by Megan Hart
clowns. "Just because you want something doesn't mean
you should have it."
"Just because you want something doesn't mean you
should deny yourself the pleasure," Miriam said serenely.
"Buy yourself that box. You deserve it."
"I have nothing to write with it!"
"Letters to a sweetheart," she suggested.
"I don't have a sweetheart." I shook my head again.
"Sorry, Miriam. Can't do it now. Maybe some other time."
She sighed. "Fine, fine. Deny yourself the pleasure of
something pretty. You think that's what you need?"
"I think I need to pay my bils before I can buy luxuries,
that's what I think."
"Ah. Sensible." She inclined her head. "Practical. Not very romantic. That's you."
romantic. That's you."
"You can tel al that from the kind of paper I buy?" I put
my hands on my hips to stare at her. "C'mon."
Miriam shrugged, and it was easy to see how she must
have been as a young woman. Stubborn, graceful,
beautiful. "I can tel it by the paper you don't buy. When you're an old lady, you'l be wise like me, too."
"I hope so." I laughed.
"I hope you'l come back and buy yourself that box. It's
meant for you, Paige."
"I'l definitely think about it. Okay? Is that good enough?"
"If you buy the paper," Miriam told me, "I guarantee you'l find something worth writing in it."
Chapter 02
Shal we begin?
This is your first list.
You wil folow each instruction perfectly. There is no
margin for error. The penalty for failure is dismissal.
Your reward wil be my attention and command.
You wil write a list of ten. Five flaws. Five strengths.
Deliver them promptly to the address below.
The square envelope in my hand bore the faint ridges of
realy expensive paper and no glue on the flap, like the
reply envelope included with an invitation. I turned the
heavy, cream-colored card that had been inside it over
and over in my fingers. It felt like high-grade linen. Also
expensive. I fingered the slightly rough edge along one
side. Custom cut, maybe, from a larger sheet. Not quite
heavy enough to be a note card, but too thick to use in a
computer printer.
I lifted the envelope to my face and sniffed it. A faint,
I lifted the envelope to my face and sniffed it. A faint,
musky perfume clung to the paper, which was smooth but
also porous. I couldn't identify the scent, but it mingled
with the aroma of expensive ink and new paper until my
head wanted to spin.
I touched the black, looping letters. I didn't recognize the
handwriting, and the letter bore no signature. Each word
had been formed carefuly, each letter precisely drawn,
without the careless loops, ticks and whorls that marked
most people's writing. This looked practiced and efficient.
Faceless.
The paper listed a post-office box at one of the local
branch offices, and that was it. Since moving into
Riverview Manor five months ago, I'd received a few
advertising circulars, requests for charitable donations
addressed to two different former tenants and way too
many bils. I hadn't had any personal mail at al. I turned
the card over again, listening to the soft sigh of the paper
on my skin. It didn't have a name or address on the front.
Only a number, scrawled in the same languid hand as the
note. I looked closer, seeing what in my haste I hadn't
noticed before.
114
114
That explained it, then. This note wasn't for me at al. The
ink had smeared a little, turning the one into a passable
version of a four, if you weren't paying close attention.
Someone had stuffed this into my mailbox, 414, by
mistake.
At least it wasn't another baby shower or wedding
invitation from "friends" I hadn't seen in the past few years.
I wasn't a fan of being put on a loot-gathering mailing list
just because once upon a time we'd been in a math class
together.
"What's that?" Kira had come up behind me in a cloud of
cigarette odor and now dug her chin into my shoulder.
I don't know why I didn't want to show her, but I closed
the card and slipped it back into the envelope, then found
the right mailbox and shoved it through the slot. I peeked
into the glass window and saw it resting inside the metal
cave, slim and single and alone.
"Nothing. It wasn't for me."
"C'mon then, whore. Let's get upstairs. We have a
"C'mon then, whore. Let's get upstairs. We have a
threesome with Jose, Jack and Jim." She held up the
clanking paper grocery sack containing the bottles.
Every woman should have a slutty friend. The one who
makes her feel better about herself. Because no matter
how drunk she got the night before, or how many guys she
made out with at that party, or how short her skirt is, that
slutty friend wil always have been…wel…sluttier.
Kira and I had traded that role back and forth over the
years, a fact I would never be proud of but couldn't hide.
"It's not even eight o'clock. Things don't start jumping until
at least eleven."
"Which is why I stopped at the liquor store." She looked
around the lobby and raised both eyebrows. "Wow.
Nice."
I looked, too. I always did, even though I'd memorized
nearly every tile in the floor. "Thanks. C'mon, let's grab the
elevator."
She had to have been as equaly impressed with my
apartment, but she didn't say so. She swept through it,
opening cupboard doors and looking in my medicine
cabinet, and when it came time to eat the subs we'd
bought for dinner she made a show of setting my scarred
kitchen table with real plates instead of paper. But she
didn't tel me it was nice.
It was almost like old times as we giggled over our food
and watched reality TV at the same time. I hadn't forgotten
what a bizarre and hilarious sense of humor Kira had, but
it had been a long time since I laughed so hard my stomach
clenched into knots. I was suddenly glad I'd invited her
over. There's something nice about being with someone
who already knows al your faults and likes you anyway…
or at least doesn't like you any less because of them.
She had a new boyfriend. Tony something-or-other, I
didn't recognize the name. Kira had never mentioned him
in her text messages or occasional e-mails to me, but the
way she dropped it casualy into our conversation now
meant she wanted me to ask about him.
"How long have you been going out?" I leveled a shot of
Cuervo and studied it, not sure I wanted to take it. Once
upon a time I'd been able to toss them back without fear
of the consequences, but I hadn't done much drinking
lately. I pushed it toward her, instead.
Kira drank back the shot with a practiced gulp. "Since just
after you moved. A long time."
I didn't feel as if it had been
that long, but anything longer
than three months was a record of sorts with her. "Good
for you."
She wrinkled her nose. "Whatever. He's good in bed and
buys me shit. And he has a fucking awesome car. He's got
a job. He's not a loser."
"Al good things." I had slightly higher standards, or at least now I did, but I smiled at her description of him and
wrapped up the papers from our food.
Kira got up to help me. "Yeah. I guess so. He's a good
guy."
Which said more than anything else she had. I shot her a
look. Times did change, I reminded myself. So did people.
When it came time to get ready to go out, though, the Kira
I knew faked a gag. "Gawd, don't wear that."
I looked down at my low-rise jeans. They were boot cut. I
I looked down at my low-rise jeans. They were boot cut. I
had boots. I even had a cute cap-sleeved T-shirt. The
hours of working out I'd been putting in lately were paying
off. "What's wrong with what I have on?"
Kira swung open my closet door and rummaged around
inside. "Don't you have anything…better?"
High school was a long time ago, I wanted to say, but
looking at her short denim skirt and tight, bely-baring
blouse, I figured my comment would be lost. I shrugged,
instead.
"I know you have hotter clothes than that." Kira
reappeared from my closet with a handful of shirts and
skirts I remembered buying but hadn't worn in a long time.
She tossed the clothes onto my bed, where they spread
out in a month's worth of outfits.
I picked up a silky tank top in a pretty shade of lavender
and a stretchy black skirt. I held them up to myself in front
of my ful-length mirror. Then I put them back on the bed.
"No, thanks," I said. "I'l wear what I've got on. It's comfortable."
Kira shook her head. "Oh, ew. Paige, c'mon."
Kira shook her head. "Oh, ew. Paige, c'mon."
"Ew?" I looked at myself again. The jeans clung to my hips and ass just right, and my T-shirt emphasized how flat my
stomach was becoming. I thought I looked pretty damn
good. "What's ew?"
"It's just, you know…" Kira trailed off and pushed her
way next to me to hog the reflection. "You gotta show off
a little bit."
I looked her over. Even in my stack-heeled boots, I stood
a few inches shorter. She'd grown her natural red hair into
long layers that fel halfway down her back. She never
tanned, so her dark eyeliner looked extrablack and the
fuck-me red lipstick even redder.
I looked in the mirror again, turning my chin to one side,
then the other, to catch my profile. My hair's blond. And
it's natural. My eyes are blue, but dark, almost navy. I
look a lot like my dad, which is one reason, maybe, why
he never bothered denying I was his.
"I think I look fine," I told her, but the faint sound of
longing slithered into my voice.
I spent my clothes budget on simple, brand-name pieces I
picked up off-season or in discount stores. I'd spent the
past few years building my wardrobe. Clothes for work
and casual wear that looked expensive enough to pass as
classy. I paired them with shoes I couldn't always afford. I
wasn't going to be Clarice Starling, giving away my
background with my good bag and my cheap shoes.
I looked again at my reflection and thought of the whisper
of satin on my skin. Going without a bra, how my nipples
would push at the fabric and force a man's eyes straight to
my breasts. Every man's eyes.
I picked up the tank top again and held it up. I smoothed
the fabric over my stomach. Kira gave me an approving
nod and slung an arm around my shoulders and bumped
me with her hip. "C'mon. You know you want to."
I did want to. I wanted to go out and get shit-hammered
drunk and dance and smoke and rub up on half a dozen
boys. I wanted to feel a hot, hard body against mine and
look for lust in a pair of eyes I didn't know.
I wanted not to worry about proving anyone right about
me.
I puled my tank top over my head and after a second's
hesitation, unhooked my bra. The satin tank top slithered
over my head and fel to my hips. My breasts swayed
under the smooth fabric. My nipples tightened at once, and
I shivered.
"Let me get you some makeup," Kira said.
She lugged her huge purse over to me and puled out pots
and tubes and brushes and glitter. I love glitter. I hadn't
worn glitter in forever, either. No place for it here, in my
new life.
"I'l do it." I wouldn't dream of sharing makeup that had
been on her face. No teling what germs could be passed
on that way. I waved her away and went into my
bathroom, where I rummaged beneath my sink.
I puled out my own box of tricks and treats. Lipsticks in
berry shades, eye shadows in rainbow hues. Lots and lots
of half-used black-eyeliner sticks and a few bottles of
liquid eyeliner. I shook one, thinking it must have dried up
after al these years, but when I unscrewed the cap with its
built-in brush, the makeup inside was stil smooth.
I painted a mask. It looked just like me, only brighter.
Bolder. More. Once, I'd worn this face every day. Once,
it had been the only one I had.
My makeup finished, I squeezed into the tight black skirt. I
left my legs bare. I'd be chily on the walk from the parking
garage to the bar, but hot enough inside once I started
dancing. From my closet I puled out a truly fucking
fabulous pair of pumps.
Kira had been bent over her phone, fingers stabbing out
messages, but her eyes widened and she reached for the
shoes. "Oh, wow. Steve Madden!"
"First pair I ever bought." I stroked the smooth black
patent leather. Four-inch heels. Most men couldn't have
told the difference between a Steve Madden shoe and a
Payless pump, but they looked twice when I wore them.
Sometimes more than twice.
I slipped into the shoes and stood, adjusting to the way my
center of balance shifted. My mother had taught me the art
of how to walk in heels this high. I used to raid her closet
as a kid and parade around the house in her shoes.
I smoothed the silky shirt over my bely and hips and
I smoothed the silky shirt over my bely and hips and
turned around to look at myself one last time in the mirror.
"Ready to go?"
"I guess so," Kira said sulenly. "Except now you look awesome and I look like shit."
"You look hot," I promised. What were friends for?
She was convinced, more because she wanted to believe it
than because I'd tried hard. "Okay, let's go get shit-
hammered!"
I saw him again, that dark-haired man. This time, he was
coming in as I was going out. We passed each other not
so much like two ships, as much as one ship passing while
the other crashes into an iceberg. I couldn't be offended
that his gaze slid over and past me, taking in the short s
kirt
and high heels without a second look. He had his head
down and was talking urgently into his cel phone. He
didn't have attention to spare me. And it wasn't his fault I
was trying so hard to pretend I wasn't looking back at him
that I ran into the edge of the door frame hard enough to
leave a bruise.
"Smooth move, Ex-Lax." Kira smirked. She hadn't even
"Smooth move, Ex-Lax." Kira smirked. She hadn't even
noticed it was the man from earlier that day. "Nice to see
you can hold your tequila."
I shrugged off the sting in my shoulder and didn't reply. His
sleeve had brushed my bare arm as he passed, and the
hairs on it al the way up to the back of my neck had stood
at that brief, simple touch. A slow, tumbling rol of
sensation centered in my bely.
He lived in my building.
Chapter 03
I shouldn't have been so surprised. I saw a lot of
Riverview Manor tenants at Miriam's shop, and in the
Morningstar Mocha, the coffee shop at the end of our
block. I ran into them in the post office and parking garage
and at the grocery store, too. Harrisburg's a smal city.
Even so, I couldn't shake the memory of those dark eyes,
that thick, dark hair. The brush of a shirtsleeve on my bare
skin. Fuck. I was horny, no two ways around it, and no
wonder. It had been ages since I'd had sex with anyone
but myself.
We had our choice of places downtown, but I wanted to
go to the Pharmacy. We took a cab since I wouldn't drive
after drinking, and the walk that was fine on a Sunday
afternoon in sweatpants would be too long to make at
night in heels…and shit-hammered.
The bar was packed, even for a Friday night. We pushed
through the crowd toward the bar, Kira leading. She
stopped abruptly and I ran into her. Someone ran into me.
Someone also grabbed my ass, but when I turned to see
who it was and possibly haul off and smack the shit out of
who it was and possibly haul off and smack the shit out of
them, al I could see was an ocean of possible culprits.
"Hey, Jack," Kira said, and I turned.
Shit. Jack had been the love of Kira's life our senior year, when he transferred in from another school. She'd plotted
and schemed for months to get him to ask her to the prom,
determined to get in his pants. It hadn't worked, so far as I
knew. I only knew that once Kira had keyed one of his
girlfriends' cars.
Kira didn't know Jack and I had fucked each other
