It’s barely two thirty when you pull into a spot right across the street from the VR Palace. As you get out of the car, damned if that first A doesn’t wink out. This is the Place, you think. Because you’re about ten minutes from your boy and you’re in a kick-ass mood, you think that’s pretty funny. You even grin into the side mirror of your Beemer before you hurry through the traffic.
A service van’s parked in front of the parlor, which is a good sign. All his talk about I don’t want to and not tonight, that’s just a few loose screws, has to be, it won’t happen again. If you want him with curls, you’ll get curls. If you want short hair, he’ll have it. If you want to f**k on the beach and get sand in your ass, then God damn it you will, and he’ll want it, too. He’ll want what you want. He’
