Hmm... Lipstick, red enough, bold enough, slick enough, to make the cover of Hustler magazine. Ginger twisted, assessed, then smacked her backside. The skirt fit like sausage casing. Perfect. She tossed her long honey-red hair in the manner of a high-blooded mare and roughly pinned up one side, left the other to fall on her bare shoulder. Straightening enough for her top to lift and display the diamond glittering in her navel, she was battle ready. Almost. She scanned the mishmash of jars, bottles, and brushes littering her bathroom counter and chose a scent that smelled suspiciously like sex in a bottle. She drenched herself in it. Done. She grabbed a sweater, her outsized black tote, and headed for the door full stride. She knew exactly where to find him. Hand on the knob, she paused, closed her mocha-shadowed eyelids.
