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  guy about my age comes out. He's got a sheaf of blond

  hair, fuck, like Austin, and the same build. But I lift my chin

  and act like I don't care. I don't care. I don't.

  He's not alone. He has another guy with him. And

  believe me, they are not the Chippendales. The music

  starts, the heavy bass thumpa-thumpa of some club

  song I don't really know. The boys, dressed in dark

  slacks and white shirts, ties, start to dance.

  Holy fucking shit.

  I glance at Nat, whose eyes are wide. I look at Tori,

  who's grinning from ear to ear. Laurie puts her hand

  over her face and peeks through her fingers.

  They dance.

  I've never seen anything like it. I was expecting some sort

  of choreographed dance routine, some cheesy costumes.

  But not this. This is…I am…

  Wow.

  The taler, dark-haired guy strips out of his white shirt,

  takes off his cap and shakes his hair over one eye. He

  grins, fingers going to the white tie and slipping it loose

  from its knot. The blond's made his way around the room,

  which has filed with curious, giggling and hooting women

  and a few silent men. The dark-haired one, though, he

  turns on one foot and tosses his tie directly at me.

  I know him.

  Oh, shit, I know him. It's Jack, that guy Kira was so

  fucking crazy for. He's taler now, and his hair's longer,

  and oh, shit, shit, he's coming over to me with a look on

  his face that says he knows me, too. His fingers tug the

  buttons free on his white shirt and he slides it open to show

  off a lean chest and bely.

  He's got his nipple pierced and tattoos al over his arm. He

  tilts his head and gives me a grin that sends a lightning bolt

  right to my pussy, and I wish I could pretend it didn't, but

  there's no hiding it. He has to see it, the way my mouth

  opens and my tongue slides over my lips.

  More guys come out of the back and dolar bils are flying

  left and right, but al I can see is this one guy. This one

  grinding in front of me, taking off his shirt, undoing his belt,

  sliding the pants down over his thighs. I want to cover my

  face, afraid he's bare assed, but he clearly knows the

  benefit of anticipation and puls his pants up again, leaving

  the zipper undone to show dark briefs beneath.

  He's got a nice body, nothing like Austin's. He's lean and

  hard, though, and he smels like sex when he puts a hand

  on the back of the couch I didn't want to sit on but did.

  His face is close to my ear when he sings along with the

  lyrics of the song I'l never be able to forget now. He

  makes kissing the sky sound dirty and delicious.

  When he nudges a knee between my thighs I open for him.

  He rubs his body along mine, but fast, not lingering. Then

  he turns. Gives me a sly-ass grin over one shoulder and

  toys with the waistband of his pants.

  Other women are screaming, "Take it off!," but I can't do

  anything except stare. The song ends and slides into

  another and I'm sure he's done. He'l take the dolars and

  go into the back room.

  But he does something else, instead. He gets on his knees,

  sliding across the floor on them until he ends up at my feet.

  And for that one moment, that instant, everything freezes

  for me.

  I can't breathe. I can't blink. I stare at him on that dirty

  floor and our eyes lock. I've never wanted anything as

  much as I want to put my hand in the long silken darkness

  of his hair and pul.

  And in the next moment he's up again, this time shaking his

  ass at the woman waving a five-dolar bil like she might fly

  away with it. The moment passed, but not the feeling. Not

  the memory.

  Later, after the club closed, I fucked Jack in the backseat

  of his car while he whispered dirty, filthy things in my ear.

  We fucked a lot, but not for long.

  He never got on his knees for me again.

  The rap on my window startled me so much my hands

  flew up and knocked against my key ring. I stabbed at the

  radio, switching it off. Heart pounding, I turned to the

  window, expecting a gun.

  I was shot al the same by the sight of the man's face

  beyond the glass. My neighbor, my workout buddy, Mr.

  Mystery. He frowned and leaned closer.

  "Are you al right?"

  I puled my keys from the ignition and grabbed my purse,

  then waited until he'd stepped aside before I opened the

  door. "Yeah. Fine. I was just…spacing out for a minute."

  "Decompressing? Yeah. I do that, too. Sorry I scared

  you."

  I could breathe again, but every nerve ending stil tingled.

  This guy looked nothing like Jack aside from dark hair, but

  even that was nothing alike. I swalowed hard and fought

  not to smooth my hair, though I had a sudden fear of how

  messy it probably looked.

  "It's okay. It's probably not smart to sit in the parking

  garage."

  His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "No, probably

  not. You never know just who might be watching you."

  Funny how that was supposed to sound like a warning but

  Funny how that was supposed to sound like a warning but

  came off as a temptation. He shifted his bag over his

  shoulder and looked me over, seeming as though he might

  say something else, but satisfied himself instead with

  another smile. With a little wave he backed off and got in a

  car across the aisle. It was newer than mine, a dark blue

  hybrid, which told me that at least he was environmentaly

  responsible as wel as hot.

  I waved, too, and watched him drive away. For a second

  or two the memory of Jack's face shimmered and merged

  with my mystery man's. It made me shiver and I put the

  thought from my mind. Jack had been a long time ago, and

  a different time. I was a different me back then.

  Or so I thought.

  Chapter 11

  Though I'd checked my mail that morning, I couldn't resist

  peeking into my mailbox when I got home. Through the

  smal glass window I expected to see nothing, so at first,

  that's al I saw. Then the black sliver of shadow on the

  mailbox's metal floor caught my gaze and my breath

  razored my throat as I sucked it in. I hid my cough behind

  my hand. There was something in my mailbox.

  A Tenant Association flyer, probably. The T.A. was

  notorious for its enthusiasm for memos. But they usualy

  came on half slips of cheap computer paper, the message

  printed multiple times on one sheet and torn in halves or

  thirds. This was not a memo from the T.A.

  I puled out the card, stil not addressed to me, and looked

  around with sudden suspicion. I have never liked surprises.

  Not in parties, not in relationships, not in practical jokes.

  I saw other tenants in the lobby and standing by the

  elevators. Some with unfamiliar faces moved past me

  toward the stairs to the basement. Nobody looked at me.

  If anyone was watching to see what I'd do, they were

  being