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  Bangs on boys. There was a fashion statement I was

  helplessly squishy over. "Want something on it? A name or

  something?"

  He flipped open a rack of designs to show me my choices.

  I looked through rows of stylized hearts, flowers and fonts.

  I touched a simple, elegant alphabet.

  "I was thinking…the word slave."

  That perked his interest. "For you?"

  I laughed. "Oh, no."

  "Sweet." He gave the word two sylables.

  "You think?" My fingers stroked the stiff leather. It would circle his wrist like a cuff.

  I tested it on my own and noted how the edge cut a little

  into my skin when I shifted. Not enough to hurt, but I

  into my skin when I shifted. Not enough to hurt, but I

  knew it was there. I handed it to Emoboy, who took it

  over to the machine that stamped the letters. Idly, I flipped

  through the rack of designs while he fiddled with buttons

  and adjusted the bracelet inside the grips holding it stil.

  Then I saw it. "Wait."

  He looked up, one finger on the button that would start the

  machine. "Huh?"

  I gestured for him to come over, and he did, and I pointed

  at the picture on the menu. "I want this, instead."

  He grinned, then nodded. "No problem."

  It took him a minute to adjust the settings and another for

  the machine to stamp the leather. When it was done, he

  handed it to me with the black leather scarred into the

  design I'd chosen. A rose, the stem and thorns made of

  barbed wire.

  Simple. Elegant. And far more subtle than the word slave,

  which didn't feel right, anyway.

  "Here you go." He handed me a bag with the bracelet

  inside. "Enjoy it."

  inside. "Enjoy it."

  Enjoy wasn't exactly the word I'd have chosen, but I took

  the bag with a smile. Our hands touched, and he grinned.

  He knew nothing about me, but he thought he did. And I

  discovered I didn't care.

  I don't think there's a woman alive who doesn't understand

  how the right clothes can entirely change a situation. Under

  my simple summer skirt and casual T-shirt I wore the bra

  and panties Eric had bought for and sent to his mistress.

  The lace and satin clung to my skin and reminded me with

  every step how it felt to be desirable.

  Of course, none of that showed on the surface. I met him

  in the lobby as had become our habit on these semi-dates,

  and he greeted me with a smile and a half hug. He wore a

  long-sleeved Henley shirt, but when the sleeve rode up I

  saw the flat leather strap of his bracelet. The one I'd sent

  him. The one that marked him as mine.

  "Ready to go?" Eric held the door open for me and we

  both went out into the warm spring evening air.

  "Starving," I said. "I had my windows open and could

  smel the funnel cakes al the way upstairs."

  smel the funnel cakes al the way upstairs."

  He patted his stomach. "We'l stop there first."

  Al along the riverfront, stands had been set up for the first

  summer festival. Some sold handmade arts and crafts,

  others boasted displays from local companies. Some had

  games, the prizes cheap things like water bottles

  emblazoned with the names of banks and restaurants. As

  summer festivals went, it was one of the less glorious, but

  al that realy mattered to me was the food.

  Stal after stal of greasy, delicious fair food. Corn dogs,

  ice cream, French fries and vinegar to go with them. My

  stomach let out a loud, obnoxious rumble as we crossed

  Front Street to get to the sidewalk on the other side and

  headed to the left to walk about a quarter mile to reach the

  rows of booths. Music from one of the local radio stations

  blared from a huge boom box set up on a trailer. Morning-

  show personalities handed out T-shirts, mugs and key

  chains as we passed.

  "Do you want something?" Eric asked as I stepped aside

  to let a mother pushing a double stroler pass on her quest

  for free junk. "T-shirt?"

  "No, thanks. I don't listen to that station. And besides, it

  "No, thanks. I don't listen to that station. And besides, it

  doesn't matter if it's free if I'l never use it."

  "Mind if I grab one? You can never have too many T-

  shirts."

  "Go ahead." I looked at the crowd surrounding the boom

  box and estimated how long it would take him to get his

  shirt, then down the rows to the line for funnel cakes. "I'l

  get in line for the funnel cakes."

  We parted and I pushed my way through the crowd. The

  prizes might be cheap and the food overpriced, but

  nobody seemed to care. Kids carried baloons in ice-

  cream-covered fists and couples walked hand in hand. I

  got in line behind a couple with matching tattoos on their

  wrists, a pair of joined hearts. As I watched them whisper

  and giggle, their fingers linked, their eyes for nobody else,

  envy roled slowly over in my gut.

  Against my skin, lace and satin once again reminded me

  how it felt to be wanted. Craved. Obeyed. None of it did

  me any good standing here in the setting, early spring sun,

  with a ten-dolar bil clutched in my fist and nobody there

  to hold my hand.

  I looked back through the crowd for Eric but caught only

  a glimpse of what might have been the top of his dark,

  curly hair. The crowd around the boom box had grown

  and the DJ standing on a smal platform with a microphone

  in his hand was now announcing some sort of contest. The

  line in front of me was moving faster than I'd expected and

  I placed my order and walked away with a paper plate of

  hot fried dough covered in powdered sugar before the DJ

  was even done drawing a winner.

  At first look they were just another couple, she in tottery

  heels better suited to a pinup-model calendar than a strol

  along the river, and him in faded, baggy jeans and a T-shirt

  that showed off the muscles in his arms. The reddish

  sunlight turned his blond hair auburn, and I blamed that as

  the reason that I didn't recognize him at first, but the real

  reason was that with another woman on his arm, Austin

  had become a stranger.

  She, on the other hand, recognized me right away and let

  out a squeal that could have cracked a mirror. "Paige!"

  Kira. With Austin. My Austin? My teeth clenched,

  grinding, in instant reaction, and I couldn't force a smile.

  Our eyes met, his and mine, and while I don't know what

  Our eyes met, his and mine, and while I don't know what

  mine revealed, his showed me he didn't like what he saw.

  His expression changed, and I recognized him again.

  "Hi." I kept my voice even when I looked at her.

  She slid her hand down his bare arm, her fingertips

  lingering on the inside of his wrist before diving down to

  capture his fingers. Austin didn't pul away, but he didn't

  tighten his grip, either. I noticed, and so did she, but Kira

  was good at getting what she wanted. She curled her

  fingers into his, instead.