Mandy’s shoulders are fascinating
her. That bare curve, and the way it leads into pronounced collarbones. Entirely
too pronounced, in Kelly’s opinion, and there’s this strange pointy bone in the
shoulders that she can feel when Mandy hugs her, but still. Its bare brown skin
and those three tiny strings of green fabric and then more skin. What a
Kelly leans up and drops a kiss on Mandy’s skin, right in the hollow of her throat, and Mandy laughs but says, “Not here, not in this outfit. Later.” They’re staying at the same hotel, thanks to Daddy’s full-hearted support of her having a good girl for a new ‘best friend’. If only he knew what his little girl was doing with her late at night.
“You have a jacket,” Kelly says, and licks her, right beneath the string, above her breast. “Besides, you can always say you’re having an allergic reaction to your fabric softener and have to rush back to your hotel. And I, being a good friend, will just have to go with you.”
That earns her a giggle, and a kiss, but. “No,” Mandy says, pulling back a little and adjusting Kelly’s tie, “if I kiss you again I’ll get too carried away, and we’ll end up making out in the bathroom.”
“We’re already making out in the bathroom.” Mandy’s back is against the cold white rim of the sink, Kelly’s hands on either side of her. Kelly looks down and sees their heeled feet tangled together, pink and black straps, ankle to ankle.
“This isn’t making out. Wait til we get back to the hotel. I’ll show you making out.”
Mandy’s grin is a pure slice of Florida sunshine, just like an orange. Kelly can’t ever say no to her, so instead she just huffs petulantly and says, “Fine, you evil bitch. I have blue balls now, but I guess I’ll just have to suffer in silence.”
“Thank you,” Mandy says. Bigger grin, and she leans in for a soft little kiss and takes Kelly by the hand, leading her out of the bathroom. Samantha Mumba or somebody is waiting outside, and she mumbles “Finally, you dykes,” and brushes past them.
Kelly starts to turn around, ready to throw her purse at the girl’s head, but Mandy whispers, “shhh,” and squeezes her hand, and Kelly shuts the hell up. Being a girl has its advantages, sometimes. Being able to hold your closeted popstar girlfriend’s hand in front of cameras being one of them.
Almost immediately, some ‘reporter’ approaches them, shoving a microphone in their faces. “So, how did the two of you become friends?” she asks in her fakey, syrupy little voice, like cough medicine.
Kelly sighs, bored, and lets Mandy answer. She’s heard this question approximately eighteen times tonight, and she was sick of it the first time. Being Ozzy’s daughter may allow her a certain amount of bitchy antisocial behavior, but telling some idiot from E! to fuck off is most certainly not allowed. Especially not at Teen fucking People’s party.
Mandy, though, is totally trained and at the ready. Her voice is cheery and sweet as always, but a subversive kind of bitchiness is seeping in with every short vapid interview they give, a very Mandy kind of bitchiness. Kelly loves it almost more than up-front bitchiness.
This time, though, Mandy just says, “Oh, you know how it is. Sometimes two people just…click. You know?” She sneaks a private little grin to Kelly, then smiles angelically at the camera. Kelly stares at her bare shoulders, her bare collarbones, and wants to kiss them.