I raised my eyebrows slightly, then went slowly into the cubicle, giving him a good look at my back, all bare skin because of the halter, Racey followed me in a second later, and I made an awed, oh-my-God face at her. She shrugged noncommittally.

"Yon don't think he's too old?" she whispered.

I shook my head and laughed, surprised and a little freaked to notice that my fingers were trembling, Racey helped me undo the back ties, and I scrambled back into my bra, I felt like I'd just run a thousand-meter race, hot and cold and trembly all over.

I was dressed for comfort in an over-dyed man's tank top and a ratty pair of jean shorts that were cut off right below my underwear. While it would have been nice to be wearing something more sophisticated, I knew that most guys would think I looked damn fine.

"That guy is fantastic," I said.

Racey shrugged again, "We don't know him," she pointed out,"He could be anyone,".

I looked at her, Racey had never been like this- usually she was as goget-'em as I was. Did she want him for herself? I didn't think so. She didn't look jealous. Just,concerned,

I had to get up my nerve to saunter out of the changing cubicle, the halter in my hand. Which was very unlike me, A guy-any guy-hadn't made me nervous since I was about four years old.

He was still there, not even pretending to be cool or casual. His gaze locked on me like a dark laser, and I felt an actual bona fide shiver go down my spine. Oh my God, this was going to be fun. And scary. Anything that was truly fun always had an element of scary to it.

He didn't smile, or wave, or try to look approachable. Instead, keeping his eyes on me, he nudged a chair out a bit with his foot, Tres suave.