14
Emily Cross, the small-town girl from Iowa, held the cigarette to her red lips, drawing in a deep drag. Her head was slightly c****d to one side. She sat on the couch facing the front window. The acrid smoke curled from between her lips as she released it from her lungs. Her eyes were closed.
One bare leg was folded underneath her cutoffs, and the purple tube top she wore strained to hold her full breasts. She was proud of her girls and considered them her best asset. Men usually agreed with her.
Bruce seemed like a nice guy. She liked him, but then again, like Sharon, she liked most men. She wondered why Sharon had taken up with that loser Rocky Wilson, though. He was a slob, a drunk, and not too bright.
Maybe she’d wanted to get control of that hair shop. Sharon had often said she
