Page 38 of The B-Team

“Never?” Megan had been born flirting. It was like breathing. Her eyebrows shot up her forehead as another thought occurred to her. She lowered her voice. “Are you… um… saving yourself for marriage?” She held up her hands. “No judgment. It’s just that I saw a documentary once about women who think flirting’s like teasing, which leads to loose ways and… I don’t know”—she waved a hand—“being a big old ho? I didn’t watch the end, so I don’t know where it led. Once I realized the show wasn’t about some kinky alternative lifestyle, I kinda lost interest.”

“I’ve had relationships.” Violet seemed to squeeze the words through grinding teeth.

“Just flirt-free ones, right? I’ve got to ask—how did you even get into a relationship if you don’t flirt? Did you advertise?”

Violet made a low growling noise in the back of her throat. Megan wasn’t intimidated; her brother-in-law was the taciturn man-mountain that made up Grunt.

“It’s not a big deal,” Megan assured her. “I can teach you some moves, and you’ll be good to go.”

“No.”

Megan ignored her as she warmed to the idea. “I’ll be your Cyrano. Without the huge nose, of course.”

“No,” Violet repeated.

“Vi,” Megan said. “This isn’t about you. It’s about the team.” She gestured around their white-tiled hell. “It’s about getting out of here and getting on with our lives. And it’s about getting some payback from the moron who put us here. You like payback. It’s right up there with your other hobbies—violent revenge and torturing people for fun.”

She could tell from the lack of growling that Violet was softening. “You’ve got five minutes, and if I don’t like the techniques you’re showing me, we’re calling this off.”

“Five minutes.” Megan nodded. “Got it.”

She stood, put her hands on her hips, and considered her cellmate. Violet wore a plaid flannel shirt under a denim jacket that was at least two sizes too big, shapeless black trousers, and Doc Martens boots. She had no makeup on her face, and her long black hair hung poker straight down her back.

“Okay, I can work with this,” Megan said. It wasn’t like she had anything else to work with. “Let’s make you look a little more approachable first. Take off your jacket.”

Violet frowned. “You didn’t say anything about a makeover.”

“Just take off your jacket, stand up, and put your arms out. We don’t have time to argue, so let me sort you out. The cop will be back soon.” One of Megan’s many gifts was an internal clock that was accurate to within a couple of minutes. She liked to think of it as being bulletproof when it came to time-deprivation torture.

With no visible enthusiasm, Violet did as she was told.

“Good.” Megan popped a few buttons at the top of her shirt and peered down. “Guess these will have to do,” she said.

Violet growled again.

Megan undid the bottom of the plaid shirt before tying it in a sexy knot below Violet’s boobs. She stood back, surveyed the results, and nodded. “Better. Now bend over and shake your hair out upside down to get some volume into it.”

Slowly, Violet bent over. And just stayed there. Like her hair would fluff itself. Megan sighed, threaded her fingers through Violet’s hair, and shook it out.

“Right, flip back over.”

Violet did so, and Megan was pleased. If you squinted, Violet looked like she’d just tumbled out of bed after a wild night burning up the sheets.

If youreallysquinted.

Megan grabbed her leather biker’s jacket, unzipped one of its many pockets, and dug out her emergency lip gloss. It was atiny tube, easily missed by the duty officer when he confiscated everything else she owned.

“I’m putting this on you.” She showed it to Violet. “It’s only lip gloss. It isn’t a personal attack. Okay?”

Violet looked skeptical but allowed Megan to apply the gloss.

“Okay,” Megan said, chuffed with herself. “Now we go over how to flirt. Guys are easy, so it doesn’t take much. Just copy me. Put one hand on your hip and cock it out, then twirl your hair with your other hand. Then lower your head slightly so you’re looking up at them through your lashes—they like that. I think it makes them feel all dominant or something.” She snorted. “Next, you wet your lips and pout. See?” She demonstrated what she’d just described, also shoving her boobs out for extra attention. Something she didn’t want to suggest to Violet because she didn’t have a whole lot going on in that department.

Awkwardly, Violet copied Megan. It didn’t go well. She looked like an articulated wooden doll posed by a toddler who didn’t know how arms worked.

“Let’s try that again, but without the hand on the hip,” Megan said.

Violet moved her hand from her hip but didn’t seem to know where to put it. It ended up flapping uselessly at her side.