Sara Shepard - Killer

Really, what did Hanna’s mom ever see in that guy, anyway? Wilden was cute, but not that cute. When Hanna caught him getting out of the shower all those months ago, he didn’t even look that fabulous half-naked. Not that she was into him or anything, but Hanna had a feeling lacrosse-obsessed Mike would look way hotter.

Otter, Hanna’s favorite boutique, was tucked next to Cartier and Louis Vuitton. She strode in, inhaling the Ceylon-scented Diptyque candles. Fergie was on the stereo, and racks of Catherine Malandrino, Nanette Lepore, and Moschino spread out before her. She sighed, blissful. The leather jackets were glossy and lush. The silk dresses and diaphanous, oversize scarves looked spun from gold. Sasha, one of the salesgirls, noticed Hanna and waved. Hanna was one of Otter’s best customers.

Hanna immediately selected a few dresses, enjoying the noise the wooden hangers made when they clonked together. “Would you like me to put those in your dressing room?” said a fake high-pitched voice. Hanna turned. Mike was standing next to her. “I’ve already started a room for you with some of my favorite selections,” he added.

Hanna stepped back. “ You picked things out for me?” This she had to see. She marched to the only dressing room that had its velvet curtain tied to the side. A few things hung on the knob next to the mirror. First was a pair of high-waisted, tight black leather pants. Then there was a slinky silver tunic with a deep V in the front and big, gaping side vents. Behind that were three string bikinis with Wonderbra tops and thong bottoms.

Hanna turned to Mike and rolled her eyes. “Nice try, but hell has to freeze over before you get me into any of that stuff.” She eyed the leather pants again. Interestingly, Mike thought she was a size zero.

Mike’s expression wilted. “You won’t even try on the bikinis?”

“Not for you,” Hanna teased. “You’ll have to use your imagination.” Whipping the curtain closed, she couldn’t help but smile. Mike deserved a few points for being so creative.

She put her plum-colored suede satchel on the little leather footstool and smoothed out her piece of the Time Capsule flag, which she’d wrapped around the strap. After some consideration, Hanna had decided to decorate the piece in homage to Ali, incorporating Ali’s original designs from sixth grade. The Chanel logo was next to the manga frog. A field hockey girl swatted a ball into the Louis Vuitton initials. Hanna was quite pleased with the end result.

Turning, she peeled off her sweater, unhooked her bra, and unzipped her pants and kicked them off. Just as she was reaching for the first dress, the dressing room curtain parted. Mike poked his head in.

Hanna let out a yelp and covered up her boobs. “What the hell?” she squealed.

“Oops!” Mike brayed. “Shit. Sorry, Hanna. I thought this was the bathroom. This place is like a maze!” His eyes landed on Hanna’s cleavage. Then they moved down to her skimpy lace underwear.

“Get out!” Hanna roared, giving Mike a kick with her bare foot. A few minutes later, she emerged from the dressing room, one of the dresses draped over her arm. Mike was perched on the chaise by the three-way mirrors. He looked like a naughty puppy who’d just chewed up his owner’s Ugg slippers. “Are you mad?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hanna said frostily. Truthfully, though, she wasn’t that bothered—it was kind of flattering that Mike was that eager to see Hanna’s body. But she did want to get revenge.

She paid for her dress, and Mike asked if she wanted to get some dinner. “ Not Rive Gauche,” Hanna reminded him.

“I know, I know,” Mike said. “But there’s a place that’s even better.”

He led her to Year of the Rabbit, the Chinese place near Prada. Hanna wrinkled her nose. She could practically feel her butt expanding from simply being around the oil, fat, and sauce all Chinese restaurants seemed to use in their entrees.

Mike registered her look of disgust. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I got you covered.”

A bone-thin Asian woman with chopsticks in her bun led them to an intimate booth and poured them both cups of hot green tea. There was a gong in the corner and a large jade Buddha leering down at them from a high shelf. An elderly Chinese waiter appeared and handed them their menus. To Hanna’s astonishment, Mike mumbled a few words in Mandarin. He pointed at Hanna, and the waiter nodded and turned away. Mike sat back, smugly flicking the center of the gong with his thumb and forefinger.

Hanna gawked. “What the hell did you say?”

“I told him you were an underwear model and needed to keep your hot body in top shape, and we’d like to see the special healthy low-fat menu,” Mike explained nonchalantly. “They hate giving that menu to people. You have to know how to ask for it.”

“You know how to say underwear model in Chinese?” Hanna blurted.

Mike draped his arms over the back of the leather booth. “I picked up a thing or two during that boring-ass time I spent in Europe. The term underwear model is the first thing I learn in every language.”

Hanna shook her head, fascinated. “Wow.”

“So you don’t mind that the waiter thinks you’re an underwear model?” Mike asked.

Hanna shrugged. “Not really.” Underwear models were pretty, after all. And rail thin.

Mike brightened. “Sweet. I brought my last girlfriend here, but she didn’t find the whole special diet menu trick so funny. She thought I was objectifying her or some shit.”

Hanna took a slow sip of tea, unaware that Mike had had previous girlfriends. “Was this…a recent girlfriend?”

The waiter handed them their menus—the regular one for him, the diet one for Hanna. After he left, Mike nodded. “We just broke up. She kept bitching about how I was too concerned with being popular.”

“Lucas said that too,” Hanna squealed, before she could stop herself. “He didn’t like that I told everyone Kate had herpes.” She flinched, annoyed she’d said Kate’s name out loud—Mike would probably step in and defend her. But he just shrugged.

“I had to do it,” Hanna went on. “I thought she was going to…” She trailed off.

“Thought she was going to what?” Mike asked.

Hanna shook her head. “I just thought she was going to say something nasty about me.” Hanna had thought Kate was going to tell everyone that she used to make herself throw up, something she’d unfortunately admitted to Kate in a moment of weakness. And she was pretty sure Kate would have said it, if Hanna hadn’t said the herpes thing first.

Mike smiled empathetically. “Sometimes you have to play dirty.”

“Cheers to that.” Hanna raised her water glass and clinked it with Mike’s, thankful he hadn’t pressed to know what the nasty thing was that Kate was going to spill.

They finished eating their dinners and sucked on the orange wedges that came with the check. Mike suggestively complimented Hanna on her sucking abilities and advised her to save some sucking power for later. Then he excused himself to the bathroom. Hanna watched him snake around the tables, realizing her chance to get him back. Slowly, she stood, laid her napkin on her plate, and crept down the hall. She waited until the men’s room door swung closed, counted to ten, and burst inside. “Oops!” she called out. Her voice echoed throughout the shiny, empty room.

There was a line of urinals, but Mike wasn’t at any of them. Nor did she see his Tod’s loafers underneath the stall doors. She heard a small noise coming from the walled-off sink area and walked over. Mike was standing at the sink, a comb, a can of deodorant, and a tube of toothpaste on the counter next to him. He held a toothbrush in his hand. When he saw Hanna in the mirror, the color drained from his face.