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“Were you in high school then also?”
“No, Harrison, I’m the same age as you. I was in college at the time.” She instantly regretted saying that. He didn’t know that they were the same age.
“We aren’t the same age,” he argued.
“Yep. We’re both thirty-six this year,” she said, holding his gaze even though she knew she was blushing.
“How do you know how old I am?” he asked, taking his eyes from hers as the light turned green.
Sera looked out the windshield at the rain and tried not to say that she knew everything about him. Had for years. But all she said was, “I’m in HR, Harrison.”
She had even verified that they were the same age years before when he had started at the company, and she had access to his personal file.
“Those were the women from the bar, the ones you changed shirts with?” It was as if the thought had just come to him.
“Yes, Cliff said Lucy needed a white shirt to work her shift.” She rolled her eyes at the thought of Lucy’s friend, though he wasn’t the worst guy the girls had brought home over the years. But unlike all the others, Cliff stuck around.
“But three of you changed them,” he pushed.
“Harper liked the one Lucy had on better. And Lucy’s shirt was yellow, Harper’s favorite color. So, we swapped shirts to the one we wanted; it just happens sometimes.”
The swapping actually happened quite often. Exchanging shirts had been a constant source of fun. Everyone had their favorites, and since all the women wore basically the same size T-shirts, stealing them had become a game over the years. Every once in a while, Sera did laundry for everyone just so she could gather her favorites back. Everyone knew that was her reason for doing their laundry, but the tradeoff was worth it in their eyes.
“All the time?” he questioned.
“Most of the time, yes,” she admitted, trying not to smile at all the odd locations she had sat in her bra, waiting for a shirt. “I live by the Grog, if you remember where that is.”
“I might, but would it be possible to stop at my place first? It’s between here and there,” he asked as they hit the downtown traffic.
“I guess, but I’m soaked,” she reminded him as if he hadn’t been there when she had walked in the door soaking wet. At that moment, all she could feel was his eyes on her.
“I’m not likely to forget that. Your friend was right; you do have nice tits.” He wasn’t even looking at her when he said it.
“What?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Nothing,” he mumbled, but she had definitely heard him and heard him correctly. It was no surprise he was looking at her chest—he had for years. It usually didn’t even bother her anymore.
“No, no. You said something about my tits,” she stated, even as she wished she could just let it go and not talk about it. But she was unable to keep her mouth shut. “I would appreciate it if you would not look at them all the time. It is very distracting when I’m trying to tell you something, and you’re looking at my breasts and not me.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, still looking at the road and not her.
“No, you aren’t. What would you do if every time we had a conversation, I looked at your crotch? How would that make you feel?” she demanded. Yup, she was going there.
“Probably get an erection since I’d be looking at your tits.” He looked at her breasts and smiled at his joke. She did not.
Her eyes looked at his pants to see if he had an erection; after all, he was looking at her breasts. At this point, she couldn’t tell. All she could tell was that him talking about her breasts was making her nipples hard—something he could probably see though her wet shirt.
“I’m a little old for your tastes, Harrison.” She folded her arms over her suddenly perky chest. “Since I can legally drink.”
His laugh surprised her, then he leaned towards her and stated, eyes on her chest the entire time. “It doesn’t matter your age, Sera, when your tits are that nice.”
Harrison focused back on the road as he pulled into a parking garage and didn’t see Sera rolling her eyes at him. “My tits don’t compare to a twenty-something’s. That I know.”
As they drove around in circles, Sera wished she had pushed to be taken home first. Why was she always letting him get away with stuff like this? She should have just said no, that he needed to take her home.
Finally, he pulled into a spot and turned off the car. “Do you want to stay out here or come inside? I can give you a dry shirt for the rest of the ride to your place. Maybe you can give it to your friends later.”
Watching him exit the car, she flung her door open. No way was she waiting for him in a creepy garage. “We don’t switch just any shirt. It has to be special.” And she was in no way letting go of a shirt that Harrison had owned.
