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“Good morning, ladies. How are you this morning?” I offer to the new arrivals.
“Excellent,” the blonde coos. “My friend is getting married in a few weeks and we need something sexy and naughty that will make her new husband drool.” Her friend giggles, nodding her head in emphasis.
“Well, you’re in the right place. I have just the thing,” I state, leading them to the section I consider honeymoon worthy. The bride ends up buying a set to wear beneath her wedding dress, as well as something for the first night of their honeymoon, while her friend purchases some of the fun, bold new boy-cut cheekies I just got in last week. Even with having to handwrite their receipts and basically wanting to jab a pen in my eyeball because it takes so long, it was a great first sale of the day.
Unfortunately, the rest of the morning doesn’t quite go the same. A few customers come in to browse, one with a young child in tow who knocks over the mannequin displaying a negligée, and then proceeds to throw a temper tantrum that results in him swiping all the bras off the table beneath it. While I was cleaning up that mess, another potential customer complained about the thin lace on some of the panties and said it never holds up in the wash. Both ladies left (and fortunately, the kid, too) empty-handed.
By noon, my stomach is growling. I got distracted by the lack of computer and taking care of the few customers who shopped that I never finished my muffin. When I finally dig it out of the bag, it’s already drying out, considering it’s missing its top, but that doesn’t stop me from shoveling the entire base into my mouth as if I haven’t seen food in a week. I can barely even close my mouth when I hear the bell chime above the door.
I try to chew quickly and not choke at the same time. My mouth is so packed with muffin goodness, it’s practically impossible to close my trap and keep half-chewed food particles from flying from my face. Why I thought it was a good idea to shove the entire thing in my mouth is beyond me. Maybe because I’ve always had killer mouth skills? That makes me snicker.
And almost choke.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Harper Grayson.”
My entire body goes rigid, my jaw ready to drop open, but since it’s already hanging open, that doesn’t take much effort. I whip around and come face-to-face with the boy—or man—who made my life hell back in high school. He’s leaning against the counter, all casual and cocky like, as if he owns the joint. But it’s the stupid, wicked smirk that makes my heart start to pound in my chest. I simultaneously love and hate that fucking smirk.
Latham Douglas.
“Satan,” I say through a mouthful of muffin. Or at least I try to say it. I’m not sure if he understood a word I said, though. The vindication only lasts a second.
“Still shoving things in your mouth, I see,” he says, making my cheeks slightly blush. I hate him.
“Still the biggest asshole around, I see,” I finally retort when I swallow the food in my mouth.
“And to think I was being a gentleman and bringing you lunch,” he says, making me snort in disbelief. “I guess if you don’t want this chicken salad on wheat my mom made, I can just throw it in the trash,” he adds, leaning his massive body over the counter in search for a trashcan.
“Don’t you dare,” I practically growl, narrowing my eyes into little slits of death. In one quick motion, I dive for the bag, barely getting my hands on it before he pulls it out of my grasp and holds it above his head.
“Is that any way to greet a friend?”
Again, I snort – in a total ladylike way, mind you. “Friend? I don’t usually want my friends to fall off a bridge into shark-infested waters while wearing nothing but lead-filled shoes, covered in ribeyes.”
He throws his hip against the counter and leans on his elbow. “So you’ve thought about me naked, I see.”
“I’m still plagued with nightmares.”
Latham laughs, a deep, sultry sound that does something to my body I try to ignore, but it’s hard to try to kill him with your eyes when your panties are getting wet and your nipples are starting to throb. “You haven’t changed a bit, Harper,” he says, looking around the store for the first time. I watch as he pushes off the counter, thankfully leaving the sandwich and fresh mocha on the counter as he goes.
Unfortunately, it’s not the door he’s heading toward. It’s my red lace thong and matching bra set that’s displayed perfectly on a tabletop mannequin. “This is nice,” he says, reaching up and rubbing his hand down the plastic ass.
I stomp around the counter, sandwich and coffee completely forgotten, and smack his hand. “Quit fondling my mannequin.”
As I right the panties, making sure they’re displayed impeccably, I feel his eyes burning into me. When I glance his way, they’re raking over my body, devouring me with the easiest of glances. Of course, my body starts to heat to volcanic devastation level and I find it hard to do my job with steady hands.
Hard.
Yep, my brain went there.
So do my eyes.
They immediately drop to his groin, drinking in the impressive bulge in the front of his fairly tight, flawlessly fitting blue jeans. Dammit, why must they fit him so perfectly? He clears his throat, and my eyes fly up to his. Those stupid brown eyes are as smooth and rich as milk chocolate. “See something you like?” he smirks.
“No. I see something I despise,” I retort, turning my back on him and heading to the counter. That sandwich is calling me.
Latham doesn’t take the hint and follows me, returning to his casual stance. I ignore his presence, unwrapping the homemade sandwich and taking a massive bite. “Hungry?” he asks, watching as I eat, eyes alive with mischief.
“Starving,” I reply, making sure to talk with my mouth full.
