When Kent climbed into the Nissan, he was wearing an earthy cologne that melded nicely with the scents of spicy orange soap he"d obviously showered with and cinnamon gum being chewed with great fervor. Dressed in boot-cut jeans, a simple fitted black T, and funky Converse high tops, the guy looked fit and athletic, in an extreme-sport kind of way. My clothes, on the other hand, appeared to amuse him.
“You"re looking very Prissy,” he chuckled.
I glanced down at the long flouncy floral skirt and lacy blouse. A what-the-heck-do-I-wear moment had resulted in me pawing through every item in the closet. There wasn"t much, considering laundry hadn"t been done in ten days. Luckily (or maybe not), I"d come across this never-worn-before ensemble. Where it had come from was anyone"s guess, because
