He lied.
I’d permed my hair, cutting it to a shoulder-length style that framed my face. The lip color I chose was so vivid, so dangerously alluring, it could only be called siren red. And for once, I wore a dress. Not just any dress—a short, scandalous piece that clung to me like a second skin, stopping at mid-thigh, baring my legs in a way I haven’t dared in years.
A metallic silver dress.
Black sheer tights, fishnet-patterned, designed to set the mood with every inch they teased. If he hadn’t stood me up, he would have seen that underneath them, I wore nothing. No underwear, just a delicate incision under the tights, right where my entrance was, waiting.
And my heels—knockoff Louboutins, sure—but they came at a price I could barely afford. They were worth it. I looked good. More th
