It’s like she put on that damn dress to irritate me. The sequins shimmer and flash every time she moves, commanding my gaze like a magnet. And then I find myself watching her. Watching her sway her hips and flip her hair to cheesy ballads. Watching the hem of her dress ride up her ass as she leans over the bar to talk to the server. Even when she sits in the shadows, twirling the straw in her gin and tonic, with a lop-sided smile, observing Don and Amelia dancing to the slow songs, she forces me to watch her. It’s all too easy to forget she’s a gold-digging whore.
