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He was on the rebound; he shouldn’t be considering other women in any capacity other than friends, if only for their sakes. Molly, though…something about her was getting to him. Molly was colorful, he thought. That had been his very first impression when she had spun through the office door. It wasn't that her clothes clashed, or that she wore garish colors or patterns. At dinner she'd worn a pair of dark purple slacks—Maddy would have called them "plum," he was sure—a blouse with a small print, and that pretty necklace. I could use some color, he thought ruefully. Chelsea, he recalled, had usually dressed in dark, neutral colors. She had even started redecorating his apartment a little, adding lots of what he considered "blah spots." Tan throw pillows. Beige throw rugs. Nothing terrible, but then again, nothing special. His apartment, he realized, had begun to look like an Ikea display; attractive but devoid of personality. Molly, on the other hand, was like a walking rainbow.. I was sat on the worktop evidently trying to show off the body I had, I was considering the chances of doing what I always wanted to do while she was drunk, but I felt it was wrong so I just stared at her as she had her head in her hands, the electric blue dress and high heels made her tanned legs look amazing and I could see her breasts just looking to escape that bra and jump onto the table, I was willing them on but they didn’t have the balls I guess.I’d just knelt down to take the food out of the oven when I heard her crying, I thought she was drunk but her hands were just hiding the tears and not supporting her head, I walked over to see if she was ok.“I’m fine, I’m sorry, it’s just... oh, no, it doesn’t matter... I’m being silly”“You sure?” I asked.There was no reply just a gentle nod as a tear dripped down her beautiful face.She’d sat eating her fish fingers and some oven chips for awhile now, something seemed to be occupying her mind, as she was in a world of her own, then.
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