But she couldn’t relax with him. They had been kissing and talking for eight hours now and she still didn’t know what she wanted.
Dexter, waiting in the bedroom, looked around him. He had been in so many rooms like this one – rooms where girls like Emma lived. These girls always wore t-shirts with political slogans17 on the fronts. There were always political posters on their walls. There were always CDs of political songs.