If I’m Honest
by Corrupting Power
Chapter 2 — Colleen
I didn’t know what the hell had happened, but I spent much of the night thinking about it. It was clear that Christian had been sincere in his comments that this bracelet I had latched around my wrist was going to change my life. I tried to think back to that conversation I’d only half been paying attention to at the time, because now it seemed like the most important thing that had ever happened to me. He’d told me... what had he told me... he’d told me that any woman I was interested in would be interested in me. Something about how I was going to have to get used to unconditional honesty.
I realize I haven’t told you much about myself, but the most important thing to know about me is that I think about problems in a very particular way. For lack of a better expression, when presented with any sort of challenge in my life, I always approach them the same—work the problem.
Start with what you know. First, I know I can’t take the bracelet off, short of cutting my own hand off. That seems a bit extreme, so let’s put a pin in that for now. I might be able to get it off if I dislocated my thumb, but then again, it’s on tight, so maybe not. It has very little wiggle room, which is surprising, considering Christian’s arms are much thicker than mine. All of which leads me back to the same point, his statement that the bracelet was “his luck.”
Luck. What an odd choice of words. A gift or a curse, he’d said. He almost made it sound like magic. I’d grown up loving stories of prankster faeries and magicians, but never once did I believe any of it could be real. But Occam’s Razor and all that.
So the obvious answer was to treat the idea that it was magic like it was fact, whether or not it was. Based on the previous night, it sure felt like it had to be real magic. I couldn’t think of any reason that the front desk clerk would throw herself at me and then leave just after she told me why it wouldn’t work. I hadn’t asked. Hell, I hadn’t said much of anything. I’d been close to speechless the entire time.
Now obviously, it couldn’t be as simple as any woman I wanted to fuck would want to fuck me. There’s a movie star in particular named Alice Karteaux I’d had a crush on for years, and she hadn’t been knocking down my door this morning, so I assumed whatever power the bracelet had, it had a range limit of some kind.
I’d gone to breakfast, and there had been a particularly fit looking young woman having breakfast by herself, and she hadn’t rushed over to have at me, so it seemed likely the bracelet also had a recharge time of sorts, although maybe I just didn’t find the girl attractive enough. I was guessing it was a time thing, but I didn’t have enough data points to confirm that. Another theory for testing.
Christian didn’t mention where he lived these days, so I wasn’t even sure where to look for him to call him and ask him for more information. Seattle was a common international entry point, and people would catch flights from there to wherever they were eventually headed after they were in country again. He didn’t seem to be on Facebook, and a casual internet search turned up far more instances of the name Christian Bianchi than I expected to find. Besides, he was probably still in the air at this point. Given enough time, I could probably track him down, but that didn’t answer questions I had now.
All throughout breakfast, I was still trying to work the problem. The bracelet certainly looked new, but it had an old feel to it, something I couldn’t put my fingertip on. I looked up the phrase on the internet, but it was surprising how I couldn’t find any concrete information on it. Christian was right—the translation was ambiguous. Latin was a flexible language, and without much in the way of context, neither translation was definite. It wasn’t a phrase that had been used in any historical form I could find, but I have to admit, I wasn’t even entirely sure where to look. I’m in social engineering, not Roman history. I made a note to ask a college professor about it.
By the time I was headed back to the airport, I’d started to reconsider the option that the previous night was merely a fluke encounter. It seemed improbable, but I suppose I just hadn’t gotten my head around the idea that magic could be real either. There was still some, albeit unlikely, chance that the whole thing with Brenda at the hotel had been a setup on Christian’s part, some sort of practical joke or a way of saying thank you that he could deny.
Once at the airport, I waltzed through security—I’d checked my suitcase in yesterday, and it was waiting for me in Seattle. I was also very used to getting my travel bag past the checkpoints, so I had my shoes off before they’d even asked. Beyond that, I put my shoes back on, tucked my laptop back into its snug spot and slung my bag over my shoulder before heading to the Lufthansa terminals.
I don’t normally fly first class, but the company had offered for this trip, considering how many long haul flights I was putting in, to bump me to first class. Don’t think we’re making a habit of it, they said, but since you’re basically flying around the world for us, we’re going to classy it up for you. Just this once.
Flying across an ocean is a great deal easier in first class, let me tell you. I flew from Seattle to Hong Kong first class for the first time a little more than a week ago. I’d never flown first class before, and it was going to be difficult to go back. Instead of being cramped into a tiny little bucket seat, I got to fly in a lounger chair with my own little television. The flight from Hong Kong to Mumbai I’d been in my own pod, with little cubicle walls erected to give me privacy from all the other first class passengers, taking it one step further. It hadn’t even been that long of a flight, barely six hours. From London to Seattle was nearly twice that. Not quite the fourteen hour flight Seattle to Hong Kong had been, but still more time than anyone really wanted to spend in an airplane.
I arrived nice and early. If they wanted to delay me again, I wouldn’t be able to take them up on it this time. Work had been okay with a few extra days lost to travel, but two days in a row stuck in London without getting much work done wouldn’t be looked upon kindly. London Heathrow was massively frantic, lots of people running between terminals to get to one flight or another.
Sure enough, as it got closer to departure time, they had oversold the flight by four seats, but I paid it no mind. I mostly just kept my head down, reading a book on my iPad. John Scalzi had just dropped another novel, and I’d downloaded it before I’d headed out, as well as a handful of movies—John Wick 2, Logan, Thor: Ragnarok and Arrival—so that as long as I had power, I wouldn’t be bored, if I was awake the whole time.
Eventually they’d found some other suckers to take them up on their delays, and started loading us onto the plane. The plane was an A340-600, and there were only eight spaces up in first class, so they loaded us on first. I wasn’t paying much attention as we moved into the small area at the front of the plane, making my way to my seat.
They weren’t full cubicles like I’d been on earlier, but it was a very comfortable lounger chair which apparently converted into a full bed if I wanted. There was a single seat to my left, with a divider that could be raised to separate us.
I got a whiff of perfume a couple of minutes after I sat down and glanced over to my left, and did everything I could to keep my jaw from dropping open. Sitting in the pod next to mine was Colleen Yi, a stunning woman in her late twenties.
Colleen was Asian in descent, Chinese I think, but had been born and raised in London. She was slender but muscular, a good look on her. She was an actress who had gotten her big break on a sci-fi show of no small renown in England that had a cult following back in the states. She’d only done a year on the show before leaving, trying to get a career in movies. She’d gotten a few minor parts, but nothing that had taken off to put her on easy street. Last I had heard, she was going back to television again with a sci-fi show being filmed in Vancouver based on a comic book I was vaguely familiar with called “Distant Lives.” However, one of the films she’d done earlier had been with a director I’d followed for a long time and was one of my favorites in the past five years, which was how I’d become a fan of her.
“A Death In Red” was sort of part Matrix and part Mad Max, about a trio of thieves that had stolen the wrong McGuffin from the wrong villain. Colleen had played the part of Indigo, one of the thieves, and had given a hell of a performance, from the complicated martial arts combat to the gut wrenching pathos in her death scene. (Sorry, spoilers, I guess.) The film hadn’t gotten much attention because the special effects hadn’t been as good as they’d should have been, and the script definitely went off the rails in the third act, which included a bizarre twist ending that made absolutely no fucking sense. It was bugfuck in a fun way, though, and if you suspended your disbelief, it made the whole film even more of a crazy ride, so I had a soft spot for the film.
She’d been dressed scantily in the movie, but as far as I knew, she’d never done an actual nude scene, and I’d done the research. You do that, don’t you? See a celebrity in a movie or on a television show and wonder if they’d ever been nude on film before, and gone to track it down if they had? Well, I do that, sometimes, and as far as I could tell, Miss Yi had decided she hadn’t felt like doing nudity as of yet, a decision I had to begrudgingly admire.
I wanted to say hello, to tell her that I was a fan, but I was certain she probably heard that all the time, and the last thing I wanted to be was an asshole who was bothering her like some drooling fanboy. I also remember thinking to myself that if this bracelet was the real deal, I wouldn’t mind it rubbing off on Miss Yi.
She’d been very vocal in interviews about how difficult it was for Asian actors to get fair shakes in Hollywood, and I wondered if that had affected her decision to go back to television. “Distant Lives” was going to be on HBO, so that primal part in me had considered if she was going to be nude in the show, but I tried to stuff that down.
Don’t look over, don’t stare, I kept telling myself, but the scent of jasmine, lilac and sandalwood kept drifting into my nostrils, so I turned my eyes back down to my book once more and turned up the volume on my headphones just a little more. I had Fugazi on, I remember, who aren’t exactly the most soothing of bands.
All of which meant I damn near jumped into the air when I felt her fingertips patting me on the forearm, trying to get my attention.
Her touch was unfairly soft.
I tugged my headphones off my ears and pushed them down to my neck. “Sorry, was the music too loud?”
“No,” she said to me with a broad smile. Her voice had a lovely English accent to it, something she was very adept at hiding, if a role called for it. “I was just wondering what you were reading.”
“Oh. Ah, it’s called “The Collapsing Empire” by John Scalzi.”
“The guy who wrote “Old Man’s War?”
“Yeah, that’s him. I’m still early in it, but it’s more space opera and it’s still great.” It was around this point that I noticed that her hand hadn’t left my arm. “Have you always been a sci-fi fan, or did “Warp Agency” bring you into the fold?”
Her face blushed a little. “Ah, so you know who I am. Are you a big fan of the show?” That hand didn’t move. If anything, it squeezed my arm a little more.
“Well, big fan might be a bit much. It’s campy fun, depending on who the showrunner is at the moment. You had a decent one, I think. And you were just getting started in your career, so I don’t blame you for only doing a season. Lots of people got pigeonholed by sticking around too long there. I thought you were amazing in “A Death In Red,” though. I’m a big fan of Herbert Frost’s movies, so I ended up seeing that a bunch of times. He’s such a genre chameleon, and yet he’s great at all of them. I was worried that the wire-fu/bullet ballet might be a bad fit, but you and the others made it all work so well.”
“Thanks. I’ve always been a bit of a geek girl, but Herb really broadened my horizons. He and I dated for a year or so, and he was I guess you could say a fan of the obscure but great stuff. So he introduced me to a lot of things I might not have found on my own. You really liked “A Death In Red”? I’ve been to a couple of conventions and I don’t think anyone’s mentioned it to me once.”
“Eh, the problem was that he didn’t have the budget of say George Lucas or Peter Jackson for his special effects, so it sort of stayed an art house film instead of getting a big audience. I mean, it also doesn’t end well for all of the protagonists, and down endings generally push back against bigger crowds. Their loss, I say.”
She leaned over a little more, which let me get a better look at her. She was dressed casually, in a zip up track top and track suit bottoms, with a blue silk scarf around her neck. Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail that stuck out in the back gap of an Oakland A’s baseball cap. It was typical celebrity camo. “So, you’re part of the geek tribe, yeah? Have you read any of “Distant Lives,” the comic that’s getting adapted into a show I’m in?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t read it, but I’ve heard about it. It’s supposed to be pretty good.”
“Wait, if it’s supposed to be pretty good, why haven’t you read it?”
“Ah, well, not to speak ill of anyone, but I don’t like the art style. I read some comics, but I’m particular about how the art looks, and David Jefferies has this style where everything looks like it was drawn in crayon, and doesn’t have much definition. I usually like the writer, Carrie Glass, but I simply cannot stand the way Jefferies puts it on the page, so I never got around to it.”
“Can I ask a favor? I’ve got the script for the pilot here. Do you think you could read it?”
“Sure, okay,” I said, as she hands me a stack of papers bundled together inside of a three ring binder. “Are you sure you won’t get in trouble for this?”
“Well, I’ll have to keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t take any pictures of it or anything. Besides, if there’s a leak, I’ll know exactly who it was.”
“Oh yeah?” I said. “Who am I, then?”
She giggled, honest to god giggled, and cringed, her thumb pressing softly against the inside of my arm. “I’m such a ditz sometimes. I didn’t ask your name. Obviously, I’m Colleen. My friends call me Coll. You are?”
“King, Derrick King. My friends call me DK or Deke. You can call me whatever you like.” She handed me the script, and smiled at me. “I’m not an actor or a writer or anything like that. I’ve got a very boring job that doesn’t interest, well, anyone. Even me.”
She laughed again at that, as the stewardess came through, checking to see that we were buckled in. “Just read. We can talk about it when you’re done.”
I ignored the usual spiel the airlines all go through pre-takeoff, and before I knew it, we were up in the air, headed across the Atlantic. I don’t read a lot of scripts, so it took some time to pick up a bit of the framework, but once I got past that, I could start to fill in the holes. The plot was solid, the dialogue was good if a bit clunky in places and the story seemed entertaining enough. There was an act two twist that seemed a little out of nowhere, and frankly the ending of the pilot seemed a little predictable, not to mention they lampshaded the hell out of it in advance.
They were just about to dim the cabin lights when I finished it.
“Well, Deke, what do you think?” Colleen had leaned practically over the partition, both of her hands on my arm. “There’s problems, aren’t there?”
“It’s good,” I said, “but I think you could make a few trims and adjustments, maybe less obvious foreshadowing for the ending and a little more supporting details to make the twist feel a little less... sudden. Just have a writer give it a quick pass and I’m sure you’ll have it in tip top shape as soon as you need it.”
“We start shooting in two days.”
I winced a little. “It’ll be tight, sure, but I’m sure a good writer could get it done in time.”
She leaned in and pressed a kiss against my cheek. “I knew something was just a little off about it. Thank you so much for not telling me I’m crazy. You’ll have to let me make it up to you.”
“I wouldn’t mind visiting the set or something.”
“Let me think about it, and I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”
About an hour later, the staff brought the lights back up and served food, a nice little chicken Parmesan. Colleen had been watching something on her iPad for most of that time, but as the food was presented to her, she pulled the earbuds out.
“So I’ve been thinking...” she said to me, as she devoured the food. “In an hour, I want you to meet me in the first class bathroom. The one on my side, here on the left.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed at me, a conspiratorial smile on her face. “One hour from now, left bathroom. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
And then she put the earbuds back in.
Ten minutes later, the stewardess came by and picked up the trays. Ten minutes after that, they lowered the lights in the cabin again. Forty-five minutes after that, almost the entire chamber was quiet as every person in it, except for me and Colleen, was asleep.
Three minutes after that, Colleen got up and headed forward to the first class bathroom on the left.
I waited a minute or so, and glanced around the cabin, making sure that everyone was asleep, or at least seemed like they were. Then I very quietly got up and moved forward. I’d never really thought much about joining the mile high club, but it certainly was the kind of thing everyone fantasizes about at least once. I had to walk through the food storage area, but none of the stewardesses were there, so I could walk around to the other bathroom. The door was closed, but it wasn’t locked. So I pulled on the door.
Very suddenly, Colleen grabbed me and yanked me into the bathroom, pulling it closed behind us, flipping it to locked. “It’ll be tight,” she whispered into my ear, “but we’ll get it done.”
Her lips pressed hard against mine, and that intoxicating scent filled my nostrils as her tongue invaded my mouth. Her hips were jammed up against me and I felt one of her legs lift up to wrap around my waist.
“God, this is so risky, but I don’t fucking care,” she said. “I just fucking need it. I fucking need you.”
“Are... are you sure about this?”
“Don’t talk so much. Let me do all the talking.” Her hands reached down and unzipped the track top, revealing a black sports bra on beneath. She’d left the scarf and hat back at her seat, I guess, or maybe they were on the floor. I didn’t really know. She reached down and tugged the bra up and over her head, exposing those perky small tits of hers, capped with dark brown nipples, her stomach toned and flat. “Am I pretty? Tell me I’m pretty.”
“I thought you said not to talk.”
“You can tell me what I want to hear.” Her fingertips reached down and grabbed my jeans, unbuttoning them. “Tell me.”
“You’re fucking gorgeous. Insanely beautiful. A thousand times out of my league.”
“Mmmm. That’ll do. And even if that’s true, I’m still going to fuck your brains out. You don’t think my tits are too small? Casting agents have been telling me for years to get a boob job.”
I shook my head angrily. “You tell me who the fuck they are and I’ll beat the shit out of them myself. You’ve got perfect tits for your frame, lean and lithe. It’s despicable, this insistence on some casting agent’s ideal woman. If you got those big basketball tits they seem to want, how the hell would you do all those kick ass stunts?”
She grabbed my shirt and pulled me in to kiss me again, fierce and claiming. “Finally, a man with a bigger brain than a dick.” Her hand reached down to push down the front of my unbuttoned jeans. “Although maybe I spoke too soon. Jesus, what kind of weapon you packing there?”
“It’s not that big,” I said. “You don’t have to flatter me.”
Her hands pushed my jeans and boxers down to my knees, as if she couldn’t wait any longer, her slender fingers wrapping around my cock, her eyes widening as she looked up at me. “I’m not. You’re fucking thick. That boring thing you do for a living isn’t porn, is it?”
I rolled my eyes a little at her .”Now you’re going overboard.”
She kissed me again, as her fingertips started to stroke my dick gingerly. “I’m really not, Deke. It’s like a fucking Pringles can, it’s so fat. I’m definitely gonna feel it going in.” Her fingers moved to the head of my cock, and a bit of precum oozed onto her skin. She lifted those fingers to her lips and licked them clean, moaning a little at the taste of me. “I’m going to say some kinda freaky shit, so just go with me on it, okay?”
“Freaky?”
She giggled again. “Nothing super crazy, but if I’m gonna live out this fantasy, I’m gonna say all the shit that pops into my head. That’s okay, isn’t it? They’re just words.” I had been letting her do all the touching, and she seemed to sense my hesitation, so she reached down and grabbed one of my wrists, taking my hand to push down the front of her track pants and beneath what felt like lacy panties, across fine hair and right to her snatch, as she moaned a little. She was searing hot to the touch, and damp against my fingers, her hips grinding into my touch. “Feel how you make me? You gotta take care of that leak, plug it up good.”
I curled my middle and ring finger up a bit and pushed them inside of her pussy, feeling her clamp down on my fingers as she jammed her lips against mine, using my mouth to stifle the sound of her moan. “Like this?”
“Oh fuck, that’s good, but it’s not enough,” she said, pushing her pants and panties down to her ankles, stepping out of them. She’d apparently also left her shoes back at her seat, because they slid right off. “I need this monster,” she said, still jerking on my dick. “And we gotta hurry. The stewardess could come by at any minute. So give it to me. Press me right up against this wall and fuck a hole in me.” She curled one of her legs around my waist as I stepped in, and then hopped up, snaking the other leg to pincer me, my hands holding her pert ass. “Do it, you animal.”
I had to shift and adjust, and I could feel her squirming to get me lined up, and eventually, I could feel the head of my cock against her pussy, so I pushed forward, sinking my dick inside of her, as she buried her face in the crook of my neck to muffle a squeal I was terrified was too loud.
“You okay?”
“Ow ow ow fuck fuck fuck you’re fucking big it fucking hurts.”
“You want me to stop?”
She pulled back, her face defiant right before mine. “You stop and I’ll yell rape. I fucking love that it hurts, that it aches, that it makes me feel like it’s the first fucking time, and I’m a teenager again getting her cherry popped on prom night. C’mon, fuck me already. Plow me. Break my cunt open and carve your fucking name in it.”
I drew my hips back a little bit and then pushed back forward, letting her own weight slide her down further onto my cock. I’d never fucked someone standing up before, and it was a little bit of a challenge, but her heels dug into my ass each time I thrust forward, like she was trying to shove me deeper.
“That’s it, motherfucker,” she hissed into my ear. “Give it to me. Faster. Harder.”
“You’re light, but this angle is making it difficult.”
No sooner had I said something then she’d uncoiled one leg down to stand, slipping up and off my cock, before she put her other leg down and then turned around, placing her hands on the basin of the sink, her face and tits looking at me in the mirror. “Then give it to me like this. Just fuck me.”
It was a tight fit, but I moved in behind her as she lifted her left foot and placed it on the edge of the toilet, to give me a better approach. I lined the head of my cock back up against her dripping slit and pushed back inside of her. She lifted one of her arms up to brace it against the mirror, biting into her forearm to strangle out the noise from her throat.
Each pull back of my hips nearly pressed me against the wall of the bathroom, and each forward thrust made the mirror vibrate a bit. I’d often wondered if there was some sort of security camera on the other side of these mirrors, and if so, whoever was watching them would certainly be getting a bit of a show.
I snaked my arm down and around her waist to rub my fingers down on her clit, and she squealed again into her forearm before pulling her face back. “That’s it, you fucking bastard. Hammer that cunt like it owes you fucking money. Beat the shit out of it. Don’t be a wimp, fucking nail me.”
I did my best, pumping my cock in and out of her, but even with her one leg raised, there was only so much space to work in. Eventually she turned and bent forward a bit over the toilet, the mirror to the side, so she could thrust back into me. I had to be especially careful at that point because the door was right behind me, and if she slammed back too far into me, it would draw attention.
We made our best of it, and she must’ve certainly been wound up because I felt her start to spasm and clamp down on my cock, burying her face in the crook of her elbow to muffle that harried moan as best as she could. I felt the shivers begin to ease up in her body and I started to slow down, at which point she turned to look at me over her shoulder, her eyes intense and focused. “Don’t you fucking dare stop. I want that hot fucking cum in my twat, you fucking bastard. I wanna feel you nutting inside of me, filling me up with spunk. I wanna feel you breeding me like the eager little bitch I am. C’mon you monster. Cream me up. Knock me up. Do it, daddy. Creampie your slut so fucking good. Do it, you animal. Give it to me. Cum in me like I’m a fucking cumdump. Knock me up. Breed me. Breed me!”
Well, with her constantly coaxing me like that, I couldn’t help it, and thrust forward hard, making sure my cock was as deep inside of her cunt as I could get it, as I felt my load burst, just painting the back of her snatch with my spunk, and as soon as that first jet left me, she started quivering again, moving to bite on her forearm again. Four or five more blasts, and I was spent.
I kept my cock in her as long as I could, but felt myself start to soften quickly. Before yesterday, it’d been two years since I’d gotten laid last, and now it’d been twice in two day, with two different women. If this pace was going to keep up, I was going to need to get in better shape.
She pulled her hips forward and pressed her thighs together before crouching down. She pushed her head down once onto my cock quickly, sliding her mouth along the entirety of it before pulling back, kissing the tip of it, as she grabbed her pants and panties, sliding back into them quickly as she stood back up.
“Thanks for being a good sport about all that,” she said, as she grabbed her sports bra and pulled it back down onto her lean body. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean, but it’s a fantasy of mine, and I really like the feeling of cum in my cunt.” She grabbed the track top and slipped it back on as well, zipping it up.
I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that, even as I was tucking my cock back into my boxers and jeans, zipping them up and rebuttoning the top button. “You did warn me.”
“I know, but some guys can be so fucking uptight about that kind of shit, when a girl’s got a fantasy in her head and she wants to say it.” She looked at herself in the mirror, and turned on the faucet to get some water to splash on her face. “I’ll go back first. Wait a minute or two, then you can go back to your seat.”
At this point, I was still a little shellshocked, so I merely nodded.
Just before she started to open the door, she looked me, as if she had something final to say before she went. “I’ll see if I can arrange a set visit for you sometime later during the shoot, once we’re up and running. I’d like to see you again, but if I’m honest, I’m still at least two or three relationships away from having the emotional experience and maturity needed for us to work as a couple. We’d collapse at our first argument right now, and it would totally be my fault. Maybe we can be fuck buddies instead. If I’m honest.”
Then she opened the door quickly and hopped out, closing it behind her, leaving me alone in the bathroom.
I waited a couple of minutes out of sheer paranoia before I opened the bathroom door, and slipped out. No sign of the flight crew, so I made my way back to my seat, finding Colleen back in her seat, like nothing had happened.
Once I sat down again, she leaned over and whispered to me, “Let me see your phone. Unlock it for me.”
I did, and she opened up the contacts section of my iPhone and then the same on hers. Then she AirDropped her contact information into my phone, and mine into hers. Not only did she have my name and number now, as I did hers, we also had each others’ email address and home address, or whatever address I guess she was using in her contacts section. I didn’t get a good look at it before she handed me back my phone.
“There. Now I can send you dirty pictures any time I want to, Deke,” she said, kissing my cheek before sitting back in her chair. “Just don’t you dare share them with anybody.”
“What kind of rogue do you think I am, Coll?”
“The kind who’d fuck the shit out of a girl he just met in an airplane toilet because she wanted him to,” she whispered into my ear. “The kind I like best. You’ve got my number, so call me maybe. I’m gonna sleep now. Wake me when we’re stateside.”
She reached down and grabbed the blanket they had provided, pulling it up over her body, as she leaned the seat back and immediately drifted off to sleep.
I was absolutely in over my head with this bracelet. If I’m honest.