Damn Larkin, I think, tossing and turning in my bed. I’m somewhere between awake and asleep, hovering just out of reach of consciousness.
Damn LarkinI think of yesterday afternoon. I was in the kitchen, settled against the counter of a kitchen that was almost but not quite mine, arms crossed. I watched Sarah, her dark hair against her white longsleeve shirt, her chubby hands sunk into both the dogs’ coats.
not quiteIt’s not like I didn’t notice Larkin, though. How could I not? She’s obviously beautiful, with her long blonde hair and her enchanting toffee-colored eyes. I’m still a red-blooded male, and she has a picture perfect hourglass figure.
I’m not immune to her charms, is what I am saying. I hadn’t forgotten about Britta. Who could? But I wasn’t thinking of her right that second. I
