if they’re not committing fraud?" I ask.
"Then yes, you theoretically waste six, eight months of your life in the Pacific Northwest and there's nothing I can do about it."
I nod and get out of the car.
A little breeze comes off the ocean and I smell the salt in the air. We ring the doorbell and Marguerite answers wearing an apron around her protruding belly.
She looks stunning in her velvet pumps and a Lilly Pulitzer dress. Her hair is pulled up in a chignon. She welcomes us inside while Lincoln hands us glasses of wine.
A waiter places plates of food on the table, for us to eat family style: green beans and poached salmon, along with an assortment of vegetables and freshly made garlic bread.
My mouth starts to water as the senses at the dinner table overwhelm me.
Candles are lit, the conversation is topical, and we laugh and engage in a way that I haven't with people in a long time. Lincoln tells me about his investments and his company and Marguerite shares exciting stories from the ER.
Both Lincoln and Marguerite are incredibly welcoming and I can't remember the last time I had such a good time at a dinner party. They're the kind of couple that are a wonder to have at a party. They put everyone at ease and make you feel immediately comfortable and like you're among friends.
Unlike some of Allison's friends where it feels like competition to impress one another, this is anything but that. They ask me about my work and about my degree, and we talk a little bit about Ivy League universities and our experiences at various campuses. I have been to Yale a few times for a few parties, but they've never been to Dartmouth.
In the heat and the stickiness of the summer, we think about what it's like to go skiing in the chill of a New England winter. We reminisce and dream of it, the way you only do when it's July, when the idea of being snowed in for a few days after a heavy blizzard is something that's incredibly romantic.
After dessert, Marguerite starts to feel tired, even though she has been drinking nothing but non-alcoholic wine the whole evening and they retire to their room.
Dante and I go to the patio instead where we watch the fireflies buzz around and we split a bottle of wine. It's summer days like these that go on forever, that makes me love life the most.
"What if I said yes to Seattle?" I say, swirling my glass of wine, sitting in an Adirondack chair and glancing at the man of my dreams.
"I'd be eternally grateful," he says, "but I don't want to put pressure on you. I can help you with your cover letters and your resumes if you want to try for a news job."
"This a news job," I say, reaching over and squeezing his hand.
22
Jacqueline
I like sitting out here with Dante. A little bit of light dances off the pool and our fingers are intertwined in that casual, quiet way that you touch someone that you'll be with for a long time.
He tugs on my hand a little bit and I glance over. He nods in my general direction to get me to sit up, and when I do, he pulls me over to him and positions me on top of him. He reaches up, putting his hands up my neck and kisses me passionately.
"Hello there," I say, and he laughs.
I kiss him again and his hands go down my back and make their way to the top of my butt, squeezing my cheeks ever so lightly. I push my legs firmly into him and I feel his large cock. I reach down and start to unbutton his pants.
He pulls my dress up to my waist and slides his hand underneath my panties. He kisses my neck and my breasts and I tilt my head back. Then he pulls the top of my dress down and takes my nipple into his mouth.
"Oh, this feels so good," I moan.
"Do you want to go upstairs?" I ask.
"No, let's do it here.”
I hesitate, but when I feel his tongue on the outside of my neck again, playing with my earlobe, I lose all capacity for thought.
"Ahem.” Someone clears their throat.
It takes me a moment to realize whether I've actually heard what I thought I heard.
"Excuse me?"
This time, the voice comes in a lot more clearly. I turn around slightly and peer into the darkness;