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