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“I saw you.” She waggles her brows at me. I back away. This woman is scary. “Anyway. Back to more boring stuff. This one came in today.” She taps at the screen. “It’s kinda cute, actually.”
“Go on.”
“It says, ‘Books and I get along fine. I can organize, clean, feed them and put them in order. They are like drinks: you only mix them up when the customer asks and you only sell good quality.’
I smile. “I kinda like this.”
“Qualifications are all over the place. Mostly some work experience in various things, like construction and bartending and working as a cashier in retail stores. But I like this one, too.”
“Interview?”
“There’s a phone number listed. I’ll call.”
“You do that.”
“And what will you do?”
“Donna…” My brain is full of that kiss, of Joel’s taste and scent and the feel of him against me. “He asked me out for drinks.”
“J-One?”
“Yeah. What do you think?”
She leans sideway to give me a wink over the side of her computer screen. “Take a set of clean clothes with you and a toothbrush.”
Oh God, I thought so, too.
***
Next morning, I obsess over what to wear to work and end up with a variation of the previous day. My palms are sweaty, my heart pounding, and I tell myself I’m being stupid.
It was just a kiss.
Perhaps that was all it was. He may never show up again.
But right after I flip the door sign to OPEN, he enters with the two Styrofoam cups and offers one to me.
Then, even as more customers enter, he pulls me between the shelves like before and kisses me again.
It’s even more scorching than the first time.
And he asks for my phone number.
Holy shit, Batman. This is really happening.
My mind is so overwhelmed with all this that I’ve been neglecting my blog. There are books to be read and reviewed, comments to be answered and moderated, and I should be writing more scenes for my story.
I’m distracted. Especially when he calls me and tells me about a bar called Crickets not so far from here. Tomorrow night. He’s picking me up from work.
Change of clean clothes, I chant to myself. Toothbrush.
Ohgod, ohgod, I have a date with Joel Kingsley. I mean, he said to go for drinks. But Donna is right. No two ways to interpret this one, right?
Okay, there are, but they don’t count.
And Jethro’s handsome face shouldn’t flash through my thoughts, not even for a second.
“We want more J&J scenes,” Donna comes to whine at me as I prepare to go home for the night. “Hurry up with that next installment to the serial.”
