“Jen asked as she stood in front of the mirror above my fireplace, lifting strands of her hair, assessing each then letting them fall back to her shoulders. “White?” “Mmm,” she mused. “Or maybe blue?” “What the fuck, Jen, you’re not eighty.” She sighed, grimacing at herself before moving her eyes to mine as I sat on the sofa behind her. “I dunno, Zo. I’m getting old, I need to feel young again.” I lifted a brow at her. “You’re hardly old.” I took a sip of my wine and smirked at her. “I’ve told y...ou, let me paint you, that’ll make you feel young.” She scowled at me then sighed and sat down with a hefty flop. “What’s wrong?” She flicked her eyes to me, shrugging dejectedly. “I hate it, Zo. All the young bits of skirt that paw him constantly. The way they look at him, thrust their perky tits at him.” “It’s just his job, Jen. Boss would never touch, you know that.” “I know but, I dunno, one day he might look at me and think ‘Fuck, where did Jen go, the young girl I fell in love with?’ and then…”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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