Well, she forgot her money in the apartment. And her keys. Is that a problem?

With her phone clutched in her hand Rachel set out on her journey, walking east (according to the phone) 3 blocks, then south four. She wasn't sure why she needed to go that far, since she'd passed numerous bus stops along the way, but she had faith in her 1.5 star app. When she reached the bus stop, outside some rehab center, the phone vibrated so hard it nearly flew from her hands. As if that wasn't startling enough, it let out a low moan like it was about to have an orgasm.

"Shit," she muttered, face flaming red as a couple of reed-thin men - junkies, or ex-junkies, she uncharitably thought - looked around for the source of the moan. "Why would it moan? Wait, did someone change the sounds on this?"

Grimacing, Rachel prodded the phone with an inexpert finger, or at least started to before remembering what happened the last time she'd tried changing a setting. That rat bastard Neil Malloy made her give him a blowjob just to fix it.

Thinking about it made Rachel's face feel hot, and that in turn reminded her of the sun. In spite of the wind the summer sun was blazing down, and she wished she'd found some sunscreen somewhere. The last thing a model wanted was to be sunburned, followed by peeling. That and she was always very careful about making sure she was properly protected from the sun. A model had to be, after all.

More men had gathered at the bus stop, making her wonder if the rehab facility was men-only. She naturally moved a little toward some big, strong looking men, reasoning that they had too much bulk and muscle on them to be junkies.

As she sidled closer to the men - who were far from alone in checking out the hot-looking girl's barely concealed body, each of them wondering what she'd been in rehab for - the bus came into view.

"Finally," she muttered, and reached toward her purse for some money - only to remember that she'd left it at the apartment.

"Shit," she muttered. It had already taken her nearly half an hour to get this far, and if she went back she'd probably be late for the shoot. Grimacing, and knowing she had ****, she turned to go, only to remember something else. Her cash had been in her purse, true, but so had her keys.

"Fuck me," she swore, a habit her sister Ceci had often chastised her over. She'd picked it up from the one girl who, while not a friend, at least hung out with her now and then. Rachel had been so starved for approval she started swearing like the girl, who seemed to find it hilarious when she'd exclaim 'fuck me!' in a group of guys.

Remembering where she was Rachel looked around. Sure enough, guys were looking, though they seemed to be looking at her for her body rather than what she'd said. Even the giant she'd been standing near was checking out her ass. Rachel tried to shrug it off, and instead of slouching or getting defensive or trying to cover up she reminded herself that a model was there to be looked at, and shouldn't have any modesty. With that in mind she straightened up, assuming a casual pose that showed off her figure to its best extent.

Looking back at the beefcake she wondered if she could get money for the bus from him. Or maybe someone else here.