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She smiles and bounces on her toes. It makes her tits jiggle, and I fight a groan. Alone in a car with Paige. What the hell am I thinking? But it’s just a quick errand and Paige asked me. I didn’t approach her. Amber doesn’t have to know.
After a quiet ride in my vehicle that smells like baked vomit, we arrive at Eagle Eye Thrift. She skips to the entrance and then holds the door open for me.
“Uh, thanks,” I say.
She tips her head to the side and flashes a sweet, sexy smile. I swallow and step into the store. Not going to linger on those lips. Rows of clothes stretch out in front of us. Despite the bright fluorescent lighting and the somewhat-clean floor, the place smells like a fifty-year-old antique shop. Like rusty cast-iron pans and dusty books.
“What are we here to get?” I say, glancing at a sign that tells me orange stickers are half off.
“To sell?”
I had never considered such a thing. She walks to a rack of women’s clothes, so I follow. “Why don’t they come here and buy it themselves?”
She glares like I’m talking nonsense.
“You buy something at a discount and then resell for a higher price.”
She flips through women’s tops, only glancing at each tag for a few seconds. She stops on a white blouse and then holds it up. She grabs an empty one nearby and tosses the blouse in.
I spend the next several minutes watching her work. It’s quite alluring. She’s an entrepreneur. I should’ve guessed from how straight-forward and assertive she is. I’ve always had a thing for women who go after what they want. Call me a sucker, but I don’t mind a dominant woman.
I fiddle with one of the price tags, curious to know more about her. “So, you don’t like to drive?”
Her movements slow, and she shakes her head.
“Why is that?”
After staring at a tag longer than necessary, she responds,
Wasn’t expecting that answer. “You never got a license?”
She ducks her head and switches to a new clothing rack without responding. I don’t push her about the topic, but it is unusual not to have a license when you live in the States.
A couple one rack over giggles. The guy snakes his hand under the woman’s dress, exposing her thigh. He talks low, but we’re close enough to hear. “Let me at that sweet pussy,” he says.
“Chad. Sto-op. We’re in pub-blic.”
“So? I want it so bad I can’t wait. Let’s do it in the dressing room. Why don’t you model some of that sexy lingerie for me?”
Paige has a familiar look on her face. The same one she has while watching porn. Like she’s studying what she sees, committing everything to memory. A thrift store employee clears his throat and the couple scampers off. Paige returns to flipping through hangers, quiet.
“Is there something I can look for?” I ask.
She’s lost in a daze and doesn’t respond.
“Paige?”
When she glances up, her eyes are wide, cheeks flushed. What could she be thinking about that’s getting her so flustered? It better not be Josh. After what that bastard did, I hope she wants nothing to do with him.
“How can I help?”
She holds up a shirt to show me the tag.
“Sure.”
