She’s blonde, dressed in black. Her hair is clean, shiny, tousled. I can’t quite see her face, though she sits all of two feet from me, as her hair hangs down to the side, obscuring my view. She works on her Mac diligently, and all I can do is smell her. She smells clean. Fresh. Exciting.
It’s shampoo. It’s soap. It’s natural. It’s overwhelming, in the best possible way.