Page 7 of The Fed Sex Man

Jo looked up. When our eyes met, she grinned. I watched admiringly as she approached, all the while feeling the cowgirl’s breath against my neck.

“Can I sign for it?” Cowgirl asked.

“No,” I lied. “I’ve got to have the signature of the recipient.”

Jo stepped to the cowgirl’s side. “Hi.” She removed her glasses. “How can I help you?”

“Well, for starters,” I began. “You can put those glasses back on.”

A confused look washed over her. “Pardon me?”

“The glasses,” I explained. “I like it better when you’re wearing them.”

“These?” Holding the temple between her thumb and forefinger, she twirled the spectacles like a prison guard twirled his keys. “They make me look dumb.”

If anything, they completed her ensemble. I shook my head lightly in disagreement. “I disagree.”

“Really?” She swallowed heavily. “Why?”

I leaned close enough to smell her innocence. “Because, when you wear them.” I paused for effect. “You’re irresistible.”

Her glasses hit the floor with a clank. While she stood in front of me with her mouth agape, I set the box at her feet and picked up the sexy frames.

She stood statue-still as I raised them to her face.

“Here.” I said. “Let me help you.”

I slid the temples over her ears and positioned them on her nose. The addition of the glasses changed her appearance from attractive to irresistibly sexy.

I crossed my arms and studied her. “Ir-re-sistable.”

“Don’t you have packages to deliver?” Cowgirl asked in a snide tone.

I gave her buxom coworker a lingering scowl, and then picked up the box. While Cowgirl’s attitude-infused glare burned holes into the flesh of my back, I sauntered toward the desk in the distance.

I set the box beside the paperweight, and then scanned it. “Miss Watson?” I asked over my shoulder. “Would you like to sign for this?”

She walked in my direction fluidly and precisely, like a lone soldier marching across a parade deck. I stole a few admiring looks of her rose-colored cheeks while she signed for the package, wondering if the color was natural or makeup.

She handed me the scanner. “Thank you.”

Her voice was feather-soft. I gave her a quick once-over, and then grinned. “What time do you close?”

“Close? We uhhm,” she stammered. “We close at seven.”

“Do you have plans after work?”

Her brows knitted together. “Plans?”

“Yes,” I said. “Do you have plans? After you get off work?”

“I uhhm.” She folded her arms over her chest. “No. Not really.”

“Care to grab something to eat?”

“With you?”

“Yes.” I struggled to remain straight-faced. “You and me. Together.”