I smiled, my stomach twisting along with my bra strap. I wouldn’tbein scrubs anymore. No reason to test that claim. Unless…I went back.
Once dressed, I took one last glance at us in the mirror.
Angel snuck his arms around my waist. “Are you checking us out, pidge?”
“N-no.” I glanced down and leaned into him. “M’kay, a little bit.”
“It’s okay. I only caught you because I was checking us out too.” He kissed the edge of my ear.
I giggled and rubbed his forearm, nuzzling our flushed cheeks together. We were a little messy, but cute.
“I love…d that,” I winced at my own slip.
He chuckled into my hair. “I could tell.”
Was I that obvious? Or was my naivete on full display?
“We need to get out there,” I said, hurrying him toward the door before I could say anything else too sentimental.
Didn’t he warn me I’d fall in love with him if we started having sex?
I’d fallen for him thanks to more than a few orgasms, though, even if they did release a lot of strong bonding chemicals in my brain. There was something special about the way he affected me. I loved the way we rose to each other’s challenges, the way we could play with and care for each other. I was my best self around him. And his best side was shining for me.
Our first confession had to reflect that, even if I had to wait a bit longer to express it.
We slipped out of the dressing room with the cleaning supplies and discarded garments, my heart racing in my ears. No sign of Meg, yet. No waiting customers, although a few browsed the racks.
Had we gotten away with our tryst?
Angel kissed my cheek. “Bye, pidge. I love…d this.” He grinned.
I rolled my eyes and nudged him out the door. “I’ll see you later.”
He strutted back to his restaurant with an extra pep to his step. Hopefully, he hadn’t left anyone waiting on their food at the Cake Factory.
I smiled and shook my head.
No, he was too thoughtful for that. He always took care of people. Especially me.
I trashed the used wipes in the store’s dumpster. When I returned to the sales floor, Giselle darted at me, her billowing black sweater and sudden, imposing presence taking five years off my life.
“What are you doing off the floor? We have customers,” she seethed.
“There was a Code Lavender,” I said, nearly dropping the wipes cannister tucked under my arm.
“Is that why you stuffed our merchandise under the counter?” she gestured to the cashier’s desk, where I’d set the mesh heart bra among other items.
“I-I needed to make sure they were okay for resale,” I said.
“You want me to check?” She reached for the hangers, but I couldn’t have her touch the bra and find it warm from my body, so I flung myself in front of it.
“No!” I dusted the outfit. “I mean, no. I want to prove I can do things on my own.”
She eyed me suspiciously. “I need you to not just to do your job, but do itwell.”
“I’ve been doing great, today,” I said, putting the mesh heart bra on the reserved rack despite my boss’s furrowed brow. “In fact, I think I should treat myself.”
I might not be a perfect saleswoman, but I was doing one thing well: I was finally taking care of myself. That helped me in everything else, including sales and relationships.
