I don't need to move in with her. Just like a girlfriend. Again, I am too nervous, shy and just a plain 'do right'I was always doing what society expe...cted me to do. I didn't want to live like I did when I grew up. Always the bad neighborhood, always staying over someone else's house. I could never figure out what the hell was going on. My parents had a a lot of money but they slummed it. I vowed to never do that. I would make it in life any way I could. Let me be the first to tell you it. "I'm gonna go out and talk them from a little closer." Right," Michelle and Mike said."Stay right where you are," Chrissie told the two women. "I'm gonna approach you. Keep your hands up like you have them and don't make any sudden moves."The two women promised that they wouldn't and Chrissie jumped down out of the truck. She trotted over to the left shoulder of the Interstate and, keeping her AR-15 trained on them, slowly walked forward. She made sure that her body did not cross between the. . no bra. I zipped up my skirt and slipped my feet into open toed booties checking my seams. My hair was in a ponytail. I left the room and knocked on Joeys door. He opened the door and his jaw dropped. I could tell he was impressed. He cleaned up pretty good himself. He said you are beautiful. I said thank you sir, would you take a lady to dinner? We left the hotel and dined at a really nice restaurant he knew from spending time in Houston. We talked about work, my girls, his family, avoiding. The person who greeted me with a bright smile definitely wasn’t my buddy Richard. Not unless Richard morphed into a five-foot-ten, brown-skinned and long-haired Haitian-American beauty. None other than Marguerite Roseau. I smiled at her and said hello. Grinning, she pulled up a chair and asked me how I was doing. We started talking, and believe it or not, she helped me with my assignment. Marguerite was born and raised in Boston. Her father owned a townhouse in the Back Bay, one of Boston’s.