And he swore he would make her sorry.For Dylan's sake, she hoped he didn't show up. Dylan was the only good thing that had ever come out of her relationship with Dash. He was their son, and he had just turned twelve. Dash had left Sonya when Dylan was three, and Dylan didn't remember him. He looked upon 'Frankie' as he called J. Francis, as his father.Now, at the age of thirty-two, Sonya was finally happy and getting married.The door suddenly burst open and framed in the doorway was Dash.Sonya leapt from her chair and snatched up her silk robe to cover her near naked body."Dash, what the hell are you doing here?" I want to see my son." He's in the playroom, and you have no right to come barging into Francis' home..."Sonya trailed off as she noticed that Dash was dressed in a suit. Dash saw her face and said, "No, I'm not a guest, but how do you think I got in? I told the maid who answered the door that I was. Now, tell me where the playroom is, and I'll collect Dylan and go." You are. You are such a celebrity whore, you know. Just because she replied to that tweet of yours about liking broccoli, you think she’s your best friend forever.”“Look, can’t we find somewhere to shelter,” I grumbled, trying to change the subject. “Or at least let me squeeze up under your brolly. Just look at me.”“I am; you really shouldn’t have worn that t-shirt, especially without a bra.”“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said, looking down at my chest. My tight white t-shirt had gone totally see-through and I might as well not have been wearing it for all the good it was doing. My breasts and the darker circles of my nipples were totally visible through the thin cotton, which clung seductively to every curve. My short skirt wasn’t much better, moulding itself to my thighs and hips, although at least it hadn’t gone transparent.“Yep, if only we could find a wet t-shirt contest for you to enter, you’d be a shoo-in.”“No wonder all those people walking past have been staring at me,” I wailed. “I thought.
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