It was morning in Manhattan, and Max Ridley was an incorrigible tease.

The lithe, almost-eighteen brunette bit her full(but not puffy), M-shaped lips and smiled naughtily as she looked at the reflection of her nude figure in the mirror. With the exception of a few stretch marks around her thighs from her growth spurt a few years ago, her light, but not pale skin was otherwise perfect. She ran her hand through her head-framing, lopsided bob and brushed aside the difficult lock that always dropped down to partially cover her right eye. After a few seconds, it fell again. Max didn’t mind, as it added an air of wild, roguish mystery.

Her high cheekbones, sculpted jawline, dark lashes, and arched eyebrows made her pretty, but hard work and four thousand yards a day in the pool made her sexy. Giving up after school excursions to the local Starbucks with friends was worth seeing her incredibly toned figure in the mirror. If she were a few inches taller, she could easily have been a model. Or so her girlfriends told her.

Max shot a cursory glance at her digital clock. It was 7:42AM. Max had gotten a surprisingly restful night’s sleep, falling into a deep slumber just after seven – almost a full twelve hours. She had a few more minutes to herself before she had to put clothes on.