It must be because of the wet shirt.”“It doesn’t look wet” I observed.Farah put a hand over the rise of her left breast and pinched the nub, �...�Your right, it isn’t.” She took the bottle of beer and rolled it across one breast then the second. The heavy, cold condensation clinging to the glass soaked the shirt over her nipples. When she was done, she had a wet spot at the end of each breast, her nipples stood rigid against the chilled wet cloth.“Now how do I look?”I looked her over from hair to. "Oh, don't worry, Tank. He's with me and he's legal,aren't ya, honey?" and she looked at me."Oh, um, SURE." I sputtered, trying to look like Ibelonged there."Besides, Tankie," she continued, "I owe him. This isthe guy who's been SO nice to me all summer at thestore. Remember? I told you all about him." Oh yeah." Tank rumbled. I remember now. "Hey, kid.Put 'er there." And he held up a hand about the sizeof a catcher's mitt. "Any pal 'o Holly's is okay inMY book. You just mind your P's and Q's. More

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