I’ve never been more excited to come to work each day. I’ve certainly never entered the Customer Comfort Center this much in one week. I keep telling the guys at the front desk that I forgot my lunch and I’m stocking up on Betty’s baked goods, but honestly, it’s just to see Mercedes.
She’s so fucking cute when she’s writing. I find myself pretending to be on my phone in the doorway so I can watch her work for a while. Her eyes drift off into space a lot, and occasionally, she does some weird physical movements, like she’s trying to figure out how to type an action in a book. One time, I had to bite my fist to stop myself from laughing out loud when she dreamily closed her eyes, licked her lips seductively, and air-kissed the room. She totally writes dirty books.
I love how she’s in her own little world, completely herself, and completely unaware of the world around her. And she’s doing it in a tire shop waiting room. I’ve never met a girl like her.
I find myself drawn to her every day. I like to stop in before I leave to see how her day was. Sometimes, she tells me how many words she wrote, which means nothing to me because I have no clue how many words it takes to write a book. But she seems excited by her progress, and I love the look on her face. Then she usually asks me how my day was, and I watch her eyes gloss over when I start talking cars and tools to her. It’s a game we play, drenched with flirting, but nothing ever comes of it.
I haven’t asked her to hang out after work again like I did earlier this week. I feel like the first time was a mistake, and the more I talk with her, the more I realize she’s not just some chick I can hook up with. She’s…cool. It’s best to keep our relationship “Tire Depot exclusive.” Lord knows I can’t be trusted around someone who’s beautiful, funny, and not crazy.
“Another week of work down,” I state, dropping into the seat beside her and looking around the empty comfort center. It’s the end of the day and Friday, so nobody is coming in for a late service.
“Big plans for the weekend?” Mercedes asks, closing the laptop on her legs and resting her hands on top of it. She’s adorable today in a little red sundress, quite different from the typical activewear I usually see her in.
“My buddy and I might go down to Golden Gate Park tomorrow. We try to hit this great hiking trail there every summer.”
“That sounds fun and suuuper masculine,” she states, turning to face me. Her blue eyes drop down to my lips, then she quickly looks away.
I frown and shift to face her more as well. “What about you?”
She exhales heavily. “Oh, I’ll probably do some more writing. Maybe check out a real coffee shop.”
I gasp dramatically. “But you’d have to actually pay for your coffee.”
She deadpans, “I know, but Tire Depot doesn’t have a suggestion box for me to ask if they’ll start offering weekend hours.”
“I’d rip that suggestion right up,” I retort with a serious tone. “I like my weekends. Don’t encourage them to mess with my weekends.”
She smiles, and I get a flash of that dimple in her cheek. “Fine, go. Be a man. Catch some fish. Get some dirt all up in ya.”
Her eyes drift down my body, and she pulls her lower lip into her mouth. Her brows pinch together in the most adorably intense way. Goddamn, she’s cute. And if I could read her mind, I’d swear she’s picturing me naked. I sure as hell have pictured her naked about eight times a day since the moment she collided with me in the alley. But I’m a dude, we do those things. Girls are usually a lot less obvious.
That’s why I’m ninety percent sure she writes erotic books. I get the feeling that she has a dirty mind, and I really fucking dig that. I tried googling the author name Mercedes, and with only a first name, I didn’t find anyone resembling her. And if I asked for her last name at this point, I’d be too obvious. So for now, I shall respect her wishes and not push for intel on the writing part of her life. Especially because she asked me not to.
“Well, you have a good weekend,” I state. Leaning across the armrest, I kiss her on the cheek. I pull back and freeze, staring into her wide and clearly surprised eyes. She smells like fucking flowers, but that’s besides the point. “I have no idea why I just kissed you on the cheek.”
“Me neither!” She giggles, her cheeks and neck turning a rosy hue before my very eyes. “You know, since we’re basically co-workers, this could be grounds for a sexual harassment claim.”
I groan and stand, running my hand through my hair with embarrassment. “You should. I’m pathetic. And horribly inappropriate.”
“You’re not pathetic, and it’s too soon for me to tell how inappropriate you really are.” She smiles and waggles her eyebrows mischievously at me. “If you knew the dirty thoughts that run through my mind every day, you’d know I’m certainly no victim.”
“I knew it!” I laugh and snap my fingers in triumph, reaching out and stretching my arms out wide. “There’s something about you that screams…dirty mind. I think it’s your red hair.”
She bites her lip and eyes my torso, her gaze slowly falling to my groin area. My dick does a jump. More like a thump considering the fucker has its own pulse right now.
With a simple shrug, she replies, “I blame a lot of my problems on the color of my hair. Redheads have it rough as kids.”
“Your hair is fucking gorgeous, and little kids are pricks.” I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, grateful no one else is around to hear me make a damn fool of myself right now. “On that note, I’m going to go, and I swear to you that I usually have way more game than this. I hope this interaction doesn’t negatively reflect on my book boyfriend status in your mind.”
She laughs heartily. “Don’t worry about it, Miles. Your book boyfriend status is still very much secure.”
With a big smile, I turn and head out, calling over my shoulder, “See you Monday, Mercedes.”
“See you around the coffee machine, Miles.”