Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I manage to tear my gaze off his rear, but oops, it lands on his strong, toned, inked arms, which move fluidly as he builds a mint-green custom bike. He’s wearing a tank top today, giving me a full view of his tattoo for the first time. It’s so unusual. Is it hydrogen molecules? The chemical composition for oxygen maybe?
“What’s your tattoo for?” I blurt, even though it gives away that I’ve been staring. “The one on your right arm?”
From behind his glasses, his blue gaze drifts to his ink, then he turns to me, a smile spreading slowly. “I studied chemistry in college. I’m kind of a geek.” He holds out his arms, almost like he’s inviting me to touch. I wish. “It’s the chemical composition for body hormones.”
I sway, grabbing hold of the wall next to me. God help me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m great,” I squeak, as a flush sweeps over my neck.
“You look a little hot. I think it’s going to be in the eighties today . . .”
“Yeah, feels like five hundred,” I mutter, turning away from him.
If he looks me in my eyes, he’ll know I had a dirty dream about him last night.
Only it was more than a dream. Dreams come in the middle of the night.
Fantasies help us to come before we sleep.
I make a hard right and head straight for the display case for the flowers where I yank open the door to cool off.
12
Boobs on the Half Shell
Milo
* * *
All of Tuesday, I berate myself for my text transgression the night before.
Though technically, I made several text transgressions. Using her nickname, texting so late, and acting like the whole damn convo was a Lay’s potato chip—couldn’t eat just one.
But I have to stop snacking on Veronica’s texts. What’s it going to lead to?
Dognapping. Bike stealing. Tanking my business with bad reviews.
So I course correct, talking politely to all my employees, like Zara and my part-time mechanic James, as well as Veronica, asking how they’re doing, and zipping my lips when it comes to flirty comments.
I spend most of the day in the back of the store, working on a handmade hybrid for a customer who wants to commute across the Brooklyn Bridge each day to the office.
When I hop on my bike after work for an evening ride, I renew my vows.
Like a devoted monk, I abstain from late-night texting on Tuesday night, and all through the next day too, giving my full attention to the store so I can claw my way out of the five thousand dollar hole.
I’ve seen a slight uptick in flower sales thanks to Veronica’s National Day efforts, so that’s another reason to lay off the Lay’s.
On Thursday night, Zara takes off early, and James signs out too, leaving Veronica and me to close. At six twenty-five, I’m finishing adding new reflecting pedals to a bike as Trudy noses a stuffed alligator toy in the corner of the shop.
Veronica’s busy helping a good-looking, forty-something guy in a tailored suit pick out flowers. “I bet these would do the trick,” she says, guiding him to a bucket of orange roses. Then her lips turn up in a devilish grin. “You could add coral too. Those will get your message across even more.”
The silver fox hums for a few seconds then nods. “I should probably do both then.”
“Go for doubles, I like to say.”
I whimper silently. I want doubles with her. Hell, singles would do.
“You’re brilliant . . . Veronica,” the man says, and out of the corner of my eye I catch him reading her name tag.
Hold on.
Is the dude flirting with her while he’s buying flowers for his lover? I rise, adjusting the bike seat as I listen in.
“Why, thank you,” Veronica says. “Let me just put these bouquets together. Two dozen of each, right?”
“Yes. I was going to just get a dozen, but this seems to send a better message . . .”
“It sure does,” she says, as she arranges the flowers. “Anything else planned for your special night? Dinner out, dinner in?”
The customer smirks.
It’s the kind of look a man gives when he plans a seductive evening for his woman. “In. Definitely in. And while we’re at it, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but I want to give her a little something sexy to wear too.” His voice dips like he’s the slightest bit shy, but not shy enough to stop. But I take the question to mean the dude’s not hitting on her, and that’s a damn good thing.
“Any suggestions on where I could go at this hour? I’m a little late.”
She ties a piece of twine into a bow, as she answers, “Try You Look Pretty Today. They opened a second shop here in the Village. It’s a great lingerie store and the owner is so helpful.”