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be found in one place…Kentaro’s arms.
    I had two skirts in my arsenal, a dark brown one and a gray tweed. I looked through the racks and racks of blouses. There was a beautiful, purple flowing gauzy one. It looked like something straight out of 1964 Haight Ashbury. I loved it. All flouncy and girlie, but I knew it wouldn’t complement a single item in my wardrobe.
    Reluctantly, I put it back on the rack. I continued to scour the rounds of clothes until I found a black silk blouse with tiny pearl buttons and lace capped sleeves. It was gorgeous and looked like it might possibly fit me. Then, I looked at the tag. Never mind. I could’ve flown to Thailand for the price of the blouse. Apparently, it was made from silk woven from the wings of angels.
    Disheartened, I headed home. Why wasn’t Kentaro on the evening trains? Being mauled on my evening commute would have been nice, too. Several liquor stores lined the route from the station to my apartment, and I ducked in one for a bottle of wine.
    Judging from the pair of huge boots in the genkan , I knew Jenn had company. No surprise there. The fact that I recognized them said a lot. Sanchez had returned for a repeat visit. He had to be as good in bed as he was against a ticket machine in the train station.
    He lounged on the floor, hands behind his head, watching a football game on the television. When he saw me, he smiled, lowered the volume, and sat up.
    “Want some wine?” I waved the bottle.
    “Yeah, sure.” He stood and followed me into the kitchen. I handed him the corkscrew and reached for wine glasses.
    “Where’s Jenn?” I asked while he poured wine.
    “She’s in the shower. We’re going to Roppongi later.”
    I nodded. I’d been to Roppongi a couple times since moving to Tokyo. It was the party district—the best place to pick up men, usually soldiers. Needless to say, going twice and not even being acknowledged dampened its allure for me.
    Sanchez led the way back to the living room. Tight jeans formed to his ass, and the long sleeves of his white henley shirt were pushed up, showcasing thick, muscled, brown forearms. Once seated, he asked, “How’d it go with the guy you work with?”
    “He still hasn’t really talked to me but…well…he kind of touched me on the train.”
    “He touched you?” He bristled as if ready to defend my honor, which I had to admit warmed my heart a little. Before he worked himself into a rage, he asked, “Touched you, how?”
    Too embarrassed to go into details, I skimmed over our interactions. “Well, he stood behind me and touched my stomach.” My cheeks flamed. “And well, today, he pulled me against him.”
    “What do you mean?”
    I raised my eyebrows, hoping he’d get the gist of our exchange, but he gave no indication of comprehension. “You know…he pulled me against him so my well…backside…was against his front side.”
    “Holy shit. Was he hard?”
    The flames burning my face scorched their way to my scalp. I nodded.
    “Hot damn, Natalie. I think the guy noticed you.”
    “He told me to wear a skirt tomorrow. What should I do?”
    He grinned. “You should wear a skirt.”
    “Therein lies the rub.” He looked at me as if I was insane. “I’m guessing he means something short and sexy.”
    “Hell, yeah.” Another grin, bordering on lecherous.
    “I don’t have anything like that,” I explained.
    “Let me see.” He stood, grabbed his wine, and headed toward my bedroom.
    Stumbling over myself, I finally gained my balance and hurried after him. While I wanted a man in my bedroom, one searching my closet wasn’t what I had in mind.
    “Good God, woman.” Sanchez glanced at my clothes. “Do you work in a morgue?”
    “No! Why?”
    The scraping sound of hangers sliding across metal filled the room. “Brown, gray, black, oh, more brown. Look at this, it’s…nice.” He held up a gray cardigan sweater.
    “Stop it. It’s not that bad.”
    “Really? There has to be something with