Drew walked back to his tent, stifling his urge to punch something. “Hey, bro,” Dee said from her seat under the tent.
She’d taken her T-shirt off and her bright lemon colored bikini top accentuated her deep tan. Drew wondered if she’d been hitting a salon, but even a fake tan looked natural on her olive complexion. Dee was sipping a frozen coconut-scented drink garnished with a pineapple wedge from a pink plastic whalebone-shaped cup.
“How much did that thing cost you?” Drew asked.
“I don’t know. The older gentleman in line behind me paid for it,” she said.
Dee wasn’t one of those girls, but she was damn good at working those guys—the ones who thought they were owed s*x for acts of pleasantry like holding doors, buying drinks, or other bullshit that should be done because they’re poli
