Wolfie
Our storefront is packed.
No, not just packed. Slammed. There's been a line running from the register all the way to the front door for over an hour.
Couples and solo visitors buzz up and down the aisles, stacking luxury vibrators and pink-labeled tubes of vegan lubricant in their arms. It's mayhem out there. But the best kind of mayhem is mayhem that makes you money.
I'm not too humble to take credit for the crowd. After all, it was my idea to start our Black Friday sale a few weeks early for in-store shoppers only. It's a win-win-we get to clear out old inventory before the Christmas stock comes in, and customers certainly seem happy with the lower prices.
"Ooh, what does this do?"
One customer's voice cuts through the noise so sharply, I can hear it all the way from the back office. Not a half second later, there's a furious buzzing sound, followed by someone else shrieking, "How do you turn this damn thing off?"
I smirk at my laptop. Sounds like a couple buying their first vibrator. Good for them.
Lucky for me, the only chaos I have to deal with today is in the form of a spreadsheet. With Q4 coming to a close next month, I've got books to balance, which means I'll be glued to my laptop all day instead of interacting with customers.
Thank fuck.
Not that I don't like being on the floor from time to time. In fact, it's days like this that remind me why I got into this business in the first place.
I love witnessing all the excitement as both new and veteran shoppers learn about cock rings, vibrating anal beads, and all the other battery-powered blessings that will take their sex lives to the next level. It always leaves me with a combination of pride and envy. I've sure as hell never had that kind of enthusiasm about my sex life.
Well, until last Friday night. And Saturday morning too.
I swore Penelope and I would be a one-time thing. An experiment. But when her petite frame cuddled up to me on Saturday morning, all cute and flushed and blinking up at me with those big blue eyes, there was no way I was keeping my hands off her.
Since she pulled out of the lake house's gravel driveway Saturday afternoon, we've only exchanged a few texts, and it's all I can do to keep from falling into a guilty spiral over the whole thing. For the past three days, not once have I looked Connor in the eye without feeling like the world's biggest fuckup. Which is sort of a big problem, seeing as we live in the same apartment and run a company together.
"Jesus, it's a fucking zoo out there."
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
Connor stumbles into the back office, wiping sweat from his brow with the side of his hand. "You're lucky you get to stay out of this, Cox."
I scoff. "Would you rather crunch numbers instead?"
Silence.
I thought not.
Connor is the world's biggest people person and therefore the best salesman we've got, but I'd bet half a paycheck I could stump him with a word problem meant for fifth graders. Needless to say, the dude has never looked at a spreadsheet for any reason other than to complain about it.
In my peripheral vision, I watch as he wanders over to the minifridge, grabs a can of flavored sparkling water, then collapses into the office chair opposite my desk.
As if I weren't already having a hard time focusing on our books, now I've got to do it with the company of the guy whose sister I can't stop thinking about getting my mouth on again.
I frown at him from behind my laptop. "Shouldn't you be on the floor?"
He snorts, taking a good long swig of his drink. "Doing what, making sales? Your forty-percent-off idea is doing the work for me. Plus, Caleb and Hayes are on the registers, so I can chill for a minute."
My stomach churns, all my nerves suddenly on high alert to his every move. Here's hoping Connor is being literal about that minute. But based on the way he's leaning back in that chair, I'd say he's planning to stay put for a while. Just my luck.
"So, guess what?"
I can feel his eyes hot on me, expecting my reply, but I keep my gaze on my screen. Maybe he'll take the silence as a hint.
Surprise, surprise, he doesn't.
"Hello? I said guess what?"
With a huff, I close my laptop. "Sorry, I'm a little stressed right now."
That's not a lie. I'm drowning in all the work I need to get done today. And yes, I also happen to be a little on edge about trying to navigate a conversation with my roommate after I had my dick in his sister's mouth this weekend. But I'm going to go ahead and leave that part out.
"What's up?" I ask, feigning some level of interest.
"Penelope is in the final two for that promotion," Connor says, fighting off a proud smile.
I lift a brow, urging him to go on. This actually is something I'm interested in.
"It's officially between her and that other dude, the boss's son or cousin or whatever," he says, a deep furrow appearing between his eyebrows. "Do you know who I'm talking about?"
"Spencer. Boss's nephew. I met him at the retreat. Real jackass."
Connor snaps his fingers. "Yeah, that's the one. I guess her boss officially told them this morning that everyone else in the management program is out of the running. Pretty cool, huh?"
I nod, reopening my laptop. "Yeah, good for her."
Here's hoping my screen blocks the fact that I'm smiling like a fucking idiot. I'm so proud of that girl. She's going to beat out Spencer for this promotion, no question about it.
"Thanks again for going with her to that retreat." Connor rambles on, seemingly oblivious to what the mention of Penelope has done to me. "From the sound of it, this company she's working for is a regular sausage fest. I'm sure having you there was a lifesaver."
"For sure."
"What was that weekend like, anyway? Did you have fun? Or was it weird?"
My heart responds faster than I can, thumping furiously.
Why would he bring that up? Did Penelope tell him something I should know about?
In a moment of God-level timing, Caleb bursts into the back office, looking like he just ran a half marathon. "Dude, we need you out there," he barks at Connor. "Put your sissy water down and let's go."
"It's not sissy water," Connor grumbles, chugging what's left of his lemon-flavored beverage before tossing it like a three-pointer into the recycling bin. "Catch you later, man."
Relief hits me like a tidal wave, but I don't let any of it show. Instead, I give him a halfhearted wave, dodging his gaze as usual. "Later."
With the office to myself again, I should be dialing back into these spreadsheets. Instead, I find myself reaching for my phone and pulling up Penelope's number.
Just one text. That's all. Just to congratulate her on this next step toward the promotion.
Nothing flirty or suggestive. No signs that I haven't been able to shake the memory of her pouty pink lips sliding up and down my cock, or the way she moaned my name when I had her all wet and worked up.
Shit. I need to reel myself in. Is this how normal people feel about sex? Because this shit is fucking crazy.
I keep my text short and to the point, tossing in a jab at her asshole coworker for good measure.
Connor told me it's down to you and that shithead Spencer for the promotion. Congrats. I know you're gonna get it.
As soon as I hit send, I shove my phone back into my pocket. It's not like she'll text me right back, anyway. She's working. Which is what I should be doing too. But I barely have time to locate last quarter's expense reports before my pocket buzzes again. It's her.
Thanks. :) Come over for dinner tonight? I never properly thanked you for enduring that work retreat with me. I owe you a decent meal, at the very least.
I stare blankly at my screen, restraining myself from suggesting that, if anything, I owe her a thank-you for what she did for me on Friday night. No need to turn this conversation sexual in the middle of a workday.
It's just dinner, Cox. Not an invite into her bed.
Before I can formulate a response, my phone lights up with a second text from her.
Unless you had other plans?
As if anything I had on the calendar for the evening could be more interesting than seeing her. My fingers fly across my keyboard, typing out my reply.
I'm free. See you tonight.
She sends back a smiley-face emoji, a reminder of her address, and a suggestion that I head over around seven.
I spend the second half of the workday fidgeting at my desk, unable to focus on anything for longer than a few minutes at a time. I'm too preoccupied with tonight and overanalyzing what it means that Penelope invited me over.
Does she want to pick up where we left off before her brother interrupted us on Saturday morning? Or is this really nothing more than a thank-you for my fake-boyfriend services?
By the time five o'clock rolls around, the crowd of shoppers has died down to a manageable size, so I don't feel like a huge jackass for not sticking around to help. Still, I opt to exit through the back door rather than out front. I don't need any of my friends holding me up with questions about my plans for the night. Time to rush home, take my second shower of the day, and get ready for the evening.
It's just dinner. Nothing else.
But I slip a condom into my wallet, just in case.