November 2005
“Sheridan, you know that boy in our political science class, the one with the crazy hair? I think he wants to ask you out.”
“What—Eric?” Sheridan rolled over on the purple lilac comforter covering her dorm bed and made a face. “No thanks. I"m not much interested in a boy who wears leather and chains.”
“Come on, step outside your comfort zone,” Erin urged, leaning up on one elbow and half teasing her friend. “You never know. Maybe he"s this closet poet who will write you sonnets and make your heart melt.”
Sheridan laughed. “Nice try, Erin. Sorry, but you know these boys don"t do anything for me. Too young. We both like an older man, don"t we?”
An image of Sean as she"d last seen him floated up in Erin"s mind. She pushed it away. “Yeah, sure. I hope you"re not still talkin
