I hold up my hands in mock surrender. "Whatever you want, Princess."
She ignores me, and we walk for a while until we get to a park. I don't know jack about DC, so I've got no idea where we are -- New York and Hollywood, those are the places I know. But she seems to have some idea where we're going, and I'm following her lead because she's not as awful as I thought she was. We're actually getting along, and for the first time since I've known her, it's pretty comfortable to hang out with her.
"You're not so bad, Princess," I say. "I mean, for a stuck up bitch."
She laughs. "I can't believe you just called me that."
"Bitch?" I ask. "You know I'm joking. Not about the stuck up shit, though."
"Do people think I'm a bitch?" she asks.
The honest answer is yes, but I shrug. "Who cares what they think?"
Katherine looks at me long and hard. "Better than being a spoiled dickhead."
I grin. "Whatever you say, Harvard." We're in a secluded spot off this path, trees overhanging the trail, and the place is practically uninhabited. I pull out a joint, and Katherine gives me a look.
"Are you stupid?" she asks. "We're out in public."
"No one's passed us in like fifteen minutes," I say. "Come on. There's a building up there -- we'll scoot behind it."
Katherine sighs. "First the photo in the paper, and now you're going to get us arrested for possession. My dad will fucking kill us."
I grin. "Come on, Princess," I tease. "Are you chickenshit?"
She follows me to the other side of a building that houses a bathroom, and we stand near some trees behind it. "I'm not some kind of naive little girl," she says. "I have gotten high before."
"Sure you're not, Princess," I say. "You're practically a fucking rock star." I light up and hand her the joint.
"Shut up," she says, as she takes a hit. "You tagged along with me. If you have cooler friends you'd rather hang out with, then that's where you should be."
"Cooler friends than you, Princess?" I ask, as she passes it back to me. "Not possible. I'm not friends with any kids of future Presidents."
She rolls her eyes. "That's the plan. Everything is about the plan. Always has been. My mother hated it, you know."
"The political thing?"
"Politics," she says. "I think she hated politics almost as much as she hated him. They fought a lot."
We're silent for a few minutes while we smoke, and I don't want to break the stillness that settles between us like some kind of spell. I wait until we're finished, walking back out through the park, to speak. "What about you?" I'm more curious than I thought I'd be about her.
"What about me?"
"The future President's kid - is that what you're about?"
She laughs, the sound bitter. "It doesn't matter what I'm about," she says. "That's the plan, don't you know? Anyway, it's not for a while -- his Senate re-election is this year, and he won't run for President in the next election. So it'll be the following Presidential election after that. Six years is a long time." She studies my face as we walk. "I'm not like you, you know."
"No shit." I can't think of a person less like me if I try.
"It must be nice to not give a shit what other people think," she says.
"You might want to try it sometime." The words come out with an edge they shouldn't have, especially since I'm high. Damn, she's got this way of being condescending. I can't stand it.
"That would be nice," she says. I think she actually means it.
We reach a park bench and sit shoulder to shoulder beside each other. I'm aware of our proximity, nearly touching. She doesn't say anything, so we just sit there quietly for maybe a half hour or so. It's probably the weed, but it feels easy to just sit with her.
When we get up to leave, I reach for her hand to pull her up, and as she rises to her feet, she stumbles against me and we're frozen there. My eyes go down to her chest, even though she's wearing this sleeveless white shirt that's not revealing; the fact that I can't see the tops of her breasts makes me want to see more, like some kind of reverse psychology thing. She inhales, her chest rising, and I'm fixated on her lower lip as it falls open in slow motion. When she flicks her tongue over it, I picture those lips wrapped around my cock and it goes rock hard.
I bring my mouth down on hers, crushing her lips under mine, and she moans into my mouth. Her tongue meets mine, and her hands are on my chest, gripping my shirt and pulling the fabric -- and me -- toward her. She presses against me, arching her back and pushing up her chest as she grinds her hips against my hard-on.