These Boots Were Made for Stomping Read Online Free PDF

eliciting the kind of curse words that she always swore to her mother
     she didn’t know.
    Naturally, she hadn’t thought to shove a pair of flip-flops into her tote bag, and so she had to stumble home on one good
     shoe, her face burning as construction workers, commuters, and other pedestrians turned to watch her, a few snickering about
     her predicament. Since that got old quickly, she took a shortcut down an alley, where a few scary guys in leather jackets,
     pants and lots of tattoos ogled her, making colorful (though completely unappealing) suggestions as to ways they could entertain
     her sexually. Ick . And rather unnerving, too.
    She hurried on, head down, as the shouted comments got bolder and more graphic. She clenched her fists, wishing she had the
     courage to stand up to them, but knowing she’d be stupid to do so even if she were ballsy enough. Those guys were scum, and
     they wouldn’t exactly back off if she decided to stick up for herself. More than likely, they’d decide to make her their girlfriend.
     All of them. In turn.
    She swallowed, then hurried faster, her hand in her purse so that maybe—just maybe—they’d think she was armed and leave her
     alone.
    By the time she hobbled off the train a few blocks from her apartment, Lydia was more or less wishing she’d taken the easy
     way out and crawled under a rock. She climbed the stairs of the front stoop of her converted brownstone apartment, then slipped
     the key in the front door. She checked her mail—nothing—then hurried up three flights of stairs to her apartment. There was
     a box sitting in front of her door, and she looked at it curiously. She wasn’t expecting anything except the shoes, and they
     weren’t scheduled to arrive at her office until the next morning. Plus, all packages were supposed to be left downstairs.
    The package was indeed about the size of a shoebox, and relatively light. She shook it, then checked out the wrapping. No
     clues there. The thing was wrapped in brown paper and twine, like an old-fashioned parcel. And although there was a return
     address, it only listed a PO box in Queens.
    Weird.
    Still, a present was a present, and Lydia wasn’t about to turn away this one. Especially not on a day when she could use a
     pick-me-up. She took the box into her apartment, peeled off the wrapping, and found an honest-to-goodness shoebox, albeit
     one covered in shiny gold foil. Taped to the outside was a notecard, and Lydia opened that first.
    We thought you could
    use this early . . .
    With love,
    all of us at Hiheelia
    Okaaaaay .
    That was a little bizarre, because how on earth could they change their courier service like that? Then again, Lydia thought,
     maybe the policy was to ship early with this little note simply so gullible buyers would believe in all that magical hocus-pocus
     stuff. Pretty handy PR tool, when you got right down to it.
    Still, she wasn’t inclined to look a gift shoe in the mouth. Especially not a shoe as fabulous as the one she’d picked out
     online last night.
    Carefully, she opened the box, then peered beneath the gold foil inside. Probably an optical illusion from the way the light
     hit the wrapping, but when she first glanced into the box, it almost seemed as if the shoes glowed.
    Get a grip, Lydia.
    She was beginning to sound like Amy. And as much as she loved her best friend, Lydia really, really, really didn’t believe that nonsense about a magical Web site that delivered magical shoes that brought you your heart’s desire.
    A nice idea, but she lived in the real world, thank you very much. And in the real world, shoes kept your feet protected,
     looked hot, and cost a fortune. And that was pretty much that.
    At the moment, it was the looking-hot aspect that interested Lydia the most, and she pulled the top the rest of the way off
     the box and gasped in excitement as she saw the soft, supple black leather of the ankle-high lace-up boots she’d picked out
     last night.
    Lydia