Twenty years old, blissful, half a bottle of Soft Rosé from Oliver Winery in hand, Caitlin helped Darren Thompson onto the smooth, cool stone. They straddled the surrealist beast, passed the bottle back and forth. She still felt the buzz in her head, the buzz in her pants from the night she got sex right. Darren Thompson, number two, the one right after the yearlong relationship that had never quite worked in the bedroom. Darren Thompson could move his lips, his hips, and his tongue.

God bless that stupid kid from Ohio.

After an hour and a half of ecstasy, they’d stumbled down to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of wine, and ended up barefoot in the wet grass, then on top of the statue. When the wine ran out, they stripped naked behind a tree and started all over.

Forty-two-year-old Caitlin couldn’t stop herself. She pulled her sweaty body onto the rhino that’d seen it all, wrapped her arms around its neck, and hugged the past. She leaned into the stone, not surprised to be a little turned on, but the tears running down her cheeks came out of nowhere and didn’t stop until she’d run back to the hotel.

*   *   *

Attendance at her signing exceeded her expectations. A pair of girls in matching pink sweatshirts, both under Caitlin’s height, five foot seven, stepped forward for signatures thirty-three and thirty-four. The last person in line, a young man with a goatee behind them, would make thirty-five. Off in a chair to the side, Lakshmi Anjale waited as well, though Caitlin didn’t see a book in her hands.

Girl thirty-three started. “We loved your book.”

She and her friend moved in tandem, copies out and open.

Thirty-four took over. “Totally. I read anything about angels. Vampires too.”

“Vampires, huh?” Caitlin laughed. She’d finally figured out why thirty-five starving students had shelled out good drinking money for a book about LA police corruption. “You’re students in Mary’s class, right? How does the assignment work?”

The first girl looked relieved. “Extra credit if we bring in a signed copy of your book, one free retest on any of our exams if we write a summary.”

Caitlin would have to take Lubbers out to dinner. Requiring her students to buy the book would sell all thirty copies she’d lugged along, plus the bookstore’s pile.

“If you’re doing summaries, here’s a hint. The title Fallen Angels refers to both the victims of a prostitution ring and an ex-cop who had to expose his partner to save them. No actual angels make an appearance.”

The girls giggled their apologies, then escaped with their grade boosters.

Mister thirty-five, the guy waiting behind them, opened his copy. “Would you mind?”

His thick goatee, darker than Caitlin would have expected from a man with sandy-blond hair, covered a series of unfortunate pockmarks near his lips. She caught herself staring and reached for her blood-red marker.