DOLORES IS WAITING BY THE SMOOTHIE SHACK. SHE’S WEARING a dress similar to the one she wore to dinner last night except this one is blue. I compliment her on the dress immediately, make sure to mention the cool pattern on it.
She blushes and says, “They’re snowflakes, I think? Thank you so much.”
The dress probably belongs to one of her friends – it’s digging into the skin above her breasts. It’s too tight in the back as well, making angry red rows when she moves, possibly feeling my eyes there. It’s not her discomfort that excites me (though perhaps there’s a little bit of that too) but how impossible it is for Dolores to get it right.
She bends down to pet Dog.
I watch her back for a moment, fascinated by the straps but also feeling a little impatient. I’m not at my calmest this morn
