* * * * *
‘Bottom’s up!’ the headline blared. Beneath it was a large crystal-clear photo of a mini-dress-clad Anaya picking herself up from the sidewalk outside Purgatory, where she’d tripped and fallen as she was exiting the club. Some enterprising photographer had snapped a shot of her from behind and gotten the full moon.
“When will these girls learn to wear panties?” Mandy asked, shaking her head with despair.
“I had them on earlier in the evening,” Anaya tried to defend herself, “but I gave them to Christophe after we--”
“Please, please,” Kendra held up her hand, “we don’t need to hear any more about your sordid assignation with that himbo in the toilet.”
* * * * *
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