That raspy laugh of hers does things to me. Like make my heart speed up and my feet all antsy. I’m addicted to it. She shakes a bottle of alien green polish, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
“I see that little smirk.”
She chews her lip, focused on coating every nail evenly. “I’m just thinking.”
I lean forward. “Do share.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“I like where this is going.”
“It’ll probably make things worse for you.”
“Even better.”
She skims her tongue ring over her teeth. “It’lldefinitelymake things worse for me.”
I’m distracted by her piercing, imagining it gliding up and down my shaft… massaging right under my cockhead…
“Stop looking at me like you’re gonna eat me.”
“Maybe I am.”
“God, this is gonna be a disaster,” she mutters under her breath.
“Of course it is, you’re dating me: a living dumpster fire.”
She shoots me a glare, a sharp nail landing between my eyes. “Don’t talk about my boyfriend like that.”
Shit, I like that. No, Ilovethat.
“This girl,” Mae snickers from behind me. “She says, she doesn’t do relationships and this and that, then this pretty boy comes in out of the blue and BOOM! She’s allhappyandsmileyand calls himboyfriend,” she croons, pointing at me. “You must have a magic dick.”
“Mae!” Andrea gasps.
I’m doubled over in stomach cramping laughter while Andrea hurls bags of cotton swabs at Mae’s head. Her coworker ducks with a cackle. “Maybe his magic dick can fix your vagina!”
A growl. “Oh, you are SO getting the next ingrown toenail!”
I’m dead. KOed. Laid the fuck out.
“Hey!” Amira barks. “This is not a circus!”
“I don’t know, according to Mae, I’m a dumb monkey, so it may be,” Andrea snaps.
I die again.
Even Amira’s permanent frown veers towards a smirk. She whips her rag at them, grumbling something in Korean before returning to the check-in desk. The flow of customers has slowed to a trickle. With only fifteen minutes left in Andrea’s shift, I’m getting restless.
I don’t want to go back. The idea of facing Sebastian makes me nauseous. No, that’s a lie. It’s something worse. I’d rather rip my tongue out than admit what I’m feeling.
Andrea resumes my manicure, applying the top coat and shoving my hands under the curing lamp one more time.
“You never told me your bad idea,” I prod.
Her nose wrinkles as she drops her head back to stare at the chandelier.
“Because I’ve got a new, worse idea.”
