A few minutes later, as if on cue (because it WAS her cue), Suzanne Pestridge danced out the back door of the house. She was wearing nothing but a skimpy red bikini which barely held on to her voluptuous bouncing breasts. Her long hair whipped about wildly as she swung to the salsa beat that blared from the ear-buds of her IPod, except for one long lock of hair that was duct-taped in a zig-zag pattern over her left breast because ... well, let's face it ... the way those puppies were bouncing, Scotch tape would not have worked."¡Hola mi amiga!" Suzanne sang out to her friend, pulling the ear-buds out."Suzanne! Get your pasty-white hinterkhaylek over here!"Suzanne glanced down over her own bronzed body and struck an attitude pose."Say what?"Susan frowned, and peered over her glasses, examining her friend's now-caramel-colored form."So? What happened to you? Run out of milk?"Suzanne scoffed and sauntered over to her friend. "Ahh ... Slight accident with a bottle of spray-on tan and a. She didnt even leave a note. Grace turned back toward Jason. Her eyes had opened up, tears slipped down her cheeks. He took her face in his hands, kissed her forehead, then kissed each of her eyelids. She moved into him and their lips met, softly at first but then they were both ravenous, as if they had been hungry for something that only the other could offer. He laid her back on the bench and moved his hands up her waist to her breasts. He hesitated, wondering briefly if pursuing her just after shed disclosed how her sister had committed suicide would be in poor taste, but Grace arched her back under his touch. She tugged at his shirt and he pulled it over his head, she moved her hands over his slender chest, which was lightly brushed with dark brown hair. He ran his hands slowly down her waist, his thumbs grazed her slight hipbones. As his hands moved, he noticed that she wasnt dressed in her usual jeans-tank top combination, but in a thin, cotton sundress. He slid his hands.
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