” My name.“I can see why,” I tell you.“You don’t think it’s a little tarty?” You rotate your hips and make the hem flare.“A little, ma...be,” I say.“You think my husband likes me looking a little tarty?”“Could be,” I say.“You think my husband thinks about other men looking at me like you’re looking at me?”“I imagine he must. You’re a very sexy woman.”“Do you think he enjoys it when other men see me dressed like this?”“Probably,” I say. “He probably wants them to admire his wife.”You stand facing. "What about you?" Oh, I'm fine. Sweet dreams. What did you dream about?"The question was simple, thrown like a smooth, perfect stone into a plate-glass window. She blanched, started to say something, hesitated. She'd dreamt of him last night. He was looking at her, the innocent look gone, his eyes staring straight back at her, pinning her, daring her to deny what he already knew.She blinked, took a sip of coffee to cover herself, and mentally slapped her cheek. She could play too, damn it! She. More

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