Page 6 of UnScripted

“Holy shit. You found heaven girl, and I’m booking my ticket.”

“Seriously? You’ll come for a visit?”

“Hells yeah. You better not be lying about the men. I need to see this for myself.”

“I’m not,” I laugh feeling so much better about everything. “But Lucy, the guy I was telling you about, Roger… he’s like in his fifties or something.”

“Get out.”

“I know. Is it weird that I’m so attracted to him?”

“No. Not if he’s as hot as you say he is.”

“He looks like Charlie Hunnam, that guy who played Jax in Sons…. if you added ten years—okay, maybe fifteen, tops.”

“Damn. I’m definitely coming now.”

“Heck, the principal just called me, the music teacher met some guy in Cabo on her summer break, and she’s not coming back. If you like Springdale, maybe you could stay?”

“Um, one thing at a time Dev,” she laughs hanging up.

Feeling much better, I spring up from my bed and open my closet. My hands slide each hanger until I find what I’m looking for—my hot pink tube top that I bought for my vacation with Luce a few years back. With a good push-up bra underneath, it raises my cleavage a good three inches. Shuffling over to my dresser, my hands search through each drawer until I find my denim cut-offs. I’m going to look damn hot tonight. Putting the clothes on my bed, I enter the bathroom and get to work. Turning the shower on, I get in thinking about how I can’t wait to see the look on Roger’s face. I wonder if he’ll play it cool pretending not to notice me, or if his ice-blue eyes will burn with heat.

But most of all I wonder: Why do I even care?

“What are you staring at, girl?”

“You old man. You’re hot as fuck.”

“Get back to work.”

“Gladly,” I smirk, bending down to pick up a napkin that had fallen on the floor.

“Jesus H Christ,” he mutters under his breath.

I grin, feeling his hot eyes on my body. There’s no dress code at the Sassy Wench, and every day I come to work wearing just a little less. My friends back home think I’m whack lusting after some man twenty years my senior, but damn the man is fine. He has more muscles than a street fighter and when he puts on his glasses to do paperwork; I instantly get wet.

He must have a story. And I’m going to find out what it is. But there’s no way in hell—he’s going to find out mine.

It’s my third day working here, but it already feels as if I’ve worked here forever. Not because the job is hard but because it seems so familiar. With a grin, I finish setting the tables and pretend to ignore him seated at the bar reading a stack of invoices with those sexy rims on. My thighs tingle. He’s so fuckin’ hot, such a jerk only speaking in grunts, but damn his huge body covered in ink makes me want to trace each line with my tongue and make him go insane for me. Then when he’s at my mercy—begging me to put him out of his misery and sink down on him, riding us both to esctasy—I’d stop. I’d make him beg for me and not let him come until he apologizes and tells me everything he knows.

“I’ll have the Wellington salad with the chicken on the side…,” the cool tip of the metal pen slides between my lips. I work it in and out between my plump limps staring at Rog over the head of the businesswoman ordering lunch, before taking it out and jotting down their order.

His hands move down under the bar as if he’s adjusting his pants. I can’t make out what he’s muttering, and I smirk raising my eyebrows at him.

“… and I’ll have the Cobb salad and a glass of iced-tea,” the other customer tells me.

“Sure. I’ll grab your drinks and be right back.”

My eyes meet Roger’s, and everything they ordered goes right out my head. I look down at the pad I was writing their order on, stunned at what’s there.

I didn’t write down a damn thing.

It’s just a bunch of quick scribbles and doodles with a few words written in nonsensical script.

With a red face and a rapidly beating heart, I slip the pad into the back pocket of my snug shorts and walk to the bar ordering two iced-teas trying to ignore the delicious smell and body heat radiating from Rog sittin’ there.

I’m not even looking at him, my teeth sink into my lip, and I stifle a moan feeling my nipples tighten under his watchful gaze. I feel his eyes on me. I feel him looking at me all the time, but whenever I look back, he looks away.

I can’t tell if he’s watchin’ me because I’m new and he wants to make sure I’m not screwing up or if it’s something more.

Damn, I hope it’s something more.

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