Shamelessly her eyes roamed the curve between his neck and shoulder, her fingers working the charcoal. She defined the lines of his shoulders more than anything, blending in his muscles. His waist tapered down, her sketch lines softer. Next, his freckles, and then eventually a quick gesture of his messy hair. ‘Time!’ He changed poses. This time facing her directly. A deep blush colored her cheeks as the heat of her infatuation spread down between her legs. It took everything to just bite her bottom lip and not moan. A man never had such a direct affect on her. The bare intensity of her stare resumed, her green eyes openly grazing over the handsome panes of his face, hidden behind the stubble. Her fingers trembled as she imagined his scruff nuzzling her neck, his chest pressed against the fullness of hers. She had to set her charcoal down and grip the fabric of her skirt. Inhaling sharply she turned to the clock – another hour and an half to endure. Squirming in her seat she was. The wind picked up almost on cue, sending a long frigid gust that blew her skirt up high enough to expose her underwear entirely. Goosebumps rose on her skin. As she drew closer, she noticed Eugenia was even more casually dressed than usual, unflatteringly so—a seemingly improvised dress made of undyed canvas hung about the girl’s top-heavyfigure like a sandwich board. Her choppy blonde hair was matted together in clumps, and she was barefoot. She also carried a tin can which Betty could easily imagine was a pauper’s donation cup, though she quickly recalled last night’s conversation regarding the alternative uses of cans, and her heart again skipped. Shaking her head as if to ward off her most bizarre thoughts, Betty composed herself and began to walk. She balanced herself against the ground, almost stumbling several times. Eventually, with some effort, she joined Eugenia on the back porch. The ragged young girl before her pointed to a gravestone planted in a recess nearby. It was.
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