My Only Vice
AS HE WATCHED the seemingly endless parade of nearly naked, thoroughly sweaty female torsos gyrating wildly to electronic funk music, it occurred to Sam Maguire that small-town life wasn't exactly what he'd expected it to be. Of course, the reason for this particular parade of naked, sweaty female torsos wasn't to earn its owners a living, however dubious, which would have likely been the case for such a display in the big city. No, the reason for this particular parade of naked, sweaty torsos was more to keep its owners in shape—however dubious.
That was beside the point.
The point was that a naked, sweaty female torso was a naked, sweaty female torso, and it was a sight to be revered, whether under the strobe lights of Buster's Bootie Call in Boston, or under the Art Deco fixtures of Alice's Aerobics Attic in tiny Northaven, two hours away. So Sam would, by God, revere them. Even the ones at Alice's that hadn't quite gotten around to that in-shape thing yet. Hell, it wasn't as if the bodies at Buster's were exactly ready for their close-up. The tattoos on most of them had headed farther south than Tierra del Fuego.
Sam's reaso ... read full excerpt from My Only Vice ebook
