David wanted to wear the dress. “Call me Satin Damsel—a fragrance for men.”
Francine set up a tripod and snapped pics, plying us with vegan beer floats until foamy syrup bubbled inside my face. Michelob and mocha mix: carbonated stomach acid with a sugar twist.
David teetered down the hall to wrestle off the dress. Francine moved her face inches away from mine. Our blurred eyes locked. “Forget about getting with David,” she said. “Phillipe’s coming over.”
Francine’s glare shoved me into nervous presence. A swarm of feelings confused me. David’s attention was erotic but impersonal: it turned me into a blur. Francine focused so hard that shivers rose on my skin.