A queen's got to start somewhere.
She
was blonde, and had a sweet face. Red lipstick. A too-big leather jacket, white
tank top that clung to her breasts, tight-tight jeans. Her boots looked old and
beat-up. She was smoking; he caught a glimpse of red nail polish as she lifted
her cig and took a drag. In a physical sense, she was just like the groupies at
the clubhouse. It was something else, something intangible, some aura she
projected that raised the fine hairs on his arms – that was why he slowed down
and really looked at her.
Cannot wait for Ghost and Maggie's story!!!
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