Strong, Sleek and Sinful - By Lorie O'Clare Page 0,12

yearned for a real man, someone who was intelligent, gorgeous, and could carry on a conversation while looking at her face instead of her breasts. In her line of work though, those weren’t the type of men she spent time with.

Closing her laptop and getting up from the table, Kylie ignored the laughter of the men and the rude comment the guy she’d just insulted threw at her. It was getting into late Friday afternoon, and she only had an hour or so of the teenagers being here before they would head out for the next hangout spot.

She shoved her laptop into her leather case and zipped it up while working her way around the growing group of people lingering behind the lanes. The noise level dropped drastically when she entered the arcade. So did the lighting. The group of teenagers sat on a long cafeteria-length table in the corner of the room. Legs draped over bodies and they all managed to touch one another somehow as they twisted and crawled over each other, laughing and sharing cans of Coke.

Kylie walked up to a game that looked similar to the one Paul was playing on his computer the other day. Dropping her laptop case in front of her, she dug into her pocket for coins. It was important to become part of the environment in order to learn more about the prey of the predator she stalked. No matter how many times she tried playing these games, she sucked at them. But she stood close enough to hear the kids talking and hoped if they mentioned chatting online she’d learn if any of them were talking to a Peter, or anyone whom they possibly hadn’t met in person yet. Fortunately, she was an expert at understanding teenage lingo, which was a language in and of itself.

“Are you a spy?” The girl with the long brown hair leaned against the side of the arcade game, sizing Kylie up.

Kylie stared into her gray-green eyes. Black eyeliner accentuated her clear, attentive eyes, and dark lipstick gave her full lips a pouty look. The teenager would be pretty without all the paint on her face.

“No. Are you?” Kylie answered without hesitating.

The teenager snorted. “You were at the mall yesterday. Then in the parking lot when the cops showed up at Olivia’s car. And here you are now. Mighty coincidental, don’t you think?” There was a challenge in her tone.

Kylie wouldn’t insult the girl’s intelligence. In fact, Kylie commended her for being alert to her surroundings. “I’m not a spy. My name is Kylie.” She held her hand out to shake the teenager’s hand.

The girl quit leaning against the game and shifted her gaze to Kylie’s hand but didn’t take it. “How come you’re suddenly everywhere?” the girl demanded. Her posse remained on the table in the corner but no longer crawled all over one another. Instead they were still, watching curiously as their spokesperson gathered the info she would no doubtedly return to inquiring minds.

Kylie had endured interrogation from a lot worse than this assertive teenager. “I’m working on my thesis at the University of Kansas,” she offered, ready with her cover she’d prepared for when she became interactive with this community.

“Then why are you here? That university is in Lawrence.”

Kylie shrugged. “There’s more action here,” she said. “I’m studying the interaction and subculture known to the world as that of the American teenager.”

The girl stared at Kylie a moment longer before her eyes widened. Understanding apparently kicked in and her surprise made the gray flecks in her green eyes grow. It was a very pretty eye color.

“That is fucking cool as hell,” she said quietly. “So you’re like trailing us around and watching how we act and shit?”

“Something like that.”

“Dude, that is so cool.” The girl turned around and left Kylie, her long brown hair flowing down her narrow back as she hurried back to her group of friends.

Kylie flipped coins in her hand and searched the arcade game for the slot where the money went. The teenagers were talking in the corner, watching her, and once again crawling over one another. Kylie strained to listen while dropping quarters into the machine, and then proceeded to lose miserably in several games of war against battleships in some remote galaxy. Fortunately, the volume on the game was so low she couldn’t hear anything it said. If she cared about winning, that would probably annoy her. She pushed the buttons, barely paying attention to what