You’ve dashed into a little deli to pick up a quick cup of coffee and a bagel, knowing you have 20 minutes left in your lunch break and a boss who does not tolerate lateness. You double check the time, anxious to check out, fumbling with your cell phone, wallet, and money. An imposing voice tells you your total and something about that tone causes you to look up at the cashier. You can’t answer his question, you don’t remember the question; in fact, for a second you can’t remember your name or why you are there. Why?
You are faced with Cashier Rob in all of his fuckhawt glory. You are dazed by the set of his jaw, the way his lips move when he speaks, the way his hair catches the light. Sucked into the depth of his eyes, you realize you’ve missed what he’s said again. He must think you’re a ditz! He seems to laugh a little at you, dazzling you with his smile, as you stammer a response to the question you’ve once again forgotten.
You want him to handle more than your money… Suddenly, visions of taking that apron off of him, of being lifted onto that counter, of wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him close to you fill your mind. As you watch his hands reach out for the cash you’re holding out, you imagine those hands all over you. He wishes you a good day and asks you to come again soon. Breathless, you tell him you’ll definitely be coming frequently.