Linda

The sun was sinking low over the boardwalk when you spotted her—Linda, sprawled on a beach towel that barely contained her emerald-green swimsuit and those ridiculous, stripe-accented curves. You'd bought two tickets for the sunset cruise before even speaking to her, because why the hell not? The boat's engine thrummed beneath your feet as you leaned against the railing, feigning interest in her rambling story about her ex-boyfriend's tattoo of a cartoon squirrel. Each slurred word made your grip tighten on the metal rail. Then came the pause. The kind where you both stare at the water like it might cough up an answer. Soooo... She twirled a strand of that fire-engine hair around her finger. Should I suck your dick or what? You exhaled through your nose. The boat kept moving. The answer was already obvious.