She doesn’t respond. Instead, she stares at me with something like wonder in her eyes as I open her door and make sure the coast is clear. Once I make sure there’s no one out there, I turn and take her in. Her cheeks are flushed, lipstick smeared, hair a mess, and clothes rumpled. Roxie Hart looks like what wet dreams are made out of.
With that thought, I leave before I have to take her again.