Page 2 of The List
I hear the door chime in the lobby, and I glance out the window to see Carl still busy with the blonde. Dammit. Pete’s on lunch break and Shelly’s out sick today, which leaves yours truly to deal with whoever just walked through the door. I take a moment to clean my glasses on the hem of my black T-shirt before I push the door open and step into the retail shop.
I stop cold at the sight of her.
After being eye-fucked by two women in ten minutes, my brain takes a moment to register that this girl is doing pretty much the opposite. Bristling with tension, she’s got her dark hair piled in a messy knot on top of her head and anchored by a chewed-up pencil. She’s wearing a dark scowl and a baggy orange sweatshirt that says “OSU Crop & Soil Science” over the spot where I can only assume her left breast might be. Gray yoga pants hug her legs nicely, though the effect is negated by the brown smear across one thigh. Dirt or chocolate, maybe, though it’s anyone’s guess. She’s frowning down at her laptop like it just ate her report and regurgitated it on the carpet.
Then she looks up and hits me with the full force of green eyes the color of a Heineken bottle. She blinks once, then softens her expression.
“I need help.” There’s no preamble, no double entendre, no hint of anything dirty in her request.
Which is kind of a shame.
No, it’s not.
I move forward and step behind the counter to face her. “What seems to be the problem?”
“My laptop. It’s frozen.” She flips it open, averting her eyes from mine. “I—uh—I spilled a drink on it last night, and it made sort of a zappy noise. I tried to clean it off, but now it’s just stuck like this, and I don’t know what to do.”
Her words are rushed and a little frantic. I’m so busy looking at her—the flush in her cheeks, the fullness of her lips—that I almost fail to notice she’s holding the sleeve of her sweatshirt over the laptop screen. I glance at the keyboard, which has a bit of sticky residue on it, but it looks mostly clean.
I reach out and start to pull the laptop toward me. “I can take a look at?—”
“No!” She grabs the edges of the computer and pulls it back. Her sleeve is still covering the monitor, and this is the weirdest tug-of-war game I’ve ever been part of.
I raise one eyebrow at her. “It’s going to be difficult to assess the problem if I can’t see the computer.”
“Right.” She bites the edge of her lip, and something stirs in the center of my chest. “Um, is there any way you can do that without looking closely at whatever might be on the screen?”
Ah. Got it. Not the first time I’ve been confronted with someone’s secret pornography fetish when repairing a computer on the fritz. It happens at least a couple times a week, and this woman is hardly the first porn enthusiast of the female persuasion.
I put on my best reassuring-nice-guy smile. “Ma’am, I can promise we’re very discreet here. But I do need to take a look at the whole device before I can do anything to fix the issue.”
She seems to hesitate, and the way she’s still biting her lip makes me wonder what she looks like when she’s coming.
Why the hell did I just imagine that? The woman’s dressed like a college student during finals week, and the vibe she’s giving off is more stay-the-hell-away than come-hither. Meanwhile, the blonde is bent over the other end of the counter looking like sex on a waffle cone, and my libido hasn’t twitched once.
Maybe this laptop isn’t the only thing on the fritz.
Sweatshirt Girl seems to decide something then, because she lets go of the laptop and draws her arm back from the screen. “Okay,” she says, brushing a loose strand of hair from those eyes. Those eyes. She takes a step back and gives me a sheepish look. “I just—can you try to make it quick?”
“Of course.”
I have a better look at the keyboard now, and I can see it’s going to be a pain in the ass to deal with. Something sticky has seeped between the keys, and several are stuck in a down position. I can hear the motherboard wheezing like a sick cat, which is actually a good thing. At least it’s still got some spark. Sweatshirt Girl is right, though—the damn thing is totally frozen.
My eyes flick to the screen, and I swear I only mean to check the pixels. But something catches my eye, and I stand there absorbing the words like some sort of creepy voyeur.
Sex.
Spanking.
Roleplay.
What the hell is this? And why am I so intrigued?
Chapter 2
Cassie
Alone in my apartment after my mortifying trip to the computer repair store, I take a moment to make a list. A mental one, mind you, since my laptop is toast and its list-making days are over for now.
