Megan Hart: Switch

"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 skirt

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