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But then again, I know nothing about him. Is he even single? I mean, I certainly hope so. If he has a girlfriend, asking someone at a sex shop to try toys for you is kind of weird. Unless of course he’s having me try them so he can buy them for her. That thought rings false to me. I like to think that with the way he was looking at me, he was at least a little interested in me. I push down my unease at all the questions I have, and add whether or not he’s single to the information I have to gather.
I spend the rest of the evening finishing up my research on The Pleasure Chest’s inventory. I feel much better about my ability to sell the toys when I know more about them. I don’t know them all as intimately as the two currently in my bedroom, but to do that would cost a fortune that I don’t have. Although not every toy is my cup of tea, at least by researching them I can be competent while selling them.
I stand up and stretch, my shoulders cracking as I reach toward the ceiling. My body feels good—long and open and relaxed. It’s the after effect of really good sex. There’s a smile on my face as I shut my laptop and head towards my bedroom.
4
I can’t stop watching the door. The past couple of days he’s come in in the morning. It’s almost noon and so far, there’s been no sign of him. It makes me nervous, even though there’s no reason I should be. I don’t owe him anything. But I find myself wanting to see him again. I want to see the intensity on his face, and that smile that makes me think he’s going to do deliciously naughty things to me when he gets me alone.
If Ella were here she’d laugh at the number of times I’ve looked up as a customer comes in, only to be disappointed when it’s not him. But Joey is working with me this shift, and he doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t say anything.
I’ve kept myself so busy trying not to think about him that the store is spotless. All the stock we’re meant to put out has been priced and shelved. I’ve dusted displays and checked the alphabetization on the DVD section. I feel amped up despite the fact that I haven’t stopped moving since I came in this morning. There’s actually nothing to do now, and I’m standing at the register when I hear the door open again. I fight against my instinct to look at the door, trying desperately not to. But I lose that fight, and I’m glad I do, because it’s him.
He looks amazing today in a black button down and slacks, a more professional look than he’s sported the past couple of days. I can’t help the smile that comes to my face as we lock eyes across the room. He smiles too, a little smirk that makes my stomach flip.
“Hello,” he says as he approaches the counter.
“Hi,” I say, at a loss for any other words. After obsessing about seeing him for the past few hours, you’d think I’d be able to say something better than ‘hi,’ but that’s all my brain gives me.
He leans on the counter again, and I feel my breath catch as he nears. “Do you have a report for me?”
“I do,” I say, laughing. “Is it enough of a report if I say holy fuck that thing is powerful?”
He laughs, a true, deep laugh that goes all the way to my bones and makes me shiver. There’s something about him, an energy that makes me want to be around him. To understand him. I get the same feeling when I encounter something new that I want to research—an overwhelming and driving curiosity to find out what makes something tick. What makes him tick?
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says.
“I think I only used it for a couple of minutes, and I have to do laundry now, if you know what I mean.”
His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Does that happen often for you?”
“Never.”
“Good.” He grins. “I’m glad to know I gave you a new experience.”
“Even without that I think it would have been a new experience,” I say.
He leans closer to me, and I lean closer to him. I swear the energy crackling between us is almost visible. “You know,” I say softly, “since I’m doing this for you, I’d really like to know your name.”
“It’s Jet,” he says, his voice equally soft.
I smile. Jet. Something to call him when I’m inevitably reliving this exchange and wishing it could go so much further.
“And yours?” He gestures to the buttons that the employees wear instead of name tags. Mine says Tie-curious. I thought it would be clever to allude to something I’ve never tried.
“I’m Kara.”
His hand reaches across the counter and brushes mine. “It’s nice to meet you, Kara.”
“I feel like we went around these introductions backwards,” I say.
“But this way was much more fun.”
I get lost looking at him for a second, and a thousand scenarios run through my head, all of them involving him leaning forward and kissing me until I can’t remember my name. I come back to myself, remembering that yet again I have a stack of his money in my pocket. “Do you want your money back today, Jet?”
He stands up from the counter. “No.” He strides across the store to the display case full of glass dildos where we first met, pointing to the light pink one with the spirals. “I’d like one of these.”
I retrieve a new dildo in a box from one of our hidden cabinets, and try to hand it to him. Instead, his hand closes over mine, keeping the box in place. “For you, of course.” The blush on my face must make me look like a tomato. “But also, this.” He takes a card out of his pocket, and there’s a phone number on it. “I would very much like to take you to dinner tonight.”
Somehow the card with his phone number ends up in my hand, though I don’t remember taking it from him. He asked me out before I even had the chance to ask him to coffee! Through the haze of joy I manage to find my words. “I’d like that.”
He smiles, and it’s different than his other ones. This one is a little more free, a little more unrestrained. “Good. Be ready by six.”
“Okay,” I say, biting my lip to keep my ridiculous grin in check.
When he’s gone, and I turn back to the counter, Joey is gaping at me. He holds up his hand for a high five. “You go girl.”
I laugh as I give him the high five. “Can you ring this up for me?” I hand him the glass dildo.
“Experimenting?” he asks.
“Something like that.”
I only have a few hours left of my shift, but I know that every one of them is going to be torture now, waiting until I can leave and see him. Jet.
The name rolls through my mind. Direct, to the point, powerful. It fits everything I know about him so far, and hopefully tonight I’ll get to know a lot more.
5
The entirety of my wardrobe is piled on my bed. I have no idea what to wear. What do you wear on a first date with the mysterious man who’s bought you sex toys? The only thing I’ve settled on is my underwear, a black set trimmed with lace that never fails to make me feel sexy. But it seems like the clothes are a different story. I’m more nervous than I thought I would be, and I really want t
o make a good impression.
Finally, irritated with myself, I dig out the card with his phone number, and send him a text.
Hi, Jet. It’s Kara. Where are we going tonight? I don’t want to dress wrong.
I half-heartedly look through the clothes again while I wait for a response. But I don’t have to wait long.
Absolutely nothing you wear could be wrong.
Then, a second later.
But for tonight I suggest a dress.
A dress. Good. I can deal with that. I send him a quick, Thanks :) before pawing through the pile for something. Finally, I settle on a deep blue dress. It’s one of my favorites, with a very 50s feel to it. The full skirt always makes me want to twirl around, and I like the way the flare of the dress makes my body look. I pick out a pair of nude heels, and I feel so much better now that I have my outfit. But I still don’t know where we’re going. I pick up my phone again.
I’ll be ready by six. Am I meeting you somewhere?
I’m halfway through my make-up routine when the phone dings.
I’m sending a car for you. What’s your address?
A car? He’s sending a car for me? That’s far fancier than I expected. I just thought I would meet him at whatever restaurant he chose. I send my address to him, finishing my make-up in record time. On nights like this I always manage to be ready early, with nothing to do but lounge around until it’s time to finally leave. The opposite of the stereotype. I fill in the time with more research—fruitless research. I’m googling Jet. But I don’t have his last name yet, and “Hot Guy Jet New York City” doesn’t produce any results. Not ones that I want to look at anyway.
