Because I’d already planned on staying out with Alec, I had brought a change of clothes in the car: a red slip dress that pulled over my black camisole, and black strappy sandals. I wriggled out of my yoga pants and combed my hair before leaving the front seat, annoyed that I had chosen not to bring underwear. But, considering the circumstances, it might have been the right choice anyway. I had a shitload of sexual frustration to work out, topped off with some serious irritation. Dr. Randall was about to get lucky. I found a seat at a tall table away from the bar and texted Amy my change of plans. Before she could shoot back a series of questions I didn’t want to answer, I slipped my phone back in my purse and got my bearings. The lighting was dim, the music elegant, and the clientele composed entirely of pastel-clad yuppies. I stuck out like a gypsy in a church with my wild black hair and red dress. Aware of the stares I was drawing, I averted my eyes out the window. Daylight was fading and the sky had taken on an orange hue.
