (when the heat finally came on he'd turned it back off. He didn't think he could bear her rolling away from him in her sleep.) or never seeing her curled up in his jacket on the lawn ever again.
When he pulls up to the door, all the lights are off except the one in the font hall. She comes creeping out, jeans slung low and her layers of white t-shirts turning sheer in the glow of the streetlights. Her lips are red, as always. He assumes she gets that from Lolita and hopes she isn't looking for a tragic love story ending in murder from him. "Hi." Her breath smells like peppermint altoids and the hand covering his as she slides into the front seat is ever so slightly damp from the heat outside.