“I said, “What?” “A grapefruit. How about a grapefruit.” She was standing there in the kitchenette, her robe loose enough toward the top for me to get a look at the start of the swell of those Bunny breasts. I sipped my coffee and wondered whether her sexual allusion had been intentional and said, “Yes, I’d like a grapefruit.” “Maybe it’s a little late for breakfast-type stuff, what the hell time is it, anyway?” There was a clock above the window over the kitchen sink but it wasn’t running. I ch...ecked my watch. “Quarter till ten,” I said. “I suppose you already had breakfast.” “No, I just got up a little while ago myself.” I sat at the table sipping the coffee and watched her as she went to the refrigerator and got out a big yellow softball of a grapefruit and sliced it in half on the counter with a long shiny knife. She sectioned the grapefruit halves and lightly sugared them, served them up in bowls and brought them over. She put one in front of me, leaning over so that I got a good look at what was happening under the robe.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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