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turning. She got up and waxed. Bathed and pampered herself. She washed her hair and let it air-dry naturally so it curled up a little. She missed her curls, always straightened and smoothed into a bun. She was feeling curly today.
    She’d logged on to the personals site last night after the performance and found a message waiting from George.
    Looking forward to coffee tomorrow.
    I’ll be there right at noon. I’ll be in a
    blue shirt. I have blond hair that will
    probably look messy. Still coming?
    Messy blond hair. Why did she get so excited over that? She’d never been into messy hair until she met a certain choreographer. She’d written back:
    Yes, still coming. I’ll look for the guy
    with the gap in his smile.
    When she’d checked once more before bed, he’d written back:
    It’s really not that big. ;)
    He was clearly funny and a great online flirt. But would they click in person? A few jokes about hillbilly teeth didn’t mean they were made for each other. And this was such a blatant situation. When she’d met her last dom, it had begun slowly. It had developed as a normal relationship. In this case, it felt like meeting someone for the sole purpose of hooking up for sex. Maybe it only felt that way to her because she was so horny. Maybe this guy wasn’t even after sex. Maybe he just wanted to tie her up and put clothespins all over her or something.
    She hadn’t wanted to ask for specifics while they messaged because a part of her was afraid to know. What if what he wanted wasn’t what she wanted? Must be sensual, crave training, accept pain . That could describe a whole world of activities in BDSM. About his other words, Play partner only, no commitment , there could really be no misunderstanding. Well, the last thing she needed right now, with two jobs and a taxing ballet role, was a serious relationship to tend.
    Prosper made some mint tea and sipped it slowly, trying to calm her nerves. All she had to do was go to the coffee shop. They would talk. If things didn’t feel right, well, she would leave. There was no reason at all to feel nervous. When it was almost eleven thirty, she started to get dressed. Against her better judgment, she put on sexy underthings. Will you really go home with him ? Um…if he was fine enough, yes. It was very likely.
    Black thong panties, black push-up bra. Garter belt with stockings. Tight-fitting black knit dress in order to make the most of what little she had. Some chunky patent pumps. Her black cardigan with gray embroidered flowers, and a black peacoat over the top. She left her hair down, frowning at it in the mirror. It wasn’t the rich siren red most redophiles got off on. It was more like toxic orange. Oh well. She reminded herself that she had to prepare for him to reject her. She might be too thin, too short, not sexy enough. She didn’t exactly exude sexuality, she knew. She put on some darkish lipstick and finished with some mascara and only light blush on her pale cheeks, because she knew she’d already blush more than enough.
    She walked to the café, fighting down the butterflies in her stomach. It was a chilly November day that smelled of damp leaves and car exhaust. She stood outside the coffee shop just a moment, part of her wanting to dawdle, part of her afraid that he’d arrive and catch her shrinking outside. She took a deep breath and ducked inside, catching the door so the bells didn’t jangle so loudly. The fresh scent of coffee and cinnamon replaced the dirty New York smell from outside. She scanned the deserted café, spotted the messy-blond-haired guy at the back.
    Before she would really take him in, he turned in his chair, and she froze. Jackson looked her up and down with a half smile.
    “Julie. You look almost exactly like another girl I know.”

Chapter Four

    “Prosper, wait.”
    He leaped up to go after her. She had her head tucked down, and her beautiful orange curls bobbed as she retreated at full speed. Her skirt