Oh, you caught her. Hayley Marie Coppin stands in her beautiful white bedroom, all arched alcoves and cream dressing table and floral-patterned chair, dressed in the most charming black polka-dot satin camisole and matching shorts edged with a flash of teal, and she has the lotion out and she is absolutely following the directions to the letter. She reads them again for good measure, glances up with those blue eyes and announces, perfectly matter-of-factly, that the bottle says to rub it all over her body, and she is taking that instruction very seriously indeed.
The camisole is off in seconds, the shorts after that, and Hayley works the lotion into every inch of her golden skin with the slow, thorough attention of someone who has absolutely no intention of missing a spot. Her long blonde hair falls forward as she smooths and curves and tilts in the warm, bright light of the bedroom, completely bare and completely absorbed in the task. Any volunteers for her back? The queue, it is safe to say, forms to the left.