Page 788 of Deep Pockets

I unroll the dress.

It’s a gorgeous little black number that might’ve been inspired by Audrey Hepburn’s iconic look in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

It looks suspiciously close to my size.

I put it on.

The thing fits me down to a millimeter. Almost as if someone took a cast of my body and designed the dress around it.

Did Vlad hack some online purchase I made? Or did he look at me so closely that he could guess my measurements this precisely?

Befuddled, I open the second box.

A pair of shoegasmic Christian Louboutin pumps is inside—and they fit me as perfectly as the dress.

What is happening?

I check myself out in the mirror and can’t help but wolf-whistle.

It’s official. There’s no way I could say this isn’t a great outfit without sounding like a dirty liar.

Taking a selfie, I text it to Ava.

The reply is instant:

Hot! What’s the occasion?

When I tell her it’s to go to a Russian restaurant with Vlad, Precious rings right away.

“Tell me everything,” Ava demands as soon as I pick up.

I bring her up to speed, concluding with my doubts about this being a date.

“Oh, it’s a date. The guy is majorly into you. He used the squirrel toy, for fuck’s sake.”

I squeeze the phone harder. “What about the other woman?”

“Ask him about her,” she says. “Maybe ply him with a few drinks first.”

“I guess…”

“No guessing needed. Do it. Also, have you done your makeup and hair yet?”

“No.” I look at myself in the mirror. “My makeup isn’t bad. I just got back from work.”

“I’m hanging up, and you’re dolling yourself up. Do you want me to send you some useful YouTube videos?”

I roll my eyes, though she can’t see it. “I can use the internet all on my own. Bye.”

I dive into my makeover and end up with an updo and enough makeup to make a naked mole rat look presentable. I even trim the eyebrow wigs a little and gel them up to keep the bushiness under control.

Just as I’m finishing up, the doorbell rings.

Crap. He’s here.

Diving into the shoes, I click-clack over to the door.

“Who’s there?” I say pointedly, so I don’t get chastised for opening the door for criminals with impeccable timing.

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