What to wear?His 'dress sexy' comment rankled me. It was as if he figured I was just going to show up, get on my knees and start sucking his cock. F...rget that. It was over, and he'd better get that through his head. I was finished being a sex toy.At first, I thought, okay, show up in dirty jeans and an old sweater.But then I thought, well, I didn't want to show up looking like shit. I mean, that was too obviously rebellious, which would show weakness. I mean, if I had to rebel, then. Though they’re not the best shoes to work in, I have these cowboy boots that come up to just below my knees that I wear sometimes with that skirt ‘cause I know how sexy it makes me look, but mostly I wear sandals. I love looking sexy, you know, tight tank tops, t-shirts or low cut peasant blouses and I never wear a bra. I don’t need one. My tits are a good handful and pretty perky. They move a little when I walk and my nipples show–what the fuck, I don’t give a damn. I like how free and. Bad. He smirked, who could blame her, he was hot. By necessity of course, but a guy has his pride. She turned to face him, her cheeks flushed and her mouth parted in a pant. Blood rushed to his groin, the growth painful and irritating. She looked like she needed sex as much as he did. His gaze locked with her steel blue one and he could almost taste the arousal in the air. He looked deeper into her eyes and wasn’t shocked to find a flash of vulnerability before she slammed her guard up. It. “What about my missing ball?” Charlie asked him. Gerrard dropped a ball onto the light rough. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said. “Oh Gerrard. You sweetheart,” Charlie responded. The rest of the round proceeded pretty much as normal, given the circumstances. Gerrard handed out advice where needed. Charlie took the advice and tried to act on it. Normal. At the last hole, a par three, Gerrard took the first shot. He’d never had a hole-in-one, never in all those years, but he’d come pretty.