What was she, a six-year-old? ‘Uh, not really. I got cold and came inside. They’ll probably be back in soon.’ ‘Still,’ he returned, steppin... so close to her that she caught the scent of chlorine and cologne that rose from his skin. ‘As an Italian man, I know better than to leave a woman on her own. Especially,’ he added, his eyes scanning her from head to toe, ‘when she’s wearing such a charming little ensemble.’ His attention shifted downward, toward her dress and an amused smile played at. She pulled her bike onto the gravel driveway and dropped it next to the old drunk's beat up Ford pickup. The front door was wide open and she could see inside the living room. The place was a shithole, with trash littering the floor. Empty beer cans were everywhere and the air stank of cigarettes and stale beer. Against the wall, where a couch might normally be was a bed and on top of that lay the sleeping lump of Emmett Johnson.Nervously, Connie called his name a couple of times from the. More

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