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Chase
IdroppedintoHunter’s bookshop to pick his brain about running the family company.
Sara, who was serving a customer at the counter, acknowledged me with a smile. After looking around the aisles, I found my twin stacking shelves.
“Shouldn’t you have underlings to do that?” I joked.
He set the books down and gave me a disapproving smirk. “Underlings? Even for you, that’s a little myopic.”
“My sight’s excellent.”
“I’m being ironic.”
“Thanks for pointing that out, bro,” I said. “Haven’t you heard? There’s a ton of people looking for jobs.”
“Jennifer, one of our many well-paid staff members, is off today, so I decided to help. It might surprise you to know I actually enjoy working.”
I rubbed my neck. “I know that. That’s why I’m here. I need some of your kick-ass attitude. Have you got time for a coffee or a drink? I need to talk to you about the agency.”
He moved a box out of the way. “Let’s grab a coffee here. Now that we’ve set up our own café.”
I glanced over at their glossy espresso machine. “So you have.”
“You haven’t been here since the opening.”
“No. Been a bit busy.” I hoped he wouldn’t ask me to elaborate, given my former track record of rolling out of bed at noon.
I followed him to the front of the bookstore, which had grown in proportion after Hunter purchased a pair of adjacent shops and had the walls knocked down.
Booky Nooky had become quite a trendy place. The shop even boasted a vinyl section, where a guy with a handlebar moustache and striped bell bottoms was handling an R&B record, looking like he’d materialized straight from its cover.
“I must say, this place is looking fantastic,” I said, easing into a leather sofa.
Sara was back to reading. That was all she seemed to do.
Hunter stopped to give her a cuddle and a kiss. After two years of marriage, they still piled on the PDA.
I thought of the picture Ivy had texted me while I was playing Cassandra Smith’s fake date. Just thinking of her looking all sultry in that lacy lime teddy put a smile on my face, waking up my slumbering dick.
I had to admit, a sexy image of Ivy in a crotchless teddy beat boring sex.
She’d also spoiled me with those jaw-dropping gymnastic performances, where she’d rub herself up and down the pole as though it were an extension of my dick.
I loved her performances and our sexy little games, like her swiveling down the pole while wearing impossibly high spiky heels and performing for me, a sleazy, horny businessman who wouldn’t take no for an answer.
We had fun. I’d even let Ivy handcuff me to the bed during her dominatrix period. That girl loved to perform, I loved to watch, and my dick loved to participate.
“Black?” Hunter asked, snapping me out of my fantasy.
I nodded. “Barista too?”
Sara looked up from her book and laughed. “Hunter’s a jack-of-all-trades.”
He returned a loving smile.
Ah… marital bliss.
“So what’s happening?” he asked, setting my coffee on the table.
