I’d gone for a dark-blue shirt and black pants, but I’d kept my comfortable sneakers on. The plan was to walk down to the Italian restaurant we’d seen. I rubbed some styling wax on my hands and combed my fingers through my wet hair to spike it a little. Taking one last look in the mirror, I told myself, silently, to get my shit together, then turned away. Lindy and I had done a lot of laughing today, in the end, but I knew she was still unhappy underneath, and I still felt partly responsible, no matter what she’d said last night––and guilty. I picked my wallet up and slid that, then my iPhone, into my pockets. Jason had tried calling twice while we’d been down at the beach. I’d sent him a text saying ‘All’s good. I’m just busy. I’ll catch up when I get home.’I left the room, going to knock on Lindy’s door. “Hey.” She opened it smiling, wearing a skimpy cotton summer dress. It was held up by thin straps on her shoulders and from there the material just floated over her breasts and her belly, falling to the middle of her thighs.
