"Come in."The door opened and my mother appeared, smiling. "Morning, sweetheart. Thought I heard you."My brow twitched, my gaze dropping for the brief...st moment. She was wearing a white babydoll with powder blue accents, her heavy, pendulous breasts straining the fabric, her dark areolas and long, thick nipples clearly visible. Though she was a good twenty pounds overweight, she carried it surprisingly well on her tall frame. At thirty-six, she was much prettier than most of my friends'. Wer hat das Tagebuch geschrieben und wann? Wer hat es dem Museum gespendet und in welcher Beziehung standen sie zu mir? Welches Museum möchte nicht ein Originaldokument aus dem 19. Jahrhundert besitzen, und warum könnte ein Tagebuch „weder zur Ausstellung noch zum Studium geeignet sein“?Der beste Ort, um diese Fragen zu beantworte, schien das in Leder gebundene Buch zu sein, das auf meinem Tisch lag, und ich löste mit ziemlicher Aufregung und Neugierde die Riemen und öffnete den Band.Ich war. No matter, he thought with an inward chuckle, that'll be remedied soon enough. "What're you so happy about, huh?" Zach sighed, his heart racing with excitement as he draped an arm over her bare shoulders. "Oh, nothing." Zach had put up with Amanda's moronic bullshit for 6 months, a month short of how long it'd taken her to come up with the money for a plane ticket to New York to meet him. On some whim of boredom and sadistic tendancies, he'd actually accepted the friend request from her. To his. Apparently one of those locations is in the mesquite scrublands of South Texas because the likelihood of parking one's pickup truck for a while to look at things, then getting back in and driving off only to find that one has acquired Carlita is the probability of two to the power of 276,709 to one against.Yet there she sits. My Carlita. I've never been happier.She releases my hand, runs her hands over her short hair. I know the length bothers her. Still, Pat managed to get her into a hair.