“Between you and me, the BuzzCorp products are better, but this junk will get the job done when I’m traveling.”
Mr. Check-In blanched. What do you say to a man pulling out a vibrator and brandishing it for an entire airport to see?
“Just take the batteries out before you board.”
I must have entered a fugue state, because the next thing I knew, Hudson and I were walking down the jet bridge, side-by-side. It took everything in my power not to think about how soft his sweatshirt felt against my skin or how great it smelled.
Hudson, though, couldn’t have seemed less bothered. He whistled.
Whistled.
Like nothing had happened.
“Youkissed me,” I finally managed.
The whistle fizzled out. “I’m so sorry, that wasn’t supposed to—”
“And you kept me from maybe going to terrorism jail over a vibrator.”
“I think terrorism jail is just called jail.”
“And…” I wanted to be outraged, to put some distance between us. If I was angry at him, I didn’t have to face reality: that I was starting to like him. “Shit. That was really nice of you.”
“Try not to sound so disappointed,” he teased.
I wasn’t disappointed. I was confused. I’d just rejected his tacit offer of friendship, his request for help,andbeen a total ice queen to him all week, and he’d repaid me by…keeping me from humiliating myself in front of the entire Cleveland airport.
My better judgment told me to take the win. But as the open plane door approached and Hudson’s shoulders brushed mine, I made a snap decision.
Dammit. Here goes nothing.I fiddled with the sleeves of the sweatshirt he’d lent me.
“Okay, so I guess I owe you one.”
The brightness of his smile could have rivaled any supernova. “You mean—”
“Yeah, I’ll help you. I’ll teach you everything you need to know about the industry. But this is one hundred percent professional. I’m just doing this to make sure The Fantasy is a success.”
“Deal.” He put his hand out for me to shake. I took it, trying not to mentally compare how I’d imagined his hands last night to how they actually felt now, brushing against my palm. “And I owe you one. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
Careful what you wish for. I may wantyou.
4
Clocking In at the Orgasm Mines
Monday mornings were for the fuck reports. I know what you’re thinking.Scout, I’ve worked in an office before. I know that people come in on Mondays and give way too many details about their personal lives, but really. Fuck reports? No need to be quite so unprofessional.
Sure. I’d give you that. If my office were a normal office and I was just talking about my small engineering team chattering away about who they got lucky with this weekend, I’d be in total agreement with you that “fuck reports” was inappropriate.
However…
“Morning, Scout! Have you gotten through those fuck reports?”
“Not yet. There are a lot of them today, aren’t there?”
“Huge storm front pushed through the Pacific Northwest this weekend. Guess people took the rain as God’s way of sayingGo fuck yourself.”
The thing is, a sex toy companyisn’ta normal office, andappropriateis very relative when you’re looking at pocket pussies all day.
