Christmas In High Heels Read Online Free PDF Page A

hundred degree plus days.
    After whipping out my ID card and satisfying the steroid gatekeeper, I entered the main floor, scanning past rows of exercycles for any sign of Dana. I spotted her at the front of a class by the windows, stepping and sculpting their little hearts out. I had a brief moment of guilt over my gazillion calorie lunch, but it didn’t last long. Certainly not long enough for me to actually suit up and jump on a stepper.
    Instead I grabbed a dog-eared copy of Elle , settling onto a bench along the wall to wait. It didn’t take long for the gyrating steppers to finish, breaking into a self-congratulatory round of applause. The teacher of the step class came jogging toward me, her strawberry blonde ponytail swishing back and forth. A perfect size two, she looked like she’d just stepped off the pages of Sports Illustrated . And not the swimsuit edition, but the women-who-lift-and-the-men-who-love-them edition. I would hate her, except for the fact that Dana, a.k.a. aerobics queen, was my best friend.
    “What’s up?” she asked, looking down at my high heeled boots with a frown.
    “I just ate,” I said by way of defense.
    Dana shot me a dubious look but let it go. Instead she began doing a little jogging in place thing as she talked. “So, I got your message. What’s the big emergency?”
    “I, uh…” I looked over my shoulder as if I almost shouldn't be saying it out loud. “I’m late.”
    “Okay, we’ll talk fast. What’s up?”
    “No, no. Not late. Late .”
    Dana cocked her head to one side, taking this in before the meaning hit her. “Oh my God. You mean you missed your period?”
    “No. I didn’t miss anything yet. I’m just a little late.”
    “No wonder you’re freaking out.”
    “I’m not freaking out. I’m… just a little late.”
    Dana shot me the yeah-right look she’d been using on me ever since we bonded over our love of New Kids On the Block in seventh grade. “Right. And that’s why you left four messages on my machine this morning.”
    I cringed. Did I really leave four? “Okay fine. I’m freaking out. But just a little.”
    “Did you take a test yet?” she asked, switching to a jumping jacks routine.
    “Like a pregnancy test?”
    “No, an algebra test. Geez, anyone would think you’ve never been late before.”
    Truth was, I hadn’t. And that’s what was scaring me even more about my predicament. Ever since my monthly visitor began arriving, I’d been twenty-eight days like clockwork. Which is why I’d panicked and left a near stalker amount of messages on my best friend’s machine. Hey, wait a minute, if she got my messages, how come she didn’t call me back?
    “Why didn’t you call me back?”
    Dana got that wicked smile on her face that said she was either dating someone new or about to give someone twenty push-ups.
    “I wasn’t exactly alone.”
    “Do I want to know who?”
    “Sasha Aleksandrov,” she said, switching to a little two-step footwork in place.
    “Excuse me?”
    Dana giggled. Yes, grown women with 1% body fat still giggle like middle schoolers with braces when it comes to men. “He’s a Russian body contortionist. Sasha’s the bottom of the human pyramid in the Cirqué Fantastique.”
    I tried not to roll my eyes. Dana had an uncanny ability to pick guys who were destined for short-term relationships. “So where did you meet Mr. Pyramid Bottom?”
    “Here. He came in with the Spanish trapeze artist to work out last week. I offered to show him how to use the Cybex machine. He doesn’t have them in Russia.”
    “Of course not.”
    “And, we hit it off. He asked if I wanted to see him perform.”
    Considering the many meanings behind that statement, I’m betting Dana said yes. She never passed up an opportunity to see a muscular man “perform.”
    “That’s it. I don’t want to hear any more,” I said, covering my ears. Dana giggled again.
    “Okay, so how late are you?” she asked instead.
    “Three