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My boobs brushed against Tom’s arm, but I was feeling a bit slutty and didn’t care. He ordered me another beer, and then another beer, gentleman that he was. The plight of my life faded into the background, and it wasn’t long before the group thinned out by ones and twos—folks needing to get home to make dinner, pick kids up from soccer, that sort of thing.
A hand landed on my thigh, and I looked around, realizing Tom and I were the only ones left.
He turned to me. “I gotta go soon, too. What about you?”
I flipped my hair. “Oh yeah. I have tons of things I need to do, too,” I said, looking at my watch for emphasis. Except I’d forgotten to wear it.
I reached for my wallet, but Tom took my hand. God that felt nice. Maybe today was the day he’d see me as something other than the office newbie.
“Don’t worry about the bill,” he said with a smile. “The boss got it. I mean, it’s the least she could do when beers are only freaking ninety-nine cents. Don’t you think?” He rolled his eyes.
“Oh yes, absolutely. I just wasn’t sure she remembered before she left.”
“What were you going to do if she had? Foot the bill? On your measly salary?” He laughed, shaking his head.
Heat ran up and over my face. “Well, if she hadn’t paid it, one of us would have had to,” I said.
He slammed the last of his beer, set it down, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Um, no,” he said with a furtive glance around. “I’d just leave. They’re so busy here, they wouldn’t know for hours.”
What?
“You’d just walk out on the bill?”
He looked like I’d told him the Earth was flat. “Well, you don’t have to put it like that. I mean, it’s not something I’d do anywhere else besides this dump.”
“Anyhoo.” He slid closer and put his hand on my thigh. “Have I told you how cute you are, Saff?”
A warning stirred over me, however weak. My bullshit detector was severely weakened if not outright disabled by the beer.
It wasn’t completely out of order, though.
“Thanks,” I said, looking down at his hand, which had just made itself home even further up my thigh. As I tried to figure out what to do with this unfounded affection, he smashed his lips against mine. I yanked my head back in reflex.
He leaned closer. “C’mon Saff. You can’t deny there’s an attraction between us.”
Okay. Yeah, I wanted to kiss him. But in a freaking dive bar after five beers? When there could be coworkers lurking around.
What if someone came back for a forgotten jacket or backpack?
“Um. I don’t know, Tom. I think I’d better head out. Gotta catch my bus.” I stumbled as I stood, whacking my knee while extricating myself from the picnic bench. He stood, too.
“Shit,” I said.
“Hey, careful there,” he said, making no effort to help me catch my balance. Nor did he wait for me before heading to the door.
I hustled to catch up. Yeah, I was that stupid.
“Well, beautiful,” he said, turning to me out on the sidewalk. “Guess I’ll see ya tomorrow. Maybe you can help me with fact-checking that big profile piece I’m doing on the mayor. That would be fun for you, right?”
Ugh. Fact checking. Shit job of all shit jobs.
“Yeah, sure, Tom.” I looked up the street and saw my bus coming. I could make it if I ran. “I gotta—”
But before I could get the words out, his lips pressed against mine once again. This time I kissed him back, letting his tongue tease my lips and explore my mouth. If he hadn’t reeked of beer, he might actually have smelled good. But his hand on my breast snapped me out of my trance.
“Hey…” I said.
“Well sweetie,” he replied, unfazed, zipping his jacket. “See ya tomorrow.” He smiled and strode off, as if he kissed his colleagues all the time. Maybe he did.
Like a dipshit, I stood there on the curb as Tom disappeared around the corner.
The bus!
I turned to sprint for it, but was too late. Half a block away, its doors slammed shut, and it drew away from the curb, engines gunning in preparation for the climb up the steep San Francisco street that lay ahead. Figured.
There wouldn’t be another bus for twenty minutes, so I got comfortable in a urine-scented bus shelter and watched the traffic go by. The evening wind was picking up and the fog blowing in, which sent all kinds of flotsam and jetsum blustering through the street. Included in the frenzy was a torn business card, which wedged itself under a corner of my shoe.
I wouldn’t normally touch street garbage, but the word “erotic” caught my eye. Erotic what?
I picked up the tattered paper using my fingernails.
Club Silk
San Francisco’s most exclusive, erotic—
But the rest was torn off. All that was left was a barely-readable phone number. And the card must have been old, because it was missing the area code now required of all phone calls.
Club Silk? What the hell was that?
