Page 109 of Ewan

He has the voice of a smoker, although his office smells like old furniture and orange peel.

The woman sticks her head in.

“The new girl is here.”

“Send her in,” he says in the same bland voice, no excitement in his voice.

The hostess turns around and smiles at me before talking quietly.

“You can go now.”

“Sure. Thank you,” I say in a clipped voice.

Her heels click away before I turn around, push the door open, and meet the scrutinizing eyes of a man in his late forties.

His energy jolts me back.

I expected something different when Sammy said he’d be a little creepy.

He’s all right looking.

Hard features, piercing eyes, and the hard muscles of a guy lifting weights in the gym several times a week.

He wears a tight charcoal gray T-shirt that emphasizes his physique and has long bluish tattoos along his hairy forearms.

He must be the kind of guy who doesn’t believe in foreplay and mince words when it comes to sex.

His eyes seem to agree with my assessment.

They almost murmur,‘I want to taste your cunt.’

Weird. Totally weird. Maybe he’s a happily married man with a nice family, a dog, and a cat.

Right.

“Sit,” he orders me like I’m a dog.

“Do I need to?”

I remember what Sammy said to me about having conversations with this man in a public space with other people around.

This is not exactly that.

He tosses me a stern look.

Crashing back in his seat, he slams his arms over his chest.

“You’d rather stand? Fine by me. Have you done this before?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

“Not very often.”

“How many times?” he rephrases.

I teach for a living, so I know that he needs a precise answer.

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