Max sat back down on the bench. “I wasn’t, but then . . . he came out in those jeans and T-shirt . . . goddamn!” “You know what it was? He didn’t smell like Dutch anymore. I told you he smelled like Dutch!” “I don’t mind Dutch’s funk. Unless he’s gone to a wolf party. All that tequila does not come through his pores well.” “No. But Dutch might as well be your brother. He’s not someone you’ve ever had a thing for. And Zé was covered in that brotherly funk. But now he’s in clothes that only reek of this horrible place, which allows you to drill down to his natural musk.” She grinned, crinkling
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