His wing man stood about 6’3?, dirty blond hair, and was chiseled. I guess the Italian guy liked boobs because he came on to me strong. Before lon... we had guzzled a couple too many of their drinks and were headed for dinner, his hand around my shoulder and resting casually on the top of my breast. I knew I should be objecting, but what the hell, this is Vegas.Sara seemed like she might have the better deal. The Italian (excuse me he was actually Spanish, Sergio, or so he said) was a little. Eventually with a sigh, he slips the mask over his head.There is that slight shimmer in the glass and then the reflection takes on a life of its own. ‘What exactly is going on with you?’ Arlyne questions, her hands on her hips.“Me?” Trent growls. “When I am you ... or you are me ... whatever it is, I don’t seem to be in full control.”‘I’d say that you’re pretty in control,’ she snaps. ‘I thought the girl was actually there.’“And I thought we were going to get caught,” he fires back. “What would. More

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