Eric inspected his phone as well. He wasn't gay but loved X's blogs, said her life was better than a soap opera, that he'd even learned a trick or two for his own s.e.xual dating life.

I just turned down an offer for s.e.x. With a Goth. Lips black as night. Fluorescent pink Mohawk standing at least a foot off her head. She was wearing barbed wire around her throat, multiple ear piercings, and a chain running to her nose.

Her proposition went something like this: Goth: You're free tonight. (not a question...a statement!) "That's the way to hook 'em," Eric blurted.

Mayson shook her head. "Chauvinist pig."

"Like you're one to talk." He arched a brow at her. "You didn't have to utter a word to lure your mystery woman to your bed."

It was true. But she would have begged if needed.

Mayson continued reading the blog.

Me: Umm. No. Sorry, I'm waiting for friends.

(I always say this...I'm lame, I know.) Goth: You should reconsider. I'm very, shall we say, giving?

*The s.e.x professor promised practically the same thing. We all know where that one got me. I'm still mentally scarred from the experience*

Me: Maybe some other time?

Goth: I don't extend second offers.

And away she went. Didn't even bother looking back at me.

Maybe I should have taken her up on the offer? Truly, it's all about the quest for mind-blowing o.r.g.a.s.ms, right? So what if her skin was translucent and she spends more money on mousse and hairspray than I do on my mortgage.

Was that egotistical of me?

Is it my fault I refuse to fight for territory with a tongue ring? Is it my fault I don't want my hair ripped out by a d.a.m.n nose ring?

Someone b.u.mped Mayson's chair. She turned to find a Goth squeezing around the table, barbed wire around her throat, bright pink hair standing straight off her head, and a nose chain running to her ear.

She did a double take, poked Eric, and nodded toward the woman, the description in X's blog ringing loud in her mind.

Eric narrowed his brow as he studied the departing woman, then turned to Mayson. "Coincidence. Pure coincidence."

Mayson turned back to the blog.

Am I asking too much? Is it out of the question to want a woman who makes me wet with a single stare? A woman who makes my insides clench tight with a whisper? Am I a hopeless s.e.xual wreck?

She's out there somewhere. I know she is.

Maybe I'll find her tonight.

I'm waiting for her. All alone, on a bench, outside a thriving nightclub. And I'm even wearing my lucky Fedora.

Where, oh where, is my butch in shining armor? *sigh*

Time to shake this money-maker.

Night all.

X.

Through every word, Mayson's heart surged. This was no coincidence.

The woman on the bench was X!

And she was waiting for something to shake the ground out from under her.

When Mayson looked up, Eric was staring wide-eyed at her. She could read the answer in his eyes. He had come to the same conclusion. "No way." He puffed.

Mayson shoved the phone back in her clip and turned to push out of her chair when the lights dimmed. The DJ's voice broke through the room.

"The moment you've all been waiting for."

The crowd whistled and catcalled. Women pushed toward the stage.

"Let's give it up for Tripppplllllle X!"

The room went dark while the cheers erupted and the music poured through the air.

Several seconds went by before the stage flooded with light. Where the landing had been empty, two women now sat in ladder-back chairs, one to the far right, the other to the far left, legs apart, bodies slumped forward, charcoal Fedoras folded into their hands. They both wore a carbon-copy outfit of the one the s.e.xy faceless woman on the bench had been wearing.

Mayson sat a little straighter, her heart thundering.

The lights blackened once again.

This time when the lights flooded the stage, a woman stood in the door frame that led backstage, hands outstretched to either side, s.e.xy silhouetted posture against a bright wall of light.

Mayson shifted to the edge of her seat and gripped the table in eager antic.i.p.ation.

The drums pounded and the two women in the chairs whipped their bodies back and at the same time, they slammed their legs closed.

The single female in the doorway did nothing more than dip low and angle to the opposite side of the door. Even the slight movement had Mayson licking her lips in heated l.u.s.t.

The woman was the main attraction, and she knew it.

A guitar whined while the women rolled out of the chairs.

The woman in the doorway, who Mayson was positive was X, dipped her head low and dropped to the floor as well.

Together, they prowled across the stage in perfect unison, heads low, all coming together in the center of the stage.

The music took a sultry dip and the women slung their heads back. Fedoras sprang behind them, and hair spilled out from beneath.

Slowly, in timing with the music, they prowled forward.

Mayson found herself staring into a pair of sea green eyes. X's eyes. Auburn hair hung in soft waves down her back and over her shoulders like spun gold in the stage lights.

The woman who had been entertaining Mayson every day with her quest for perfect s.e.x was only a whisper away, on her knees, teasing her audience with a sheer glimpse of what lay beneath.

She was stunning, with mesmerizing beauty. Possibly the most beautiful woman Mayson had ever laid eyes on. How could someone so gorgeous, with a body stenciled to perfection, be looking for any kind of s.e.x? At all>?

Dollar bills rained down over the stage as the women unsnapped one b.u.t.ton at a time, teasing, testing the attention of their fans.

Whistles flooded the air while groups of people surged against the stage as if the trio, Triple X, were royalty.

"They're a piece of work, aren't they?" Eric nudged Mayson.

She barely nodded, unable to take her sights off the woman. Breathtaking. There was no other word Mayson could think of.

The women flung their shirts open, slowly pushed them down and off, then they fluttered to the stage like flags. All three turned over on their stomachs and scooped their chests toward the floor, then began their seductive prowls again.

It was all Mayson could do to stay seated as Fedora, X, neared the rim of the stage, while hands roamed her legs and dollar bills were stuffed into her slick black shorts, even her sequined black bra.

She willed Fedora to look her way, but the woman held only her fans in her view, giving each of them sultry winks and eye contact. Especially the females. Mayson didn't have to be gay to notice that special look only a woman gave to another woman.

The music took another dip, and the women rolled onto their backs and arched their chests into the air, their backs bowed off the stage.

When they rolled into a tight group in the center of the stage again, Mayson noticed three Xs tattooed on Fedora's left ankle. The exact same design used on her blog.

She was the one. She was X.

Mayson fell in complete l.u.s.t as the music rolled to a stop and the three women fell flat on their backs, and then the lights blackened once again.

The air filled with loud clapping and cries of encore. When the lights came back on, the stage was empty.

Mayson eased back into her seat, her heart racing, her libido on fire.

X was gorgeous. Luxurious and breathtaking. How could this be? How in the h.e.l.l could someone so incredible, with hypnotizing beauty, be looking for the perfect s.e.xual partner? With the number of women lined against the stage, she need only point.

With that kind of selection, Mayson was positive she was searching for something far greater than an o.r.g.a.s.m. Far greater than blissful s.e.x. But what?

"Was that as disturbing for you as it was for me?" Eric asked as he leaned toward her with a hushed voice. "That was her. That was X."

"Yes." Driven by pure impulse and hormones alone, Mayson shoved out of her chair and headed for the door marked Private.

Women and men scurried along the hallway, some in costume, most partially dressed. She walked farther, glancing into each open door until she found the object of her heated l.u.s.t.

Fedora, X, was standing over a chair, one leg hiked, fingers dragging up a pair of black stockings.

Mayson stood immobile in the doorway, devouring the image, infatuation driving her common sense. She glanced deeper into the room and found two other dressing tables empty save for a pile of dollar bills mounded in the center. When she glanced back at Fedora, her table was clean. No clutter. No dollar bills. Seemed Fedora had given her money to the other dancers. Mayson wasn't sure what to think of the facts, or if they even mattered, when she spotted a sleek black mask on the end of a costume rack. She quickly plucked it off the k.n.o.b. With her heart skipping, she pulled the mask into place and stepped into the room.

Chapter Four.

"Can you hand me the double-sided tape?" Paige asked, a.s.suming the sound of approaching footsteps was one of her girls.

When no one answered, she glanced into the mirror and found a masked person standing behind her. No. Not just a person. A woman. The outline of her neck was too feminine to be male.

A single blink whipped Paige back in time, to a dark hotel room, where a woman had worked her emotions into a bundle of flares, who had worked her body into a symphony of erotic moans.

She swallowed, unable to move, unable to form a coherent thought.

Chocolate brown eyes stared back at her reflection. "h.e.l.lo, Fedora." The woman's whisper was unimaginably hot.

Paige couldn't move. Holy smokes. She needed to move. She needed to breathe.

Who was this woman and what the h.e.l.l was she doing in Paige's dressing room? Furthermore, why was she staring Paige down like an Egyptian G.o.ddess? Paige found the ability to move and stood to full height, holding the mystery woman in her view through the mirror.

The woman took a slow step, erasing the single gap between them. "Or do you prefer X?"

Paige felt unveiled as fingers wrapped around her waist. She watched as the woman moved in close to her ear; more importantly, she watched those kissable lips.

She was lost, pulled down quickly into a sea of memories. All these years later, she could still feel the sure hands against her flesh, the tightening of her insides every time her mystery woman had pushed inside her.

Paige parted her lips to say something, to say anything. She needed to form a coherent thought, followed shortly by a coherent sentence. Like, Get the f.u.c.k out of my private dressing room.

The woman pressed her mouth against Paige's ear, sucked the flesh of her lobe between her teeth, and then whispered, "Are you still s.e.xually deprived, Fedora?"

Against her better judgment, Paige moaned, trapping the sight of the woman's lips in her mind.

The woman sucked again, this time harder. Her hands tightened around Paige's waist and then she ground against her a.s.s. Hot whispers feathered against Paige's neck. "I think you've been looking in all the wrong places."

Paige's knees weakened and b.u.t.terflies erupted.

She wasn't sure which was s.e.xier. The whispers, the words, or the fact that she was watching and hearing both at the same time.

The woman tucked her finger beneath Paige's chin and turned her head around. Soft lips feathered against Paige's before she slipped her tongue inside.

Paige expelled a rushed sigh as their tongues snaked against each other. She should push her away. She should slap her for being so f.u.c.king bold. She should do anything other than melt into this kiss. But she couldn't. It was too hot, too mysterious, to shove away.

When the woman pulled back, Paige had to lock her knees in place to keep from spilling to the floor.

She opened her eyes and found a satisfied smirk on the woman's face.

The woman licked her lips, angled her head with one final inspection at Paige's reflection, then left the room, leaving Paige stupid and wet.

Wasn't that kiss supposed to be horrible? Wasn't that her luck of late? Finding every single lousy kisser? And the lousy lays?