My Dad's Boss(2)

By: Mia Madison

Nobody I’d met in the past year had tempted me very much. Most of the guys my age were just so immature. They only wanted sex. None of them seemed interested in being my friend as well as my lover. And none had the easy, sexy confidence of this man sitting a few tables away. I didn’t know him, and he didn’t know me, but it was fun, being the object of his attention. So maybe I could do a little more to keep that attention.

Abby didn’t seem to be online anymore, so I closed that chat and dutifully went back to searching the job ads. But I glanced up at him from time to time, looking at him through my lashes. When our gazes met, I gave him a quick smile before looking down again. A few moments later when I risked another peek at him, he was smiling back. Okay, so far so good.

My Frappuccino was half finished, but there was still a bit of the whipped cream left. I dipped the straw through the white fluffiness and pulled it out, bring it to my mouth. Watching him, I flicked my tongue out, licking the cream off the end of the straw. Okay, so that was a pretty obvious thing to do, but it wasn’t like I was super well-versed in across-the-room flirting techniques. Or any flirting techniques. I’d become friends with Brad our sophomore year of high school. By the beginning of junior year, we were a couple, right up until last year. So basically, my flirting-with-a-hot-stranger skills hadn’t progressed past those of a shy high school girl.

Mr. Hottie seemed to like my effort, though. He winked at me, and I smiled back, licking my lips. That one hadn’t been planned—my mouth felt sticky from the whipped cream.

Okay, what next? It’s not like I thought anything was going to come of this, but it was fun. It was also getting me turned on, a rare feeling for me nowadays. My sex drive had all but disappeared after Brad’s betrayal. Maybe a little harmless flirty was a step in the right direction.

Trying to look casual, I ran my fingers through my hair again, pushing it away from my face, only this time I moved my fingers down my neck to the top of my chest. I stopped at the neckline of the sleeveless shirt I wore. I slipped one finger under the fabric and tugged the material out a little. Then I got embarrassed and hastily picked up my drink, taking a long sip.

When I looked up at him, he raised an eyebrow at me. He’d clearly noticed my little performance. He was grinning but not ogling the way some guys did. I got the feeling that he was enjoying himself, but that he considered this to be harmless flirting, too. Or did he do this kind of thing a lot? He was pretty damn good-looking. I bet he didn’t have much trouble attracting female attention.

The next time I glanced his way, he was ready for me. He held up his cup, pointed to mine, and then jerked his thumb toward the counter where a half dozen people waited in line. It took me a minute to figure out he wanted to buy me a drink.

Did I want him to do that? Sure, I could use another, but what would I say when he brought it over? What might he say? Still—hot guy, free drink. It was pretty much a no-brainer. But how to tell him what I wanted? It would kill the mystery to just march over there and give him my order. And then I had an idea.

Nodding at him, I put my finger up, signaling for him to wait. And then I tore a sheet off of the pad of paper I had on the table, ready to take notes about any interesting jobs, not that I’d found any today.

I jotted down the name of my favorite drink and folded the paper in half, then in half again. It was a skill I hadn’t used since boring high school classes, but thirty seconds later I was holding a pretty decent paper airplane.

He raised his eyebrow in admiration when I held it up. I took careful aim, drew my hand back, and let it fly. Normally, paper airplanes have a mind of their own, but this one flew relatively straight. Perhaps there was some kind of guardian angel for women who hadn’t had sex in over a year. The airplane headed straight for him but then lost altitude a few feet in front of him. With surprisingly quick reflexes, he lunged, snatching it before it hit the ground.

Sitting back down, he unfolded it and then frowned, looking from the paper to me. I guess he’d never heard of a Thin Mint Frappuccino—most people hadn’t. Smiling, I pointed at the paper again, and he took off his glasses and squinted at it. I guess he only needed them for distance, but he’d looked so hot whipping them off like that.

He read the “fine print” I’d written: They know how to make it. He gave me a thumbs up, stood, and got in line.

Wow... that meant that in just a few minutes, he’d be coming over here. What would I say? I hadn’t thought much beyond: He’s hot. This is fun. I deserve a little fun. I didn’t know what to do when he came to bring me my drink.

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