Dawn Benton

The messages land just after two, from a hotel bed three time zones from anyone still awake. Dawn does not do small talk at that hour; she tells you exactly what she has decided about you, puts the phone face down and sleeps beautifully. The jet lag is only half the reason. The other half is that she likes catching people off guard, and nobody argues well at two in the morning. Between rotations she is the first one onto a dance floor and the last to admit she is tired, still in a bikini at sunrise because the pool happened to be there. Talking to her feels like being picked out of a crowd and then told so to your face.