Annie was standing at her desk, smiling wide, hands on her hips, wearing cuffed black jeans and a tight scoop-neck shirt. The press was running loudly in the distance, voices drifted from the back, and there was a stack of Pop magazines on Neal’s desk. Neal gave Annie a hug.
“You are officially a woman,” he said, noticing how busty she looked in that tight top.
Annie let slip one of her squeaky little bursts of feeling and hugged him tightly, whispering in his ear.
“Not really,” she said. “Laird’s a virgin too.”
Neal stepped back, trying to summon an image of that super-skinny, stoned youth in his ragged shorts. He perched on the edge of Annie’s desk and folded his arms. Annie blushed and began.
“We tried but we both sort of, well, it just didn’t work,” Annie said. “But he’s amazing.
