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Red Sweater

Red Sweater

  • A Penthouse Letter by D.J., Ohio

She came in wearing a red sweater, faded jeans and ankle boots. My brain kind of short-circuited. It always did when I saw that woman. Her name was Krista, and she came in about twice a month with her boyfriend to hunt for old paperbacks at the second-hand bookshop.

And on those days, I was usually working there.

I’d sit and scan paperback purchases and trades, and watch her on the down low. She had a spectacular heart-shaped ass, a killer smile and an hourglass figure that captivated me.

A few seconds went by after she’d entered, and there was no extra jingle from the bell affixed to the door. That meant no one followed her into the shop, meaning no boyfriend.

What was his name? Tad? Todd? Tag?

Whatever he was called, I thought he was an asshole of epic proportions.

...
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