Katrina shook her head in her snobbish, teasing way as she kicked me gently under the table, blowing Dunhill smoke from one side of her thick lips. Oh God, she could say the stupidest things with those lips, but the sideways smoke-blowing blew my mind every time.

Her lips were the thickest thing about her — feather-soft but so fleshy they often seemed to overflow the space they had been designed to fill on her thin, elegant face. She could have literally just grunted “duh” and I would have wanted to scoop her up like the slice of heaven she was.

But I had a plan for that evening, and I’d be damned if I was going to let her take me off the scent.

She was still talking: “Do you have some kind of kink or brain damage where you think you have to talk about, like, electrodes on my... Read More