Page 7 of Mountain Daddy
On busier nights, we’d have two working the bar and two working the grill, but since it’s chill, it’s just him and Jessie on the clock.
I’m about to turn my attention to the baseball game playing on the TV above the liquor bottles when the back door opens.
The door is on the other end of the bar, mirror location of the kitchen door, and it leads out to the paved area between here and the motel building.
It’s pretty much only used by guests of the motel.
Out of habit, my gaze moves toward the guest coming in for a late dinner. Or a drink.
Nothing exciting.
But then the dim overhead lights shine off the newcomer’s dark hair.
And my attention is snagged.
It’s a woman.
I sit up straighter.
The woman is fucking gorgeous.
Her hair hangs perfectly straight, long enough to brush her shoulders.
Her bare shoulders.
She’s wearing a white tank top, and the fabric is stretched tight over full-size tits.
I swallow.
I want to face-plant into her chest.
The bar is blocking my view, so I can’t see below her waist. But her body is soft.
Curvy.
Edible.
And way too young for me.
I lift my glass to my lips and swallow the rest of my drink.
The woman’s gaze is busy taking in her surroundings, so she doesn’t notice me perving.
And before she can catch me staring, I face forward.
I couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but the rounded slopes of her cheeks are burned into my mind.
Society likes to make it seem as though men don’t like thick, curvy women, but that’s not true.
Not for me.
Not one fucking bit.
I like to watch my women bounce. Like to watch my fingers indent into soft flesh.
I like tits that can suffocate me.
I shift in my seat. And I remind myself that I also like to act professionally at my place of business.
