he asked sincerely. He looked especially dashing tonight: black suit, skinny tie, white shirt. Sometimes I wondered what he did during my shifts—where he went, who he talked to. But I didn’t dare ask. I was afraid to ask. To ask would be to pop the sex-filled bubble I’d been living, and I’d been a virgin for too long to give that up. “No, just sit there and look pretty.” As I worked, quickly wiping down the counters like I was on fast forward, I kept glancing at his beautiful eyes. They watched me as they always watched me—attentive and involved. And horny as hell. “Stop looking at me like that,” I admonished him, trying to de-smudge the eyeliner that had gathered under my eyes. “How am I looking at you?” “Like you want a good taste.” He grinned, satisfied and secure. He gave me a short nod. “You know me so well already.”
