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“It would sure attract more customers.”
“Of the wrong kind.”
“Hey, money is money.”
She gives me a mock-shove and scrolls down her screen, frowning. “Okay, here we have a guy. Looks good. Oh wait, wait. Under qualifications: ‘Black belt in karate, and I can bake a mean lemon pie.’ What do you think, Candy?”
“I like men who can cook. He’d go nicely with the other one who can give mean head.”
“We can’t hire two. Besides, they’d go join Annie in Vegas and get married. With him baking mean pies and her giving mean head… it’d be a marriage made in heaven.”
“Amen.”
I re-read the guy’s info. Could it be…? Nah. It’s not him.
And I shouldn’t feel so let down.
“Ah, well. Give it a few more days.” I push off her desk, still struggling with that weird sense of disappointment. “Someone worthwhile will report in.”
No reason why he should have applied for the job. He’s a bartender for God’s sake. Who knows if he’s ever even opened a book in his life. If he kept the card I gave him or chucked it into the trash the moment I walked away.
Who am I kidding? He probably never even considered applying. He probably never gave me, or the business card I passed him, a second thought. Why would he?
Brylee was right. Real-life guys can’t hold a candle to my virtual boyfriends. Isn’t that why women are all over my blog? Why they spend their time reading and commenting and holding discussions about whether J&J like their whiskey neat or if they switch when they fuck each other?
Because they totally do. Fuck each other, that is. It’s a new development in the story I’ve been posting online. It had all started quite innocuously, actually—the story of me meeting these two guys and then starting a relationship with them—but it mostly consisted of them having sex with me, not each other.
Though they’d obviously watch when one of them did me, and jack off. Yeah.
But soon I’d added scenes where they touched each other. Kissed. Jacked each other off. Gave each other blowjobs.
Boy, that’s hot. Hmm…
And the more I delve into my own sexuality and discover what excites me, the more women I discover who like the same.
I stop at a shelf and stare at it blankly. Wait, what was I thinking about? Or more to the point, what was I doing?
Oh yeah, I was going to change the display of our romance bestsellers. So that’s what I do, new scenes to be written popping up in my mind, until I stop, whip my notebook out of my back pocket and jot some ideas down.
Holy crap, this scene is going to be hot. Really hot and dirty. Can’t wait to write it and escape into the story once more.
***
He straddles J-Two’s legs and whispers in a seductive, growly voice, “Take off your pants. I want to see how excited you are. Then I’m going to push you on your back, make you hold on to the headboard and put my mouth on your big, fat d—”
“Oh Jesus Christ!” Donna cries out from her office, and I drop my pen. Gathering it up, glancing around me to make sure Godzilla hasn’t attacked us and that no customer has walked in while I was busy writing my personal porn, I walk to the back.
“More resumes?”
“You bet. Listen to this one. ‘Why you should hire me: I’m the best in town.’ Best in town, what? Also, his email starts with ‘hotbarman.’ Like I said, Jesus Christ.”
My heart stops for a long moment. Could it be him? “You should totally interview him.”
“Why on Earth?”
“Because, ah, he’s the best. In selling, I bet he means. He sounds confident. That’s good, right?”
“Right.” Donna shoots me a dubious glance. “And he can probably mix the best drinks in town, too.”
