Megan Hart - Switch

were before. Paul held the paper with both hands.

"Thank you, Paige," he said. "This is exemplary work."

"Thank you," I said graciously.

We did have an understanding, after al.

Chapter 15

Through the mailbox window I could see Alice, one of the

women who ran the office. I could also see the thin edge

of a folded note card.

I puled it out with the tips of my fingers and held it by the

edges so as not to muss the paper. Al I had to do was

bend, just a little, and slip it directly into the right box. But

of course, I read it first.

You've failed at every task I've set you. Your reward and

your punishment are in my hands. If you cannot learn

discipline, this wil end.

You have one more chance.

Today, between 5:00 and 6:00 p.m., you wil visit

Sensations. There you wil purchase the item that most

embarrasses you. You wil pay for it with a credit card, so

there wil be no question that the clerk won't know your

name. You wil engage the clerk in pleasant conversation,

so there is no way he or she wil not know your face.

And tonight, you will use that item until you achieve

And tonight, you will use that item until you achieve

orgasm. You will do this knowing it's not for your

pleasure.

It is for mine.

I had to put my hand on the wal and close my eyes after I

slid the card through the slot. The brass, cool under my

palm, did nothing to steal the heat from my cheeks, my

armpits. The inferno between my legs.

I hadn't been the one to fail. I hadn't been late with my

essay on discipline. I hadn't even written one.

This note was not for me!

Yet there was no question in my mind I would do as it

said. I had written the sexual fantasy. I'd read al the notes.

Whoever was meant to find these and folow them, I had

done it, too.

Looking back, I understand how much easier it would

have been, how much better sense it would have made for

me to simply complain at the office about the misdeliveries,

to throw the notes away. To knock on the door of 114

with a note in my hand and say, "Make sure these stop

coming."

coming."

I can't explain why I didn't, except to say, simply, I didn't

want to.

I'd moved away from home to get away from my past and

my life, and the life I didn't want to have there. I'd taken a

new job, found a new apartment, tried to make new

friends. I wanted to become someone new, but the truth is,

I would never be new.

I would always be me.

Somehow, whoever was sending these notes knew that.

I slapped the note closed. I walked around the corner to

the desk. I could see her through the office door and after

a second she came out. "Alice? Did you see who put this

in my mailbox?"

"Nope." She barely glanced at it. "It's not a religious tract, is it? We have a strict policy about that."

"No, it's not a religious tract." I kept the note close to my body so she wouldn't see the number on the front. "I just

wondered if you'd seen who put it in there, that's al."

"No, sorry, hon." Alice flashed me a grin. "What is it, love letter?"

I laughed when heat spread up my throat. "No. Nothing

like that."

"Wouldn't be the first time," she said. "Last year at Valentine's we had a bunch of anonymous notes coming

and going. The T.A. wanted to ban people from putting

notices in the boxes but then they realized if they did that,

they couldn't deliver their newsletter, either."

The Tenant Association could be a little overzealous.

"Maybe I'l get lucky next time."

"I wouldn't doubt it, hon," Alice said. "This place is a hotbed of lust."

She said it without so much as a blink and I had no reply.

Seeing I wasn't going to comment, she gave me a nod and

went into the back to finish sorting the mail. I looked down

at the note.

I couldn't stop myself from opening the note one last time

before I gave it back.

before I gave it back.

I was stil thinking about it as I went outside and faced the

sunshine for a moment. I knew I wasn't alone, but I hadn't

expected an audience. When I opened my eyes, blinking, I

saw Mr. Mystery watching me. He hovered over the

sand-filed tube meant for disposing cigarettes, and when

he saw me looking he stabbed his out with a furtive smile.

"Caught me," he said.

"And without a net," I replied. Clever.

He laughed and looked with unrestrained longing at the

cigarette butts nestled into the sand. "I'm trying to quit."

"Good for you." It was a little surprising for someone as

into fitness as he'd seemed in the gym to be a smoker. But

appearances weren't everything, and I should know that.

"Eric." The hand he held out engulfed mine as we shook.

My name wasn't a prize, but I offered it like one. "Paige."

Eric shifted on battered hiking boots. Today instead of the

long-sleeved T-shirt, he wore a faded black AC/DC shirt

under an open plaid button-down minus a few buttons. His

under an open plaid button-down minus a few buttons. His

hair, long to his colar in the back, ruffled in the wind. A

scruff of beard stood out on his cheeks and over his

throat. Dark stubble. He looked tired and disheveled, but

his hands were clean and his teeth white. The leather bag

slouching by his feet wasn't cheap, nor was the watch

tangled in the dark hair on his wrist. I noticed things like

that.

He yawned, jaw crackingly, and roled his neck on his

shoulders. He looked out at the sunshine, across the street

to the river. He looked around with a grin that stopped me

in my tracks and held a finger to his lips. "Don't tel on me,

huh?"

I laughed. "Your secret is safe with me. But it's a good

thing you're quitting. Smoking is bad for you."

He hung his head before peering up at me through the

fringe of his dark, shaggy hair. "I know. It's terrible. I

started in colege and just could never kick it."

"But you are now, right?" I stared down into the butt

holder.

Eric chuckled. "Yeah. I'm trying, anyway. Hey, nice

officialy meeting you, Paige. Maybe I'l catch you later in

officialy meeting you, Paige. Maybe I'l catch you later in

the gym."

Was that a promise? "Oh, sure. I try to make it in a few

times a week. After work."

He yawned again, adding a loud, drawn-out sigh. "Yeah,

me too, but I'm just coming off a twelve-hour shift. I'm

beat. I might see you, though. We'l work on some reps or

something."

"Okay, sure." I managed to sound casual even as the

thought of another round of Eric helping me work out sent

my heart skipping in my chest.

He looked at the sand, the butts, then puled a pack of

cigarettes from his pocket and held it up. "One left. I

should just toss it, right?"

"You should." But I could tel he wasn't going to.

I watched him tug the cigarette from the pack with his lips,

crumple the package and toss it. He cupped the match he

lit to shield it from the breeze and held it to the end. He

drew on it. He took the cigarette from his mouth and

licked the end, and I watched him with helpless

licked the end, and I watched him with helpless

fascination.

He looked up at me and stopped for a few long seconds

before he smiled. "I know. Realy bad habit. This is my last

one, see? Then I'm done. Kicking it cold turkey."

I wasn't staring to get on his case but because watching his

mouth work had been so damn sexy, and I was already

feeling weak in the knees. "No. I mean, yes, it is. But it's

not my business."

Eric drew in a long, slow breath and let out the smoke.

The wind came and whisked it away and he closed his

eyes briefly before looking at me again. He looked at the

cigarette. "I know it's the best thing for me. I know it is.

You ever have anything you keep doing even though you

know it's bad for you, Paige?"

"Hel, yeah," I said without a second thought. "More than one thing."

We laughed together. His gaze caught mine. Maybe it was

the sunshine reflecting in his eyes or maybe it was my own

reflected heat, but I met it ful on. He was the first to look

away.

"See you," he said.

"I hope so," I told him, and he smiled.

I passed Sensations every day on my way to work. The

building, nondescript and set back a bit from the main

street, had suffered a fire not too long ago, but apparently

the dancing girls and nudie film booths hadn't been

damaged, because the parking lot was half ful and I

watched a stream of men go in and out the door for about

fifteen minutes before I went in, myself.

I'd been inside that memorable night with a boy on his

knees, and a few other times to buy joke gifts for wedding

showers or birthdays. I hadn't been embarrassed then,

giggling with my friends or feigning nonchalance while

comparing the girth of dildos molded from actual porn

stars' cocks. I wouldn't have been embarrassed this time,

except the note had told me I should be.

I'd owned a vibrator I rarely used. I had slinky, kinky

lingerie I never wore. I even had, someplace, a book of

ilustrated sexual positions, the corners of the pages folded

to show which I'd done.

The clerk behind the counter looked up when I came in.

I'd been expecting something different, not a hot, wel-built

guy with model-pretty features.

Now I was embarrassed.

It was akin to looking down between the stirrups at the gy

necologist you were expecting to be fat and balding,

someone's dad, and finding Brad Pitt, instead.

"Hi," he said. "Can I help you find something?"

You wil find the one thing that embarrasses you the most,

and you wil use it until you achieve orgasm.

None of the plastic pricks or fur-lined cuffs embarrassed

me. Hel, the anal beads and butt plugs had me squeezing

my ass cheeks tighter, but they didn't embarrass me.

"Yes," I said. "I'm looking for something special."

He had a nice smile. Fuck. Realy nice eyes, too.

"Something special? For a gift? Birthday party,

bachelorette party, maybe?" He sounded as if he did this

every day. Probably because he did.

every day. Probably because he did.

"No. For me."

His gaze held mine for a second totaly longer than

necessary. "Okay. Wel, maybe I can help you find what

you're looking for."

A beat, a pause, one smal breath in and out. A smile.

"That would be great. Thanks."

The racks of cheap crotchless panties and feather-trimmed

bras were toward the back. Victoria's Secret this was not.

Not even Victoria's un-secret. None of these garments

looked as though they'd stand up under one wearing, not

to mention what would happen to them in the washing

machine. I sorted through them anyway, my fingers toying

with the hangers and making them clatter on the metal

rack.

I held up a flimsy corset printed with a pattern of

misaligned roses. My fingers itched touching the fabric,

and I could only imagine how awful it would feel against

my breasts. I held it up to me, anyway, and turned to the

clerk. "How's this look?"

I expected him to say "good." Or maybe "hot." So when I expected him to say "good." Or maybe "hot." So when he frowned and shook his head, brows furrowed and

mouth twisting, my self-assured position as a fairly

attractive female in a sex shop plummeted to hit my toes.

"Not for you," he said.

I put it back on the rack and crossed my arms. I wished

I'd had the time to change into jeans and a T-shirt after

work instead of being stuck in three-inch heels and a skirt

to my knees. I wanted pockets to shove my hands into

denim to shield me from his assessing gaze. I hadn't