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“Only you, Mallory.”
“What does that mean?”
“You worked for the Tollesons for all those years, straight out of college. A Mormon couple running a real estate business. You come out and dance and party with us, but you’re so goody-two-shoes. You limit yourself to two drinks. You–”
“Only when we’re in public,” I protest. “If we’re hanging at your place or Perky’s, I party down.”
“Drunk Trivial Pursuit is not exactly living on the wild side.”
“You like Drunk Trivial Pursuit!”
“I do, I do,” she assures me. “But c’mon, Mal. You live in a bubble. Always have.”
“Do not! Just because everyone else knew what a fluffer was on a porn set doesn’t make me a weirdo! Plenty of people have no idea what that term means.”
Perky stands and walks over to the coffee counter where Raul, the barista for this shift, is cleaning out a frothing pitcher. Long dreadlocks flow down his back, looped together by a multi-colored scrunchy. Raul is the size of a linebacker with the heart of a cuddly teddy bear. When he smiles, those whiskey-colored eyes light up and spread sunshine throughout the coffee shop.
Too bad he’s taken.
“Raul!” Perky calls out. “You know what a fluffer is?”
“Perky!” I hiss.
“Is that some kind of sandwich?” Raul asks, genuinely puzzled.
I really love him.
“You know,” Perky says, snort-laughing. “Come on.”
“No. Really. What’s a fluffer?” Raul says without looking at her, wiping down the gleaming Pavoni espresso machine that was imported from Italy. It’s big and shiny, glistening as it rises up to make all my fantasies come true.
And now I’ve triggered memories of Beastman gleaming and, uh, rising up.
“Porn,” Perky says, drawing out the word, as if there’s a secret code she knows and Raul just needs to hear the right word.
Raul’s eyes widen, the whites turning into cue balls. “I know you didn’t just say porn, right?” His Brazilian accent is light, but when he’s surprised or upset, it deepens. His dad, Thiago, opened Beanerino about four years ago, and the coffee is divine.
Raul isn’t hard on the eyes, either.
Perky’s face goes slack. “Oh, my God. You’re serious. You don’t know what a fluffer is.”
“Remember the conversation we had in sexual harassment training, Perky? How my father told you to stop with the depraved innuendos?”
Fiona and I share a look.
And then we lean closer to them.
“I’m not harassing you!” Perky sputters.
“No, of course not,” he says, nose flaring. “You’re just starting a casual conversation about pornography with me in a work setting.”
“I’m not on shift!” she protests. “And I was just trying to prove a point.”
“That you’re utterly inappropriate, have no boundaries, and crave constant attention?” Raul replies calmly.
As Perky sputters, Fiona murmurs, “Wow, he figured her out fast.”
“And that was just during her first training shift,” he mutters, turning back to the machine.
