I blow-dry my mane bone straight. It’s still not as thick as Monroe’s, but my hair is shiny and soft as butter. “You’re so damn hot,” Monroe says as I study myself in the mirror. What’s strange is that I’m wearing a dress similar to the one I wore in the dream I just had about Robert, except this one is powder blue. “This is the last straw,” I say. “It’s time I woman up and buy my own clothes.” “Nah, let me buy your rags, Mags. You have no idea how to dress that sexy body of yours, and I do.” Monroe slaps me on the ass. “I must admit,” I say, turning this way and that, “this dress looks really good on me.” “Really good? You look hot!” She slaps my ass again. Monroe and I talk about Dash, the new guy she’s seeing, as I sit on the chaise and watch her get dressed. “Have you heard me say ‘gnarly’ yet?” she asks. “Only dozens of times.” “I like that word.” She threads an earring through the hole in her earlobe. “I always knew I was made to be a Californian.”
