Page 11 of All Your Firsts

I’ve always wanted to get one, though. My father would’ve had a coronary if I came home with one. He’d probably cut it out of my skin with a knife as a punishment.

His voice rings in my head.Your body is a temple, and you must preserve its purity.

What a joke.

I shift my gaze from his hand, covered in tattoos, to the elaborate artwork stretching across his arms and neck. My thoughts about tattoos differ from my father’s.

My body is a blank canvas. I want to adorn it with stunning artwork, and I plan on doing just that while I’m here.

The look on his face catches my attention, especially his raised eyebrow. I rip the money out of his hand. “Coming right up.”

The coffee shop was bustling for such a small town. Usually, it would drive me a little crazy to stand in line forso long, but I understand its allure. I’m halfway through my breakfast sandwich and wish I had more. It’s incredibly delicious.

“Where’s mine?”

I look up at Vic with a tight smile. “In the bag.”

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a blueberry muffin, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“What the fuck is this?”

“A blueberry muffin.”

“Yeah, I got that. Where’s my breakfast sandwich?”

“They must’ve put that in there by mistake.” I nonchalantly shrug my shoulders as I savor another mouthful of the breakfast sandwich intended for him.

The muffin was originally mine, but the irresistible aroma of sausage, egg, and cheese on a freshly baked English muffin lured me in. I couldn’t help myself.

Before I can even swallow my bite, he invades my personal space. His firm chest presses against mine while his hand wraps around my wrist.

My confusion grows when I look up at him. His heated gaze holds mine, and his expression is one I can’t decipher.

With a firm grip, he tugs the sandwich in my hand toward his mouth.

I try to resist his pull. It’s pathetic how my arm moves so easily, as if I have no control over my body and he’s the one pulling the strings.

Shocked, I drop my mouth open as he devours the last bite of the sandwich and part of my fingers.

The bewildering sensation of his lips enclosing my thumb and forefinger causes me to retract my hand and my stomach to flutter, much to my dismay.

The warmth and softness of his lips against my skin is a thought I shouldn’t entertain.

“Gross.” I wipe my wet fingers on my pants.

“Delicious.” With a sly smile, he licks his lips and walks away, leaving me with his woodsy scent and my fingers tingling where his mouth just was.

“Hey, wait. What am I supposed to do all day?”

The bastard says nothing as he walks to his client and starts tattooing. He’s good at blowing my questions off, and it’s driving me insane.

When noon approaches, hunger and irritation consume me. I’ve sat on this stool all day. I observed the sky’s transformation from the gentle glow of the morning sun to the bright intensity of the early afternoon sun without a single job.

If he assumes I’m just here to cater to his needs, serving him meals and beverages and nothing more, he’s mistaken. I’ll get a server job if that’s the case.

As I stroll back to Sweet Escape, I take my time to glance through the other shop windows. The town lacks an art studio.

“Hi, what can I get you?” My eyes wander to a girl who looks to be around my age behind the counter. Her light auburn locks frame her face, and her oversized glasses highlight her mesmerizing gray eyes. Her hair is haphazardly pulled back into a bun, and her apron is dusted with flour. She must be the one making the delicious food here.

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