"Why not..." she shrugged, long legs taking her strides casually and matching Ashleigh's pace so she could watch the girl's face from the corner of her eye.  "I don't want to sound like a wanna-be DeNiro, but it's hard to let something into your life that you can't walk away from in ten seconds flat."  She focused ahead of her, meeting the path.  "I don't need a wife, I need a partner that can screw like a crazed devil."  So much for the elusiveness, she thought.<br/><br/>Izzy watched as Ashleigh opened the lock, turning over the situation to examine it from fresh angles.  She was finding that harder to do... to analyze, think logically.  She couldn't shake the sensation that, sometime between the knife point and the exchange of keys, Ashleigh might have gone from defensive and bubbling with spite to... well... maybe bubbling with something a little warmer.  She wasn't going to delude herself... this was what she was hoping for, maybe had been hoping for a long time.<br/><br/>She held the metal door, and its hinges squeaked softly as she let more of the dingy fluorescent light spill into the street.  The stairwell was a little dusty, the wood spattered with paint that have dried a decade ago.  "No," she said softly, reaching her free hand to gesture up the stairs.  "No, not just yet.  It's on the left."  She swallowed.  "I'll go first, Ashleigh."  She started to walk up the stairs steadily, the heels of her Docs clicking softly on the stairs, and this time there was no mistaking the sway in her hips, far more obvious now that they were off the street.<br/><br/>She slipped her jacket from her shoulders, and there was an audible click as the door swung shut and locked behind them.  A paper flier, slipped through the mail slot, rustled as she kicked it aside.  "It's really not much, sorry.  But it's got a bed, a tv, a shower... some essentials, too.  I try to keep things stocked."  She glanced back over her shoulder very subtly to catch Ashleigh's eye.  "I... ah... how old are you, Ashleigh?"