AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’d sound certifiable,” I continue, spritzing harder. “Gee, Dash, we’ve been having wild sexy fun for like, eighty hours, but how do you feel about being exclusive and locking this down?”
Lorelei shrugs. “Why not? You guys skipped the shallows altogether and jumped right into the deep end. That whole fake-dating thing should count for an extra month at least,” she proclaims this with her usual confidence.
“How do you figure? Did you consult an actual rulebook with a fake-to-real-dating conversion scale?”
“Everyone knows.” She grins.
I wish I possessed a tenth of her confidence right now, but I don’t. I shake my head, the morning-after glow receding as I remember that stocked bathroom drawer and everything it says about Dash’s revolving door of women. “Even if I do have feelings, how do I know if this is just another one of Dash’s casual flings?”
Lorelei rests her chin on her hand. “Hmm. If only there were some magical way of finding out what Dash really thinks. Like, say, a conversation?”
“Very funny.” I make a face at her before finishing up the counter.
“Seriously, though… Don’t you want to know if Dash feels the same way about you?”
I stop polishing the glass long enough to give that question two seconds of thought.
I gulp. “No. Not yet. Because if he pulls out the whole ‘I like you, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now, so let’s just live in the moment’ speech? I don’t think I can hear it. Not yet.”
Not when I’m already way past the casual stage, feeling like this guy could be special.
Is something special to me.
Lorelei looks like she’s about to say something, but I spot a customer. “Welcome to Fleishman’s!” I exclaim, glad for the distraction. “How can I help?”
* * *
Luckily, a steady stream of browsers keeps any more girl talk at bay for the next couple of hours. I fetch, wrap, ring up, and advise, until my feet are aching and my cheeks hurt from keeping up a helpful smile.
“You really don’t need this, or this,” I tell a woman in her thirties, removing products from her pile. “These are for deep lines, and your skin is lovely. Just this light tinted foundation will do the trick.”
“Thank you!”
As she leaves, my boss Gregory, sidles over, looking annoyed. “What have I told you? Our customers are the authority on their own needs.”
“You mean, you want me to sell her the overpriced crap she wants, instead of what she really needs?”
“Miss Delgado,” Gregory says, in a warning tone. “It’s not your place to say. And our products are never overpriced. They’re quality.”
“Like you know,” I mutter, but Gregory must have heard, because he curls his lip.
“Let me guess, you’re still sore we don’t carry your little drugstore lipsticks. Nobody’s forcing you to work here. If you don’t like it, you’re more than welcome to leave.”
I gulp. “I was agreeing with you!” I lie. “You do know quality. I’m sorry,” I add, the words sticking in my mouth. “I’ll try to remember in future. The customer is always right.”
He seems satisfied and walks on.
“I feel dirty,” I say, grimacing over my grovel routine.
“Then I arrived right on cue.”
I look over. Dash has appeared at the other side of the counter, looking downright delicious in jeans and a plain white button-down. But of course, there’s nothing plain about the way he’s wearing it, with the shirtsleeves rolled up over a hint of tanned forearm.
Man, am I a sucker for this man’s forearms.
For this man’s everything, in fact.
“Hey,” I greet him, feeling 100% better already. Dash leans in for a kiss, and I look quickly around to make sure my boss is gone before meeting his lips for a slow, hot pick-me-up that’s better than any cup of coffee.
