Joyride. Colleen Collins

Sandee—the complete opposite of mild, sedate Corinne. Maybe, on the outside, they were as different as oil and water, but mix them up, and some secret part merged, forming a special world only they shared. A world where they let down their guards and discussed their dreams and fears…a world where they discovered that, deep inside, they weren’t so different after all.

      Fortunately, Universal Shower Door owed Corinne several weeks’ vacation. As the guys cheered her on, Corinne phoned her cousin in Vegas who, after hearing about Tony’s two-timing, had demanded Corinne “get her butt out here, now.”

      Kyle’s friends then took up a collection. After a group hug, where Corinne confessed with a giggle that she’d always wanted to be held by four men at once, she was now driving a stolen Ferrari across the country with three hundred and fifty dollars in her new silver-beaded purse.

      It was like being a glamorous Louise minus the Thelma.

      Two days later, Corinne arrived on Sandee’s doorstep. After squeals of reunion and multiple hugs, Sandee pulled Corinne inside the pink-and-orange living room that made her feel as though she’d stepped into a sunset.

      Or, considering she was restarting her life, a sunrise.

      Sandee stuck a cigarette between her glossy peach lips and fired the tobacco with the snap of a silver lighter. After exhaling a stream of blue smoke, she smiled—an expression that had always looked more secretive than happy on Sandee. “We still look alike,” she said in her signature husky voice.

      Their mothers had been identical twins, so Corinne and Sandee did look eerily alike, but their outward personalities were about as similar as Angelina Jolie and Gwyneth Paltrow.

      Sandee planted her hands on her curvaceous hips, barely covered in a pair of denim shorts, and gave Corinne a once-over. “And we’re still the same size.”

      Corinne darted a glance at Sandee’s breasts. “Well, give or take a few cups.”

      Sandee waved her frosted-pink fingernails, tipped with tiny red roses, in a dismissive motion. “Honey, inserts can turn Bs into Ds.” She narrowed her eyes and scrutinized Corinne’s hair. “What’s with the bottle blond?”

      “It’s hot gold. I colored it—” She bit her lip, hating to confess the truth, but knowing Sandee was the one person to whom she could. Corinne took a fortifying breath. “I colored it to remind Tony of his beloved Ferrari,” she finished quickly.

      Sandee took a long drag on her cigarette, her eyes shooting fire, like the color of her hair. “That bast—” She released the rest of the word on a burst of smoke. She took a few steps, pivoted, and jabbed her cigarette at the air as she spoke. “Honey, never change yourself for a man. Never, never, never. Been there, done that.” Sandee’s blue eyes softened with a look that gave away that “been there, done that” hadn’t been so long ago. “If you feel an overwhelming urge to change something, honey, change it for you.” She shrugged apologetically. “Uh, sorry I cussed.”

      “Cuss away,” murmured Corinne, but her thoughts were on the other things her cousin had said. Tough, strong Sandee changed herself for a guy? He must have been a very special man to have pierced her tough-skinned “been there, done that” exterior. From the pained expression in Sandee’s eyes, Corinne guessed her cousin had been pierced all the way to her heart. But even if that were true, Corinne knew Sandee would never let the world know.

      “Cuss away,” Corinne repeated, realizing she’d been staring intently at her cousin, but not wanting to voice what she’d been thinking. “You can call Tony whatever you like. Except Tiger Boy.” Corinne grinned, feeling silly and happy that she could play with that term.

      “You got it.” Sandee smiled, that sly, secretive smile that reminded Corinne of the Cheshire Cat. “No T. Boy. Besides, I have a list of much better names for that bozo after what he did to you. But I’ll not use them all at once—I’ll sprinkle ’em like salt on food…just enough to spice up our conversations.” She pointed at Corinne’s high heels. “Speaking of spice, dig the stilettos.” Her blue-eyed gaze roamed up the silvery body-hugging dress. “Cool look, too. Looks good with that heart necklace Aunt Charlene gave you.”

      Corinne’s fingers touched the locket, the sole item from her former life. A gift from her mom on Corinne’s sixteenth birthday. A flickering of sadness rose within her as she realized she’d done exactly what her mother had done so many times—run away from a man. Had all the men her mother run away from been two-timing creeps like Tony? Or had her mother been incapable of sticking around, loving any man? The last thought filled Corinne with horror as she clasped the cold metal heart. I’m not incapable, she told herself, hoping it was true.

      “Plus you’re in shape,” Sandee continued.

      “Running.”

      Sandee raised one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “You always were an outdoor girl.”

      “And bowling.”

      Sandee grimaced. “Don’t tell me you rent those hideous shoes that everybody and their grandfather’s worn.”

      “Okay, I won’t tell you.” Corinne smiled, knowing this conversation was totally grossing out Sandee, who probably wore gold high heels to church—if she went. “You look great—what do you do to work out?”

      After swiping a flame-red hair out of her eye, Sandee winked saucily. “I like indoor sports.”

      Corinne wanted to say something glib, make it seem that she, Conspicuous Corinne, liked indoor sports, too. But she’d never had the chance to discover if she was good at that particular sport. Based on Tony’s double-dipping, she was obviously a disappointment. How stupid she must have looked to him, sheathed in freezer wrap, when he opened that door…come to think of it, he never even checked out her sexy, see-through ensemble. His gaze never left hers…wow, Corinne McCourt goes all out to made her man howl and he doesn’t even whimper…

      “Hey, Earth to cuz,” said Sandee, concern darkening her eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, honey, let it go. He’s not worth it.”

      Corinne nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

      “Good,” Sandee said softly. “’Cause I have an idea and I think it’s gonna work out swell.” Sandee tapped the tip of her cigarette on a ceramic ashtray with the words “Circus Circus” in bright crimson script around its white perimeter. “Here’s the deal. You need a place to stay and I need a favor.”

      Corinne’s antennae went up. She sensed “Sandee Trouble” just like when they were teenagers. Back then, Corinne did favors like sit in for Sandee in classes while she played hooky, play waitress at Sandee’s job while she partied, and once—one gloriously magical summer evening—she filled in for Sandee on a date that Sandee had accidentally double-booked. Fortunately, the guy had only met Sandee once, so he didn’t know the look-alike cousin wasn’t really the girl he’d asked out. An anxious Corinne had worn one of Sandee’s skimpy shifts and slathered on her makeup and perfume—something intoxicatingly spicy called “Forbidden.”

      Corinne remembered shaking as she squirted the stuff on…and shaking even more, later, when she experienced her first kiss. A mouth-tingling, mind-melding, twenty-minute lip-lock whose memory, to this day, turned her insides liquid.

      “So what d’ya think?” Sandee said.

      “Is it forbidden?” Corinne asked breathily. She grinned as though she were teasing, but with a jolt, she knew that’s exactly why she’d come to Vegas. To be dramatic, uninhibited, forbidden. To spend two weeks being the furthest thing from the old, goody-goody, Inconspicuous Corinne.

      “Forbidden? More like fun and easy money, honey!” Sandee grabbed Corinne’s hand and led her to the couch. “Take a load off—I’ll bring out some snacks and we’ll discuss the specifics.”

      Corinne sank into the overstuffed pink-and-tangerine-striped couch and watched Sandee sashay out of the room, her shorts barely covering her behind. And at the end of those long,