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He looked to see where Peter had been spun, and watched in horror as he fell, sliding along the ice until careening headlong into a wooden post supporting one of the old pedestrian bridges. He saw him bounce off of it like a rubber ball, landing on his back in a nearby snowbank. “Oh, my God! He's got to be dead, his neck surely broken,” Daniel thought to himself as he raced up to him. “Pete, Pete, are you okay?” he shouted as he fell to his knees in the snow beside him, his heart pounding. Slowly opening those penetrating eyes, he said, “Dan, my name is Peter, not Pete.” What Daniel didn't know was that both of them shared the same quirk of only using their full given names. “Well, excuuuuse meeee! By the way, my name isn't Dan, it's Daniel,” he replied, thankful that he was still alive. “Is that so, Danny dick-licker?” he taunted him. Daniel had a panic moment, wondering if he somehow knew more than he should have. Did Carter tell anyone? No, he's just being a smart-ass, he. She had the most amazing body I had ever seen, and I had the realization that no matter how confident she seemed right now, she probably sat at home, looking at herself in the mirror, wishing she could lose 10 pounds, just like everyone else. The thought that she wouldn’t understand how soft she looked, how perfect, how much better than the cold, hard women she tried to emulate, seemed like a crime against nature. Time sped up again, and she stepped out of her shorts, turning around and unbuttoning her top in the same motion. I could see the indent of her naval below the shirt as she let it fall open, barely still covering her breasts, seeming to catch in the perfect position as to just barely give a hint of what wonders lay beneath the cloth. She had another tattoo, a bat, on her chest, small and delicate, and it made me want to kiss it, kiss her, hold her close and see what other kinds of treasures she might be hiding on her body. She must have seen it in my eyes, for she stepped.
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