A/N - Two quick things: 1) I know nothing about field hockey; 2) Skirt steak is an actual cut of steak, not a sexual reference.

Spencer was leaning against the bar, her body not-so-subtly angled away from her "date." All 300 or so pounds of him, by her reckoning.

The beer she was sipping intermittently was watered down. The entire evening seemed watered-down; full of compromise. They chose the bar only because it was fairly lax when it came to checking IDs. The cover band on stage was rehashing bad 90s techno music that never should have been hashed in the first place. And the Nimrod whom Spencer was with was definitely not someone she would ever normally go out on a date with; in fact, it was hard for her to conceive of a scenario where she would even be in the same room with him. He was a football player; a lineman, recruited for the sheer bulk of his body rather than for any sort of intellectual understanding of the nuances of the game. Spencer was doing a favor for her roommate, who had a thing for the team's place-kicker, but could only get a date with him if she arranged a date for his roommate.

So, Spencer stood there, all of her life-choices suddenly under intense self-scrutiny as she nursed her watery beer and tried to avoid the hot air being blown her way from Goliath - or whatever he was called.

She found herself swaying to the music, bobbing her head up and down involuntarily, as she eyed one of the band's back-up singers. The girl looked uncomfortable and out of place; as if, like Spencer, she were only there because her roommate had begged her. Spencer wasn't even sure that her microphone was turned on. If it was, the girl was too far away from it to make a difference. She couldn't seem to keep her body still; Spencer watched in fascination as the girl's body gyrated out of rhythm to the music that she was singing.

Spencer fixated on the girl's hands. The long, slender fingers of her left hand were planted nervously on her thigh, clinging to the maroon material just above the hem of her skirt. In a flight of fancy, Spencer imagined that it was her hand there, raising that hem ever so slightly, exposing just enough of the girl's thigh to let everyone in the room know that the girl was taken; that she was Spencer's. Sliding her thumb along the hem just subtly enough to give the girl a taste of what was to come later that night.

The girl shifted, linking both of her hands in front herself, her thumbs completing a triangle below her waist. Spencer recognized the gesture. It was a defensive move. Spencer's mother, a prosecuting attorney, had taught her a bit about body language, and the way that people subconsciously use their hands to protect their most intimate area when they feel nervous or threatened. But, in this case, the move only served to frame the area, calling more attention to it. Spencer couldn't stop herself from wondering what was going on down there; the color and the make-up of the girl's underwear, the cut and color of her carpeting, and whether it matched her auburn drapes. She found herself licking her lips with a smirk. The girl's right hand moved, and Spencer recoiled, thinking, for a moment, that she had been caught staring too obsessively into the triangular frame. But the girl had only moved her hand to push her hair out of her face, and she quickly reconstructed the triangle. Spencer had learned her lesson, though, and looked away. Or, looked upwards, more accurately, trying to read the girl's face. She wore a slight smile as she pushed out the words; the kind of embarrassed, apologetic smile of someone who knew that she didn't belong and wanted everyone else to know that she knew. Her eyes scanned the crowd, as if she were afraid to allow them to land on any one person too long. She looked down a lot.

The discovery that the girl couldn't maintain eye contact with anyone emboldened Spencer to stare at her, knowing that she wouldn't get caught. She broke down the girl's every movement, watching the way that she took a breath between phrases. With each inhale, her collarbone strained against her top, and her top rode up, exposing a sliver of her midriff. Spencer began constructing an elaborate back-story for the girl. She had obviously been an athlete, as the muscles in her bare arms and calves made clear. Maybe it was an unfortunate injury that made her give up her sport, but, still craving the spotlight, she gave the band a shot, not realizing until it was too late how very different it was to be in front of a crowd in that way. Spencer had a pretty good idea that it was the girl's first gig - and that it would most likely be her last. Unless she was one of those people who was determined to conquer her fears and - shit! Somehow, the set had ended, and the girl was off stage, and headed straight toward Spencer. Spencer looked away immediately, desperate to come up with some excuse for looking the girl up and down throughout the past few songs. She was about to retreat into the attentions of her Neanderthal date when the girl ended up turning toward the bartender. Of course. Spencer was standing at the bar. The girl wasn't heading for a confrontation, but for a drink, after her set. She had to be parched.

Spencer had dodged another bullet. But she wasn't sure that she wanted to. She heaved her shoulders and took another swig of her beer, slamming the mug down as she went over to introduce herself, unapologetically abandoning wall of flesh she'd come with.

Paige crossed her arms on top of the bar, leaning on it as she linked her ankles, raising them off the floor for a second. She was smiling, bemused, at what she had just gotten through, sharing the smile with the bartender when he returned with her seltzer and lemon. She let out a contented sigh and began to settle in just before a voice broke her from her ruminations.

"Hey, there!"

The voice was confident and pleasant, but Paige knew what was coming. She toned down her smile a bit before she turned around. She had been advised to keep her expression as neutral as possible, without seeming rude.

"Hey, there," she echoed. Bring it on.

"I saw you up on stage," the woman half-shouted above the loud, recorded music that had taken the live band's place. "You guys sounded pretty good," Spencer lied.

Paige nodded, not knowing what to say. She hadn't prepared for positive feedback. She thought that they were supposed to tear her down; humiliate her.

There was uncomfortable silence for several interminable seconds.

"You should hold the mike!" The stranger plunged ahead. Apparently, that was her way of handling awkwardness.

Paige was confused.

"That will give you something to do with your hands," the woman shouted. Paige's eyes grew wide and she stifled a gasp when the woman illustrated her point by taking Paige's hand. They were absolutely not supposed to touch her. That had been made abundantly clear. The rule was an overreaction to the abuses of the past.

But the woman kept holding Paige's hand, and Paige realized that, although she carried herself as someone older, she was actually Paige's age, or maybe slightly younger. She also realized that didn't recognize her from the house. Putting two and two together, she asked, "You're not from around here, are you?"

"What? Well, no. I mean, I grew up in the suburbs, but I never actually lived in the city before. I'm a freshman at Penn."

The woman didn't sound flustered. She seemed to be someone who could think on her feet, but it was obvious that she wasn't expecting that particular question.

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. She was finally able to relax, realizing that this was just a cute woman who saw her up on stage and decided to come over and introduce herself.

"The Greek societies use this place all the time, to haze their pledges," Paige explained. "Well, they call it, 'team building.' "

"Oh! Right! So you're not a singer?"

"Hardly. And you're not from the pledge committee?"

The woman shook her head, pointing to a blonde a few steps away at the bar. "I'm here with my roommate." Paige gave the roommate the once-over. She was cute, in a New England preppie kind of way. But she wasn't any competition. "She needed someone to double," the woman continued, gesturing toward her mountain of a man, "so she matched me with that lump of clay."

Paige shook her head and raised her eyebrows dismissively.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just a waste, that's all - when a hot girl comes up to talk to you at a bar, and she turns out to be hetero."

"Who says I'm hetero?"

Paige rolled her eyes. Here we go. She didn't need this: straight girl from a small town comes to the city for college, decides she wants to take a walk on the wild side.

Spencer recognized the look. "Jeez - I had to deal with this crap in high school," she barked. "I didn't know that people would be so biphobic in college. That's one of the reasons I decided to go to school in Philly."

Paige smiled, realizing she had misjudged this girl. "Okay, I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I apologize. It's just... you'd be surprised how much of that goes on."

"No, I get it, totally," the woman said with a nod. "Start over? My name's Spencer."

"Paige." Ordinarily, Paige would have extended her hand, but when she glanced down, she realized that Spencer had never released her grip on it in the first place. With a nervous chuckle, Spencer realized it too and let go, apologetically squeezing Paige's shoulder.

"So, you think I'm hot?" Spencer smirked, referring back to Paige's "hetero" comment.

Paige laughed, embarrassed. "It was easier to admit that when I thought that you were straight!"

The conversation flowed more naturally from that point, as they got to know each other. Paige sized Spencer up. She looked like someone who had come from money, but who was trying to distance herself from her parents' wealth and just be one of the girls. Her build was athletic, but not overpowering. She had no doubt played one of the sports of the privileged; Polo, squash, or field hockey. Yeah, that's it. Paige's eyes drifted down to Spencer's long legs, wondering how they'd look in a field hockey skirt and socks instead of the skinny jeans that she was wearing. Not that Paige had any complaints about the skinny jeans. Spencer was very well put-together. A part of Paige wanted to take her apart.

Paige became aware of a tingling in her core. It might have had something to do with the fact that Spencer had never stopped touching her since she first took her hand. Not to be outdone, Paige brushed aside Spencer's hair and reached for her earring. "These are pretty," she said, taking the opportunity to stroke Spencer's earlobe before settling her hand at the base of Spencer's neck.

"You know, you're a lot more confident off-stage than you were on."

"Maybe. Or maybe I was just acting shy up there. Or maybe I'm just acting bold right now."

Spencer grinned. She wasn't expecting to get to think that night. It was a pleasant surprise. "Maybe we can go someplace where we don't have to shout?"

Paige smiled, taking Spencer's hand, with a tilt of her head that beckoned Spencer to follow. She led her past the stage to a door that opened into a dingy corridor, where she pushed open one of the doors and pulled Spencer inside. She latched the door behind her, although, as she had told Spencer, the band wasn't due back for a while.

Spencer took in her surroundings. The room was too bright, lit not only by the industrial fluorescent lighting over their heads but also by the light bulbs surrounding the mirrors at the dressing stations. The place smelled of cheap booze and cheap shoes - and there were plenty of both scattered around them. There were a couple of rolling trolleys with metal bars across the top where a few articles of clothing were hanging. For the most part, the clothes were draped on the backs of chairs.

"Coed dressing room?"

"We took turns."

Spencer nodded, still doing her survey of the room. The band's music was leaking in through the walls, although it was much quieter there in the back. It was obvious that they wouldn't be doing much talking, though. Spencer was trying to figure out where; the leather recliner? One of the dressing tables? The floor?

She didn't have to wait long for the answer. Somehow, Paige had her against the wall and their tongues were dueling. Spencer was moaning into Paige's mouth. She didn't realize how much she needed this until she was suddenly in the middle of it.

Her body realized, though.

When she felt Paige's hand drift to her belt, she grabbed it and Paige's other hand, raising both high above their heads as she bucked her hips, pushing Paige back against the edge of a dressing table.

It was too soon. She couldn't let Paige see how wet she already was, or she would look like some desperate, needy, small-town hick. And she was. Desperate. Needy. Small-town. But this wasn't her first rodeo.

She used her leg to separate Paige's, stroking her inner thigh against Paige's. Paige disengaged her lips from Spencer's, throwing her head back with a loud moan. Spencer took advantage, attacking Paige's neck with her lips, tongue, and teeth. Paige began grinding against Spencer's intruding thigh with abandon. Spencer couldn't take the suspense anymore. She flipped Paige's skirt up, finally getting a look at the black, see-through bit of lacy material that lay beneath. Spencer didn't know whether Paige had been expecting anything that night, or whether she just wanted to feel pretty. Whatever the reason for her choice of peekaboo lace, it had lit a fuse.

Spencer slowed things down a bit. Paige enjoyed the contrast of Spencer's soft hand gently stroking her thigh in place of the rough, frantic friction of denim on flesh.

Paige reached under her tank top, pushing it out of the way as she rubbed her breast, squeezing her nipple. Spencer leaned back for a second, unable to fathom how she had missed the fact that Paige wasn't wearing a bra. Paige, fired up and impatient, tackled Spencer onto the floor.

Spencer felt the air leave her body as they landed with a crash. She had been tackled harder than that before, but only when she had her field hockey pads on. Her training for the sport meant that she was able to keep head from hitting the ground as their bodies tumbled onto it. She had also developed a way of rolling over on top of whoever had tackled her, but Paige was determined. Spencer didn't fight it. She looked up as Paige straddled her, her smile inviting Paige to do her worst.

Paige pulled Spencer's top over her head, and Spencer sat up with a squeak as her bare back hit the cold floor. Spencer, seeing Paige scan the room for something to put between her and the ground, narrowed her eyes and pulled Paige down by the neck as she relaxed against the ground. She could handle the cold, hard floor. She could handle anything Paige had in mind.

Paige got back into the moment quickly, attacking Paige's face and neck as her hands remembered what they had started before Spencer interrupted and made for the belt again. Her hips bucked slightly as the belt and each of the buttons between her and and her goal came undone. With a smile, she began exploring the newly exposed territory, her fingers encountering a blanket of what felt like satin or silk on top of what felt like velvet. Moist velvet. Spencer's fingers clenched painfully tight into Paige's hair. Paige gritted her teeth and pressed on, stroking in, out; in, out of Spencer's warm, welcoming walls. And the next thing she knew, those walls were clenching around her as Spencer shuddered beneath her.

Spencer gasped in panic once she came down, sitting bolt upright.

"Spencer?" Paige's face was full of concern.

Shit. Coming so quickly was the last straw. She had just confirmed every stereotype that had been going through Paige's head. She frantically reached for her shirt, pulling herself and her pants together as she stood.

"Spencer, I..."

Spencer cut her off with a glare. She raced to the door and undid the latch, bolting into the corridor and finding a bathroom. She locked the door behind her and started to breathe again - deep, shaky breaths that lifted her shoulders with each inhale. She looked at herself in the mirror, pushing the hair out of her face with both hands before rubbing her palms against her cheeks.

She couldn't believe what she had just done - what she had just allowed Paige to do to her, on the floor of a cheesy dressing room. It was nothing but a hook-up; a cheap, lust-fueled hook-up with a virtual stranger. And it was over almost as soon as it began.

And the worst part was, she knew that Paige would never want to see her again.

When the two of them were talking, Spencer felt something. It wasn't sexual or physical, but intellectual; almost spiritual. Spencer had found a kindred spirit, someone whom she felt she could really relate to. But she had fucked it up by flopping onto her back the first chance she got.

Paige plopped down on the floor in defeat, trying to figure out what had happened. She was pretty sure that she was reading the signals correctly; that Spencer had wanted what happened. Spencer was the one who had come up to her, who couldn't stop touching her, who had suggested that they go somewhere. Paige had felt a connection beyond just the physical. It was something that she was looking forward to exploring. But, as usual, she had led with the kiss, not bothering to consider what would come after.

She sighed. She didn't have much time to stew in her thoughts, though. The band would be back any minute.

"I don't believe this," Spencer muttered to herself as, once again, she found herself staring at Paige from afar. It had been several weeks since their hook-up, and Penn was a big enough campus that they had managed not to run into each other. Till that moment.

Once again, Paige was wearing a skirt, but, this time, she wasn't the only one. Paige and her team's skirts were red. Spencer's team wore blue.

Spencer had signed up for intramural field hockey to work out some of her frustration. College was intense, and solo exercise like running and weights wasn't enough. She needed physical contact.

Yeah, like that.

Spencer fairly swooned as she watched Paige going through warm-up drills and remembered how they'd warmed things up in that cheesy dressing room. Field hockey might not have been such a bad decision after all.

As forwards, Paige and Spencer were the first to face off. To look at Paige, Spencer couldn't even tell that she remembered her or their previous encounter. Spencer wasn't going to let Paige get into her head, though. She knew that Paige remembered her, and she knew why Paige was pretending that she didn't. Spencer leaned her shoulder in and fought for position as the ref prepared to drop the ball.

"I knew you'd look hot in a skirt," Paige growled into Spencer's ear. Spencer, caught off-guard as Paige had intended, forcefully shoved Paige out of the face-off circle. The ref quickly whistled them both out of the face-off and gestured two other players in. Paige smirked defiantly as she backed away. Spencer was furious with herself for making it so easy for Paige to get to her.

Spencer's game was off after that. She knew what Paige was doing, but she couldn't find her way past it. She was constantly a half-step behind; a half-second late on her checks; a half a degree off on her shots.

When the final whistle blew, Spencer crossed from her sideline to the other, following as Paige sashayed toward the lockers. There seemed to be an extra sway in her hips as she trotted along, as if she could sense that Spencer was behind her.

"Hey!" Spencer's voice was angry and full of bile. If Paige heard, it didn't faze her or slow her down at all. "Hey!" Spencer repeated, and Paige turned around, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Before Spencer's brain caught up with her body, she had tackled the flabbergasted girl onto the grass. A handful of their teammates pulled Spencer off immediately, but not before she whispered a warning directly into Paige's ear: "I am going to fuck the living shit out of you."

It took a lot to get to Paige. She'd endured some truly nasty bullying when she first came out. But Spencer's words got to her. She lay there, dazed for a minute, oblivious to the hands that her teammates had extended to help her up.

As Spencer backed away, before her team physically blocked her from Paige's view, she locked eyes with her in a steely-eyed stare, asserting that she wasn't bluffing.

Paige wasn't surprised to discover that she was wet.

The next time Spencer ran into Paige wearing a skirt, it wasn't mere chance. They were at a restaurant; one of those upscale, nouvelle cuisine places in Center City where a Hastings felt at home. Paige felt at home, too, but for different reasons.

Spencer had done her homework. She knew the restaurant, knew Paige's section and Paige's shift. The time she reserved was close to Paige's scheduled dinner break. Spencer was counting on that.

Paige's skirt was snug and black, hitting slightly above the knee; tight, like the white half-apron that topped it and covered three quarters of its length. Tight like the starched white tuxedo shirt, and the impeccable bun cinched flawlessly at the back of Paige's head. Tight like the smile she wore as she approached the table where a single diner was waiting, her face hidden behind the oversized, overpriced, gold-toned menu.

"Good evening." Paige oozed professionalism. "My name is Paige, and I'll be…" Paige halted for a moment when the menu lowered, revealing the smugly smiling face behind it. "taking care of you tonight," Paige stuttered out, as if her tongue were swimming in molasses.

"Oh, yes you will," Spencer rumbled, her voice so low that Paige wasn't sure she hadn't only imagined it.

"May I bring you something to drink other than the water?"

Spencer shook her head, raising the glass to her lips. "This is more than enough," she cooed, "to keep my lips wet."

Paige rocked on her heels, doing her best to maintain her composure. "Well, I'll give you a minute to look over the menu, then."

Before she could retreat, Spencer asked, "Do you have any specials? Anything, you know... off the menu?" Spencer jutted a long, slender leg out from under the table and subtly stroked it against Paige's black stockings.

Paige crossed her ankles, leaning slightly forward as she tapped Spencer's menu with her pen. "Why don't you start with this?" she croaked seductively. "And if you don't see anything you like, I'm sure we can find something… off the menu to satisfy you." With a wicked smile, she spun on her heels, letting Spencer drink in her legs as she walked away.

Spencer's lips were contemplatively scrunched to the side as Paige hovered over her with her pen at the ready. She laid her menu down, folded her hands in front of her on the table, and arched forward, teasing a tasteful glimpse of cleavage. "How is your skirt steak?" she rasped. Paige, initially flustered by the insinuation in Spencer's tone, opened her mouth to reply, but before she got the words out, Spencer continued. "Is it… moist?" she asked, seductively puckering her lips on the last word. "Because I'm in the mood for something…" Spencer overtly shifted her gaze to a certain region of Paige's apron, then looked straight into her eyes again and repeated, "moist."

Paige was fighting to keep her breaths even. She just wanted to swipe her arm across the table, knock everything to the floor, and serve herself up for Spencer. She inhaled deeply. She only had about fifteen minutes to go till her dinner break. Spencer must already know that.

"You won't be disappointed," Paige said evenly, with all the bravado she could muster.

"No," Spencer said with authority, "I won't be."

"Will there be anything else?" Paige asked, although, from the way that Spencer was smoothing out her lipstick, Paige knew the answer to that question. She produced a leather booklet with the check from the pocket of her apron. "I'll take this whenever you're ready." And you'll take me right after.

Paige didn't have to tell Spencer to follow her after she settled up her check.

Before the door had fully closed behind them, Paige was attacking Spencer's lips with hers as she worked desperately to get Spencer's jacket off. Once liberated of it, Spencer slipped her hands underneath her suspenders and pushed them off of her shoulders. Her slacks, freed from their support, dropped to the floor, revealing a pair of black, satin boxers and an unexpected bulge. As Paige tugged the boxers down, a pink, six-inch strap-on sprang into position. Paige's lips and legs parted, the one in shock, the other in desire. Spencer tumbled her onto the couch in the corner, flipping her apron up and finding the zipper on the side of her skirt. "I'm ready," Paige volunteered, quickly tossing her panties aside, grateful that she always kept a spare pair of stockings in her locker.

"Do you remember what I promised you?" Spencer sneered.

Paige nodded her head, slightly apprehensive. In a breathy voice, she repeated Spencer's words, "You're going to fuck the living shit out of me." The words had floated around in Paige's head on many occasions - while her fingers floated around between her legs. The image of Spencer's eyes staring down at her while her teammates pulled her away was seared in Paige's brain - the look of desire, desperation, and raw lust.

Hearing Paige say the words so matter-of-factly, in her raspy, slightly trembling voice, was a turn-on for Spencer. She smiled devilishly. "Here it comes."

Paige didn't even bother trying to stifle her moans as Spencer pounded away. Her head was back over the side of the couch, her eyes threatening to roll back into her head. Occasionally, she craned her neck so that she could watch as Spencer drove the glistening pink phallus in and out of her. Needing more, Paige reached a hand down to her clit. Spencer responded by putting both hands on Paige's ass and pushing in deeper.

Paige was late from her break that evening. She had collected herself as best as she could, but there was no hiding the slight wobble in her walk for the rest of her shift.

Spencer groaned impatiently as she extracted herself from the couch to see who was banging so demandingly on the door. Once she peeked through the peephole, she backtracked to the living room, stepping into her yoga pants with a curt, dismissive, "Get out" to the piece of meat who had been underneath her. His evening was ending earlier than he expected, but no meant no, so, with a resigned sigh, he hoisted himself onto his feet and began collecting his clothes.

Spencer was wriggling into her spaghetti-strapped cami as she opened the door with a welcoming grin. Man Candy slid past her, holding up his jeans with one hand and holding most of his clothes in the other. He paused to get an eyeful of the person responsible for his premature ejection, smiling back at Spencer to let her know that he was game if they were. Spencer shut him down with an icy glare, and he raised a hand in apology for the shot that he had felt compelled to take.

Spencer's glare warmed as she took in the visitor standing, uncertain, in the doorway, her posture betraying her nerves. Her lips were pressed tight together, her shoulders were hunched forward defensively, and her hands were tucked into the small pockets on the front of the pale pink corduroy skirt from which her legs seemed to flow organically.

"Did I come at a bad time?" Paige asked, uneasily.

"For him." With a smile, Spencer tilted her head to invite her inside.

Seeing Paige there like that made Spencer wonder why she had even bothered to put her clothes back on. As she led Page down the corridor to the bedroom, she looked back with a smirk and asked, "Do you even own a pair of pants?" Paige was confused for a moment before a quick, mental inventory confirmed that she had been wearing skirts for all of their previous encounters. She bit her lip at that realization. She wasn't planning on having this encounter end the way that the previous ones had.

Spencer took Paige's hand, tucking a leg underneath herself as she sat them on the bed.

Paige took a deep breath, tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Raising her palms from her thighs and letting them drop back down again, she began making her case, looking straight ahead rather than at Spencer. "Spencer, we need to talk."

"Uh huh," Spencer agreed, grabbing Paige by the shoulders and pushing her down against the mattress with a passionate kiss. It took all of Paige's emotional resolve – and much of her physical reserves – to get herself and Spencer upright again.

"See? That's what I'm talking about." Paige shook her head in frustration. "I just feel this incredibly strong connection to you, Spencer." Paige moved her hands back and forth between the two of them, illustrating the connection. Spencer smiled mischievously. "And, I mean, think we could have so much more than… that." Paige gestured at Spencer's lecherous smile. The smile reminded her of what she had interrupted just moments earlier, and the memory made her insecure for having admitted that she was looking for something that Spencer obviously wasn't interested in. She dipped her head, looking down at the hands that she had folded in her lap. "If that's even what you want."

"Hey," Spencer said, soothingly rubbing Paige's shoulder. "That guy? He was just a distraction." She took Paige's hand and her cheek, tilting Paige's head toward her. "I mean, haven't you ever needed… a distraction?" Paige withdrew her head, remembering some of the poorer choices she had made when her body was aching for Spencer. "And, what you said? – I've felt that, too – from our very first conversation. I felt that you were someone whom I could share my mind with; share my feelings with – share more than my body with." Spencer allowed herself a glance at Paige's legs, which were quivering slightly as she processed what she was hearing. Spencer moved her hand from Paige's cheek to still those legs. After a moment, she found herself slowly rubbing circles into Paige's thigh instead. Paige moaned through sealed lips as Spencer's hand drifted higher underneath her skirt. "I do want that." Spencer sighed, pushing both hands through her hair to keep them off of Paige's legs. "But, Paige, if that's ever going to happen, I'm going to need you to stop wearing skirts around me for a while."

Paige stood up and shrugged off the offending garment. "I will," she promised, moving a bit closer to Spencer when she sat on the bed again. "Tomorrow."